My Hum Take-aways by Paul Cassel

Henry Grabowski challenged us, in the April, ’14 newsletter to give our take-aways from our Hum days. I thought a lot about that and didn’t know whether I wanted to open myself to some of those memories again or not…but here goes.
First, I want to relate how it was for me upon entering Girard. I also want to say that many of my classmates also experienced many of the things I experienced but when you’re in an environment like we were in one tends to have tunnel vision and be most aware and concerned about what’s happening to you and not to someone else.
For me, entering the Hum was an emotional roller coaster. In one day my life, which had just recently turned upside down when my father died, turned upside down again. I belonged to the City of Philadelphia and I was in a very strange place and knew no one.
I was the next to last kid taken into our class. Many had already been there four and five years. Prior to Girard I had led a very sheltered life. There were no kids in my neighborhood. I knew very little about getting along with other kids and I didn’t know zip about sports. My second day at the hum I was included in a soccer game [soccer???] and the ball was kicked to me with people hollering “get it” and I caught it! Whoa…I touched the soccer ball!  I remember the disgust and comments.
 
So right out of the gate I did every possible thing wrong that a person could do while trying to be accepted. Kids are vicious and in an environment like we were in -- no one gets any quarter. In addition I was tall, I wasn’t strong and I had abnormally big feet [noooo, don’t any of you guys act like you didn’t know that – you all do.]  I didn’t know how to handle mocking and taunting and as such I was picked on. When the other kids saw I didn’t like that many more piled on. I was called names, taunted, bullied and pushed around. I tried all those things that adults suggest to counter these conditions. I tried talking. That didn’t work. I tried saying “sticks and stones…” don’t even think about ever telling a kid that one. It doesn’t work and it’s untrue. I tried reporting my antagonists. The response I got from Mrs. Landis was “you’re going to have to learn how to deal with these things. Someday you’ll be on your own.” (I remember thinking ‘f*@#k…someday?). Remember this was the start of the 5^th grade but the whole theme through the Girard years was “learning to be men.”
 
However the word immediately got out that I’d squealed and things got significantly worse. I tried fighting but no one had ever taught me a thing about self-defense. Many of my classmates had been surviving for up to five years and many came from the coal camp regions of Pennsylvania. These were kids who knew how to fight and were tough. So I waded into one of them and promptly got a black eye and a busted lip … and I cried. Whoops! Big mistake…you never cry! It’s sled dog mentality.
 
I was mocked a great deal about everything, my squealing, my shoe size, my wanting to get close to people and that mocking hurt immeasurable but I finally realized there was nothing to do about it but keep my head down and keep on goin’. I now realize I brought a lot of that on myself . I was looking for friends and didn’t know how to properly do that and so was labeled and mocked even more.
 
Needless to say I didn’t like the Hum much. I hated it -- and I lived a very unpleasant life for a number of years. I did learn a number of things. I learned that there is a distinct difference between acquaintances and friends. I learned that most of the time people will disappoint you, if you let them. I learned that the majority of people cannot keep a confidence and that when you rely on others you open yourself to getting burned. So, you better evaluate people carefully before you open yourself. I learned to rely on myself and I learned to keep my mouth shut.
 
Back while preparations were being made for the 50^th one of our classmates writing to several of us stated that he could not understand some of the bad feelings that some classmates had toward their days at the Hum. I responded saying I could understand it and then related much of what I’ve written here. I explained that I never felt that I was part of the class and I never felt that I belonged until midway through our junior year when, it seemed to me, things began to change, and rapidly. I don’t know why – perhaps we were -- becoming men?
 
I figured that I’d get blasted by a couple of the people on that distribution as several of them were very popular. The responses that I received surprised me when several acknowledged what I’d written and two stated that they, too, never truly felt that they’d belonged either. I was stunned in that I would never have guessed they ever felt that way. To me that correspondence was very awakening.
 
In the last newsletter I mentioned that our class was not close in the fashion that none of us knew much about each other’s families and I wondered why. [Heck I didn’t know that several of my classmates had brothers in lower classes until after I graduated.] I’ve had several responses to that during the past month and find that others recognize this and also wonder why. One classmate had a very succinct and, I think, accurate response that sums up our early years environment pretty accurately. He said  “As for how little we knew of each other’s lives outside the Hum, I may be wrong but I think this:  Considering how cruel we could be to one another, and how relentless the bullying, ridicule, teasing, and harassment could be for the smallest misstep, mistake, misstatement, ineptness, insecurity, weakness, physical imperfection, ..........etc., etc..  Is it any wonder that we may not have wanted to volunteer any more information than we had to lest we provide potential ammunition to our tormentors?  Just a thought.”
Were there fun times? You bet, many. I learned many things. I learned the various sports, I learned to swim and how to save a life [I had need to do that several years later, thanks to that training]. I was taught the social graces – and those paid dividends many times over the years. I learned how to give a proper hand shake, how to apologize when wrong, and how to immediately own up to mistakes or wrong doing. I learned to work hard. I learned to get back up when adversity struck. I learned that when you think you can do no more -- you can dig down and find the inner strength to go on. I learned to keep a confidence and that paid many dividends over the years.  I had several exceptional, to me, teachers. [Caswell McGregor was not one of them.] I was exposed to all manner of trades, as we all were. As a result of that exposure I am a fairly good typist and a fairly good wood worker, I remember our basic electrical training as I remember our basic auto shop training. Those latter two shops alone have bailed my butt out of problems many times over the years. [The auto shop basics are far out of date for today’s cars, but not today’s boats. And when you’re in the middle of a big lake at zero dark thirty of a moonless night and the power quits. It’s good to know how to start checking the electrical and mechanical components.]
 
I received a very good education. Yes, as Henry related, Sputnik also spurred me to want to go college. Only I wanted to major in Printing Management – and I did.  I stayed with that discipline through my entire career. Most importantly, I remembered the things I had done wrong during my Girard years and made a determined effort to not repeat them…and I don’t believe I have. I have often wondered what in the heck I would have become had I not had the good fortune of becoming a Girardian
 
I have a very special place in my heart for our alma mater and for my classmates. Those are very deep feelings and they’re very special to me. We shared a lot for many years and are really a Band of Brothers.
 



 

RECOLLECTIONS 1958 Bless me father, for I have sinned. It?s been a long time since my last confession, but it?s time to come clean. I have not imbibed at the Fountain of youth! That now photo of me on our reunion website, as you can easily tell for yourselves by now, was not recent but was actually taken in 1993. Sorry, I couldn?t resist. I'm still vain! I am honored to be asked to do this humorous piece. But first: Traveling with me tonight are my two daughters, Colleen McGraw from Raleigh and Ellen Costello from Chicago. My wife Anne is back at the hotel. Anne had a bad fall in October 2004 and hasn't walked since without the aid of a walker or wheelchair. She's retiring at the end of May as Administrative Secretary with the Little Sisters of the Poor after 21 years. I often kid her that the Little Sisters of the Poor all take a vow of poverty and those that work for them get to keep that vow................ Good St. Anne sends her regards! It is imperative that we thank the people who organized this weekend and worked the website. These include my former roommate and good friend Jim McKendrick, Robert Bettarel, (great website Robert), Ed Toff, Paul Cassel, George Perzel, Tom Yocum and Clyde Roberts. I hope I haven't left anyone out.  I think that you will agree that Jim McKendrick is the quintessential hummer. His whole life has been the hum. As you may have read, Jim has taken up the position of Director of Development here at Girard for the next year and a half. So you can bet on hearing from him. One thing he is good at is asking for money! Did you read the last issue of Steel & Garnet? A new scheme of Jim's is called home sharing. Jim is starting a retirement home for Girardians. He bought an old B&B in the Poconos --- called "Tired Out at Trail's End" --- and it will be financed with your 401K and your stocks and bonds. Sit back now and enjoy. I'm about to flood you with memories of bygone days. Savor and save some of them for a rainy day. Remember. Remember this: We arrived here some 60 years ago, some in 1946, '47, '48 or '49 and some in the earlier part of the '50s. The worst that could happen to us had already happened. We had lost our fathers. We were brave and tried not to cry... when they made us say goodbye.  We changed into new strange clothes................ knickers, mackinaws, caps and long socks and brogues..................... followed by brief introductions to new classmates ... and then off to the playground ... and our futures. Life's lessons were hard for these orphan brothers. There was no mother's kiss for that boo-boo or father's steadying hand on your head. And like brothers, we helped each other up when we fell! It seems like only yesterday. We return tonight and tomorrow to honor our benefactor, to renew cherished acquaintances with brothers we have not seen for decades and to remember and honor our brothers who have gone on before us. We are brothers still! Hail Girard! Now it's time for some levity. Our school was different from other schools in many ways. For example, I have often remarked that Girard College is the only place in the world where you had to be naked to get your haircut............. The barber was Murray and his shop was between the gym and the pool. You swam without clothes. So the logic was that after gym and before you took your shower and got into the pool, you visited Murr for a haircut.  I was befriended in West End --- that's where you started life at Girard --- by Irv Rotter and Dom Garafalo. We remained steadfast friends throughout school. One day we got a newbie, a new boy, in Section B. Governess Hisslip had just turned off the group showers and was marching us down the hall, two by two to the dorm. Anyway, I'm behind the newbie and I made a disparaging comment -- I don't remember what I said about him. Big mistake. Govie Hisslip heard me and comes running after me. I break formation and bolt to the dorm. She overtakes me at my bed! She picks me up, puts me over her knee and spanks me! She tells me to apologize to the newbie -- I do -- and make a new best friend. The newbie was: The one and only Henry George Grabowski. The cries of a newbie at night for his mother and siblings are unsettling. My new buddy Henry never cried, though. He snored. So we'd throw our shoes and socks at him until the deep guttural sounds stopped. There are many such Grabowski stories...but we'll move on.  Dave Hunscher came to West End packing a football helmet and full gear. He puts his football stuff on and goes out to the playground where Dave is met by bewildered stares. He is told "only sissies play football." So Dave sends his football gear home the same day and learns to be a goalie; and soccer is something he never stopped playing and coaching up to this very day. Ray Popdan, who played varsity, is still active in soccer locally. Others on the varsity with Dave and Ray were Bill Mell, Tom Kubachka, Jim McKendrick, Bob Esposito, John McFadden, John Moser, Mario Tagliaferri, Den Pharo, Rich Lewis and Joe Byrne. Recollections: We were pre-toothpaste. We used tooth powder in red and white cans. Remember the Itchy balls from the many sycamore trees that lined the Main Road? -- Good for tossing and putting in beds. Learning to tie a windsor knot. Windsor chairs. How many did we break in ten years? Using your knicker garter as a sling shot. Were you one of those lucky enough to get the old style brogue ---great for playing soccer on the playground? Remember eating your first fig? How some guys' ties and coats always had remnants of recent meals on them?  And speaking of meals. You were expected to clean your plate. If you didn't, a couple of the govies or housemasters were not above pushing your face down to meet the plate. The items most pushed to the side of offender's plates were creamed spinach, broccoli, asparagus, stewed rhubarb, stewed tomatoes, red beets and SOS. Enter the white linen napkin and silver ring holder. While a classmate was being chided for not finishing his meal, you would make your move. Quickly, scoop the spinach into your napkin; place the silver ring over the napkin. On your way out, substitute your napkin for someone else's. The fun started at the next meal when everyone unfurled their napkins. George Perzel remembers the Great Scrapple Protest when we refused to eat the scrapple and sent it all to one table where it was heaped in one big pile. The next morning we were served the same scrapple. Remember the first year we got our typhoid shots and were told the nurses would give us a three foot long needle with a square tip? Remember lining up at the Infirmary for Chinese whisky when you had a bad cold or cough.  Vic Jurciukonis remembers he was half way through first grade when he came down with TB symptoms. Vic was in isolation for six months in the Infirmary. They finally decided he didn't have TB and Dr. Bauer allowed him to join his classmates again. Remember Dr. Bauer and his annual physical exams? Dr, Bauer?.. Walrus moustache waxed from deposits in his ear canal. When we were approaching adolescence, Dr. Bauer scheduled a sex education talk. We listened intently for an hour to this psychologist but heard nothing we didn't already know. He then took questions. After about five questions, he was crimson. Turning, he fled the room, remarking: "Filthiest questions I've ever been asked. Some of you people need help!" More Recollections: We were pre-underarm deodorant. Right Guard wasn't invented; mum was for ladies. Remember the smell of the Armory after a basketball game? Spending Saturday afternoon at the Fairmont Theater: Gene Autry, Lash LaRue, Tom Mix, Roy Rogers, Flash Gordon, Sky King, and Tarzan. Remember walking to Shibe Park to see the A's? Buying the Sporting News and knowing all the players' averages.  George Perzel remembers standing in line, A to Z order, to pick a new tie. Tony Perotta always chose the one he wanted. He envied Charlie Anton for being first but was glad his name wasn't Charlie Zarcone. Remember begging money for candy at the Student Center in Founder's Hall? Remember boy scouting with Troop 400 and Pop Stephens -- We started a fire from scratch, cooked a meal and almost burned down the forest one Saturday. This was pre-Al Gore: The smell of the Schuylkill River on a rainy day. The Intramural leagues in Lafayette. Remember the sign on the clock in Vera Goodrich's room: "Time will pass. Will you?"..................... The Lodge light that changed colors to tell you what to wear: overcoat, raincoat, overshoes. Housemasters would call the Lodge to see what color was up so all would be uniform for Chapel and school. Remember Karl the Lodgie.  Remember when our voices were changing from soprano to alto and from tenor to bass? Dr. Banks, the school's music director and organist, asked Grabowski, who was noted for not being tonally correct, to sing Flow Gently, Sweet Af-ton. After one refrain of what sounded like, a giant having his tonsils sanded, Banks slammed the piano lid closed, winked, laughed and said: "Did you ever hear anything like that in your life?" More Recollections: The emergence outside the gates of longer hair styles, Zoot Suits, pegged pants, skinny ties and long key chains. Alone, sitting on the top step of the front of Founder's Hall, looking out over the gate, wondering what you would be when you grew up! The smell of fish on Fridays. George Perzel remembers the Saturday morning chapel service with Mr. Nicholson when the clock chimes kept going off as he spoke. Remember the Sunday Chapel speaker who sat in God's seat after his address? The surprised "oooh" from us made him realize his gaff, and looking sheepish, he slid over one seat. Buggsy Presson chastising Bob Stickler: "Into the cooler, now! Mister Stickler!"  Sedge Tourison remembers peppering Jerry March's blackboard with spitballs. During Jerry's typing test, we would take turns yelling "Throw" several times just like Jerry, thus making the test invalid. I joined the band and learned to play the string bass. When we marched as the battalion band, I had to play the bass drum or the cymbals. My first day marching I'm assigned the big drum. It came with a big white strap and weighed enough to double over a skinny kid. The big bonger mallet was applied to the drum to keep time as we marched. I start up the Main Road on the wrong foot. Colonel Hamilton comes up from the rear and cuts into the center of the band where I am. We're still marching. He graps the big bonger mallet and starts hitting the drum, yelling, "Damn it boy, get in step!" He tells the guys behind me: "Kick 'em if he gets out of step again!" I remember, too, as a junior leading the band in a march during Saturday's Chapel Service for the senior class procession. My tempo was so fast, the seniors were nearly running up the aisle before I realized what I had done. I tried to slow the band down but they were having too good a time at my expense. On handing the baton to Spike Morrison, he says,.................... "nice tempo."  Both Bob Chryst and George Perzel mentioned a soccer game where Hank Grabowski gave someone a broken leg - both Bob Betteral and John Kerr are mentioned as the victim. It turns out it was John. For this, Physics teacher Percy Miller dubbed Hank "Old Slewfoot." It took him a while to live that down! Social Director Moms McGhee brought a man into the small gym to teach us to dance. I don't remember his name, but he was a strange one. He played old dance records from the twenties: quickie, quickie, slow. quickie, quickie, slow. A box -- make a box! Moms McGhee would dance with half the class one at a time and this man would take the other half. We laughed as each took his turn with the male instructor. Then it was your turn. It was one of life's long five minutes of agony! In a couple of weeks, though, it would be forgotten as we danced with real girls from Carson and Ellis School for Girls. At one such dance, Rich Kopec yelled "No" when Ms. McGhee asked, "May I say a few words." Ms McGhee replied "OK then I won't" and sat down. Rich later apologized and it was accepted. Rich wonders if anyone else apologized? - During his last couple of years at Girard, Tony Perotta was a bad boy and was campused it seems for months on end. In pursuit of freedom, Tony surveyed the Hum wall. He found it rather low right behind the college president's home. Tony remembers that Dr. Friedman's mother used to smile and wave to Tony as he vaulted over and back! On Graduation Day, President Friedman handed Tony his diploma and shook his hand -- but he didn't let go. All the while he tells Tony that he hopes he straightens out and settles down and wishes him all the luck in the world -- a touching farewell. Tony remembers the most frightening day since he entered Girard was the day he walked out through the front gates to face the world on his own. It was a thought shared by his brothers that same day! Looking back, though, we were prepared for most anything! The 50s have been stereotyped as a time when conformity reigned. Not so with our class. I truly believe we showed early signs of the radicalism of the 60s. Rebels without a cause -- in a positive way! If we could go back, though, it would be for the gas prices. Gas in 1958 cost $ .24 cents a gallon! Wow! It's been fun. Thanks for the memories! It's been great spending time with all of you! Brothers now for 60 years! We have shared a lot. I love you Guys! Hail Girard! Bob Costello Girard ?58 May 17, 2008

Speaking of a broken foot. I remember one Saturday afternoon in Bordeaux Hall when we used to watch American Bandstand on TV. We had two junior housemasters who were dental students at Penn or Temple, I don't remember which. Anyway, one was from upstate Pennsylvania, the Wilkes Barre area. He was a well known high school football player. They began to tease us about our watching American Bandstand and challenged us to a touch football game. After a while we couldn't take it any more so we went out to the field behind Bordeaux Hall and began a game. Each team had one of the dental students on their side. In one of the first plays the high school football star line up opposite me and I could tell he was going to relieve his frustrations by giving me a hard block. As the play began and he charged toward me I grabbed him by the shoulders, quickly stepped aside and threw him to the ground using his momentum. After the play he sheepishly looked up and said, "Good block Bettarel." 
A few plays later the other preppy dental student either went out for a pass or went back to pass and in the process tripped over the pitcher's mound, which was on the field, and broke his foot. He went around on crutches for the next few months. That was the last time they made any disparaging remarks and we went back to warching American Bandstand in peace. RB

I recently asked Tony Perotta how he managed to get from Philadelphia, Pennsylviania  to Palm Springs, California since I thought its was an unusual transition and might be an interesting story. Tony's reply follows.

When I graduated from Girard, I had to go to night school to make up the courses to enter an engineering program. I received a two year degree and finished my degree in California at night. The first time I went to California was in 1959 to visit my aunt. I fell in love with California as soon as I saw those beautiful palm trees and moved there in 1962, and married 1963.  In 1973 I came home and told my wife that I quit my engineering job, I was married with three children. As an engineer I specialized in research on metal fatique. I have two papers published in a metallurgical magazine plus a few other unique discoveries. The problem was that everyone else had their PHD  and I was low man with a BS.  If you remember I had a very bad speech impedement. I went thru college and never asked one question. I could not put together a sentence without stuttering. While I was an engineer a good friend of mine, Dr Harmon, a physicist, helped me thru self hypnosis to build my self esteem. The main objective was to reprogram myself. With the help of Dr. Harmon, motivational books and tapes it took me three years to build my self esteem to the point of believing that I could achieve anything. I have lived my life since then with the belief that  "whatever the mind of man or woman believes and sees, they can and will achieve, only with a positive attitude." This gave me the strength and fortitude to leave engineering. A few months later I was offered a job selling  industrial chemicals. Within 3 years I became their top Regional Sales Manager throughout the US. Two years later they wanted to move me to Ohio,to be groomed to be president of Dubois Chemicals. I felt very honored, but this was a position I did not want. One of the other reasons I quit engineering is that  I felt it was too confining. Being president of a company would be confining, controlling and too politically orientated. Within two years I resigned and started my own chemical sales and manufacturing company.  During this time, my marriage of 17 years  failed. Later I remarried. With this wife I spent a lot of time in the entertainment  industry. It was exciting at first but I got very tired of putting up with the people involved. Ten years later my marriage failed again. I sold my chemical company, and my home in Los Angeles and moved to a home I owned on a lake in the Palm Springs area. I was 47 years old, realizing that I had to find another business to go into because of the divorce. I was always interested in the restoration and the beautification of concrete. Concrete becomes, as it ages, very ugly. I started a company with no experience to beautify and restore concrete. To me it was just another research program that I would develop.  This was a very hard business to build. I worked harder  than I had ever worked before. My idea worked, but to hire the proper craftsmen in an industry of which there was very little knowledge , was very challenging . The company grew at a rapid rate after about three years. I started to do 1/2 hour infomercials on TV about 3 times per day. Our website is www.restoradesign.com. Restora is considered to be one of the largest concrete restoration companies in California, Arizona and Nevada. While building this business I met Marion when she was  visiting my nextdoor neighbor. I took one look at her beautiful blue eyes and her smile and I became mesmorized and we became inseparable. Marion became a great asset to me and our business. We lived together for 9 years and have been married for six. She is the love of my life. I retired in Mexico when we  married and built a 9000 sq. ft home on the beach.Two years ago we had to go back to Restora because the company was not profitable. We have come a long way in rebuilding in the last few years. This year we have been honored to become part of an elite contracting group called The Legends. Ten contractors that a have set the standard in their industries. Presently I go into work every morning . I usually  play golf 3 times per week. Every 10 days we go to our home in Mexico for 5 days.  Marion became the motivating force for me to become an artist, she kept on telling me how creative I am and kept buying art supplies. Finally one day I followed her  advice that was seven years ago...and the rest is history in the making. What a great hobbie this is for me. We have 5 children between us. ...4 daughters and 1 son. ..and 8 grand-children, all live near us. Marion and I love to travel. We both have family in Europe, Marion's family is in France and Canada and mine in Italy and Brooklyn. We plan on travelling a lot more once we retire completely...and hopefully spend more time in Europe. Remember our doors are always open to you all.   Thank you for your interest ... Best regards, Tony Perrotta

A Girard Remembrance
I recall, as many of you do, how well Jim Jacobs got along with Archie Andrews. Jacobs had ‘the flair for the dramatic’ that Archie so loved.
Fulfilling one of what must have been an interminably boring set of classes for Mr. Andrews and after an hour of less than stellar recitals, Mr. Andrews challenged us to come prepared to “put some guts and some feeling into the next class recitals. 
At the next class, Mr. Andrews began by restating what he was looking for – ‘some emotion, some feeling’ in what we were presenting. To give us some guidance he asked Jim Jacobs to lead with Jim’s selection.
Jim had no advance notice of this but was not concerned and he smiled as he approached the podium. Jim waited for an appropriate second or two and then announced that he would present the Requiem (and Epitaph) by Robert Louis Stevenson. 
Jim began and put just the proper feeling to the piece as he dramatically worked his way through, building to the climax which he had practiced to perfection. As Robert Louis Stevenson wrote it, it went:

Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live, and gladly die,
  And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you grave for me:
“Here he lies, where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
  And the hunter home from the hill.”

Only the second verse that Jim recited, with feeling, went something like this…….
This be the verse you grave for me:
“Here he lies, where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the hill,
  And the hunter home from the sea…..(pause) ….SHIT!”

I remember, I was there.

Paul Cassel ‘58

My Hum Take-away by Henry Grabowski
 

One of the cool things for me was over past year was doing an auto biographical talk to my grandson's third grade class. Ginny urged me to do it given my unique background going to a boarding school. However she wanted it to be very upbeat, not even mention it was a school for fatherless boys or mention any of the darker sides  of the Hum. Accordingly, I  began by asking them how many had read or seen Harry Potter stories (everyone). So just like Harry, I left at age 9 to go away to school, not to learn magic, but to get a better education in big city of Philly (home of Ben Franklin who they also knew of as a premier inventor).

I told them what it was like to arrive at Girard as a 9 year old -- an immense campus to us with living sections of 30 boys, eating halls, infirmary, barbershop, shoe shop and clothing dispensary, etc. I told them my first trip to the  barber-- I liked my hair long, Murray rolled his eyes and promptly gave me a buzz cut. I went thru a typical day- up at 6.30 am, inspection, breakfast, playground, classes, more playground, snow ball fights in winter, chapel services on Sundays , Halloween at the Hum, etc.

For bedtime we were in a radio era- TV was just coming on - and we went to bed listening to The Shadow, Superman, etc. There was also a great story telling tradition at night in some of the sections. I remember Pete Casey could spin a good story with his Irish BS.  Also told them about a trip to the zoo where Pete ended up going onto Monkey Island. He was always a prankster. Bob Costello was also a great story teller but I’m not sure he always knew fact from fantasy! In any event, Bob and I  started a newspaper -- Elementary School Highlights that was the beginning of great collaboration together -- later on WGC, Girard News and other endeavors. With all the internet electronic games today, I worry that today's kids do not do much story telling or enough creative writing or reading. I try to continue oral tradition with stories based on Charlie Chaplin, 3

Stooges, etc. and let my grandkids make up the endings.

I told them living together for more than decade led to great friendships -- a Band of Brothers. It also led to many pranks. I mentioned that in Allen hall, I returned to our room and found no desk , bed or any furniture in my part of the room. I subsequently found them in the shower! Another time I went to the bathroom across the hall after lights out and was blinded by a1000 watt bulb, I am sure put there by Bob C . I remember he was deemed a bad influence on our studious room by Doc White and sent for  a  rehabilitation stint with some other mischievous classmates. I don’t know if he was behind locking Jerry March in the closet, something I did not go into with the third graders.

One event that occurred in 1957 that had a big influence on my life and career was waking up to headline that Russians had put Sputnik and a man in space before the US. The country went crazy that the USSR could beat us to putting a man the moon and the flood gates were open for math and science research and education .Like many others, I was swept up and inspired to get an engineering physics degree. While I eventually switched to economics, it was a great background in terms of problem solving. In 1962 I had a summer job in with North American Aviation who were developing the Saturn rocket for moon flights and we got to see some test runs. California was a wild place in the 1960s. It was ahead of the East Coast in cultural and business trends, with many individuals doing start-ups on a shoe string -- the real start of venture capital funding . I became very interested in the economics of innovation which remained one of my lifelong career interests.

So what are some of the take always from our Hum days? For me, it created a sense that I was the underdog. The need to be self-reliant (if also vulnerable and fragile) was instilled in me as well as a lot of discipline to work harder and get back up when adversity struck. The Hum was also very rules driven and we were always looking for ways to get around the rules in an "us against them" fashion. This came in handy when I did a 3 year stint as Chairman of Econ department  at Duke . My colleagues were amazed how I could work around the rules and navigate thru the bureaucratic layers. Overall I think we would have chosen to stay in a 1950s, two parent, nuclear family… if that were possible, but given the cards we were dealt, the  Hum provided many positive net  benefits. It also impressed on me the  importance of strong, loving family support and I thank my wife Ginny for giving me that..

I would  recommend doing this type of  talk if the opportunity presents itself. I showed them some pictures, including ones of the knickers we wore, and it was a fun experience with a lot of interest by the 3rd graders. Needless to say it would be a tragedy if the Hum is changed to a day school with elementary only classes.

Let me hear some of your own recollections and  take aways from the Hum.

Remembrances – Fern McCracken

While I never had a class from Fern McCracken I thought the world of her. It was during the spring of the year in either the eighth or ninth grade and Caswell McGregor suddenly had it in for me. He was having me rewrite papers because of my penmanship (some letters slanted a bit differently). I had always been told I had pretty good handwriting but evidently and suddenly Caswell didn’t think so.

While everyone in the class got “rewrites” it soon became clear that no one in the class was getting them like I was. I was up to 27 papers that I was having to continually rewrite plus our regular assignments, which inevitably would get added to the list. Eventually I was using every available hour of study and free time to do those rewrites and I finally ran out of hours.

It all caught up with me at the end of a study hall that Fern had filled in on. I was late leaving, writing furiously and I knew I no longer had any more hours in which to do the papers that were due that afternoon. My other grades were beginning to suffer as well and it all started to cave in on me. Fern McCracken, without ever having spent any time around me or knowing me, somehow sensed that something was badly wrong. She stopped me and started asking questions, and I just lost it and started to break down.

She pushed me back into the room, sat me down and wrung the whole story out of me. She learned that this had been ongoing for over a month. Then she looked through the papers - I recall her saying "you're having to rewrite all of these? Why? What’s wrong with them?" I told her it was my penmanship and pointed out the marks and slants and McGregor's comments. She said "your penmanship? Your penmanship's beautiful … -- Caswell's a bit of a strange duck but this time he's obviously lost his mind. Give me those papers and I'll talk with Caswell." I asked her not to because I didn't want to get in any more trouble with McGregor but she insisted and said "you won't get in any trouble, believe me. I can handle Caswell." Then she snatched up the entire pile of papers, said you must get on to your class, gave me a note and strode off.

That afternoon in Caswell's class I figured I was a dead man but nothing happened. Then at the end of the class he said "Cassel, remain in your seat." Man, I figured I was cooked. Caswell came down to my seat with the pile of papers as though nothing had happened and said "well lets look through these, there appear to be a few more than I recalled." With that he suddenly started to page through each, mumbling occasionally as he was wont to do, and then OK each until he got to the bottom of the pile. Then marked one to do over (a token). He said "you have decent penmanship but I think it could be better that’s why I was having you work on it" which, of course, was pure BS.

That was the end of the harassment from Caswell McGregor. I never had to rewrite another paper. Fern McCracken would run into me every once in a while and ask how things were going with Mr. McGregor. And then would say "well if things start to go the wrong way, come see me."

I really appreciated her.

Paul Cassel ‘58

Remembrances … Casey's revolver restoration  When we were in Mariner Hall Pete Casey found his great grandfather's Civil War cap and ball pistol. Those of you will recall that Pete was a Civil War buff at that time.  I recall it being an impressive weapon. It was heavy and it was badly rusted but only with surface rust. Having become a Civil War buff later in life and a gun enthusiast I now know that the revolver was a Remington, model 1858, New Army, .44 caliber. It's an fine weapon and I've owned several replicas over the years.  Anyway, the restoration process was underway on the second floor in the dorm and Casey and crew spent many hours sanding and removing the rust from the outside and the inside. The nipples were cleared, the grips were sanded down and in some instances, I seem to recall, Don Barrett made a replacement part or two in the machine shop. I know that he made a mold for a ball that fit the revolver's bore.  (One stunning fact that I often think of is that here you have teenage boys with a live cap and ball pistol that they are working to restore and all the housemasters knew of it and were comfortable with it. Of course, it was a different time – and we were honorable men.)  The revolver came together very nicely and glistened like freshly sanded metal will do. (God only know how much value we destroyed by doing all this. The bedrock antique mantra is "One should never remove the patina of age.")  So at some point in late spring the project neared completion. However, once something like this has been put together it surely must be tested – I mean, one had to know that it did work – that it had been restored.  Now I may not have the rest of this story entirely correct. At some point it was determined that a test shot of a blank had to be made. Pete would not load a ball but would load wadding and packing to make certain that it would fire. I furnished the primer caps because I had several boxes at home that I'd inherited from my grandfather.  Pete Casey and Dom Garofalo did a lot of research to come up with the correct number of grains of black powder that they'd load. I believe the first part of where the plan went sour was no one had any black powder. However, someone came up with powder from somewhere. It may have been extracted from a blasting cap or caps. I was never able to get a straight answer on who this was or where the powder came from but, Pete had the powder in a medicine vial.  In retrospect the problems as I see them were that 1) no one thought to find out whether this powder was the same as black powder (I mean, it was powder and it was black, but so is all powder and black powder does have different levels of potency.) and 2) no one seemed to realize that, if successful, this thing was gonna make a hell of a lot of noise.  Anyway, I believe I missed the great event. I later recall hearing that it was decided to test fire the weapon on a day that Benjie Rothberg was on duty because he really had a warm spot in his heart for Pete and Dom. So the day and appointed hour came and I'm told that Pete carefully loaded the cylinder adding just a bit more powder "to be sure" and packed the cylinder tightly. Then he inserted the percussion cap on the cylinder's nipple and pushed the revolver out the dorm window, pointing it down towards the bushes.  Pete cocked the hammer, thrusting his arm downward as far as possible and pulled the trigger. I understand there was one impressive roar and when Pete pulled his hand back in he was clutching the revolver's grip, which still was connected to the frame but the barrel was split and the cylinder was gone, having blown into several pieces.  In a nano second, the Girard instinct, training and survival mode kicked in. The pistol was quickly stashed, Casey's blackened hand wiped off and everyone was relaxing on their beds when Benjie Rothberg and others burst on the scene having dashed up from wherever they had been.  Benjie asked "what was that noise?" To which the classic answer was given "What noise?" The guys all said they'd heard the noise but had no idea what had caused it. That was it, no one got in trouble, the great pistol restoration was over and Pete still had all ten fingers.  In retrospect, it's amazing that Pete didn't blow his hand off. But the lesson learned was – "there must have been something wrong with that powder." Paul Cassel

Remembrances … Vera Goodrich

 I recall several things from having Miss Goodrich as a teacher…

·    The first is she's the only teacher, professor, governess or housemaster I ever had who owned a car with a name. Her beat up, old, cream color Plymouth was named "Lundy" and she referred to Lundy often. (This fact alone always left me feeling that she didn't "have all the lights on , on her marquee")

 ·    Secondly, she had a saying that she repeated thousands of times, and yes, we were all required to repeat it with her or stand and quote it. It covered any and all situations. I can hear her now … "all right class with me now, 'when the moon is fullest it begins to wane, when it is smallest, it begins to grow.' (It was a no win situation for all of us because if you mentioned something was "good" you'd get the 'when the moon is fullest' reminder and if you said something was bad you'd get the 'when the moon is smallest'. Lots of us came to hate the friggin' moon!)       

 But what I really recall hearing was "all right class, with me now 'when the moon is…… and then I'd hear Jack Puhala, who sat behind me,  groan. He really hated this particular saying.

 ·    I also recall what may well have been one of Nigel Bowman's finest hours. Miss Goodrich finished her lesson early one day and threw the class open for any poems or riddles that the guys knew. After a couple of less than stellar attempts, Bowman came forward. He had one that we could all participate in and would enjoy, he said. I remember Miss Goodrich's face light up (she loved group participation.)

·    Bowman explained that it was one line but the count changed each time and you had to increase the speed at which it the line was said. The line was "One smart feller, he felt smart" and the next line would begin with "Two smart fellers" and so on.

 Miss Goodrich clapped her hands together in eager anticipation and told Bowman to begin. And Bowman did. Meanwhile all of the rest of us are standing there looking at Bowman and Miss Goodrich, who are both smiling like a couple of lunatics, and for completely different reasons, and knowing what's coming. But Bowman led us on and we all followed.

 I believe it got to the third or fourth, smiling line before there was a "came the dawn" moment for Miss Goodrich and the look on her face abruptly changed as she realized what was going on and she shouted "everyone in your seats" just as the bell rang and we all bolted out the door.

 Nigel, wherever you are --  as they say down under, "Good on ya' mate! 

Paul Cassel

Remembrance – Dr. Friedman, Edie Feld & Snowballs  I remember a day in the sixth or seventh grade when it snowed all morning and continued through the day. I was in Dorothy Dandoise's class and coming back from lunch we were throwing snowballs as everyone did.  I got to class early along with a handful of guys and we opened the windows  and were scooping up snow, making snowballs and throwing them at the people entering the annex below. There was congestion at the annex doors so those guys were sitting ducks.  The snow was the big flake, wet kind that really packed good and I had just packed up a really good, hard snowball. I reared back and let it fly at the guys down at the annex doors but just then, proving that timing is indeed everything, the door opened and a tall man with topcoat emerged. Before the snowball could get there everyone at the windows scattered.  In a few minutes a younger boy came to the door and said "Dr. Friedman wants whoever threw the snowball to come downstairs." He then turned and left. I thought, "yeah , right, Dr. Friedman indeed." I mean, what would he be doing in the annex?  Some of the guys looked out the window and there was no one there so I figured that someone was putting me on and there were fellows waiting out of sight with snowballs to destroy anyone dumb enough to go down.  So, I put it out of my mind………but only for about two minutes for it was then that Dr. Friedman appeared in the classroom doorway, with disheveled hair and a rather large red spot on the side of his head. He wanted to know who threw the snowball!  Oh boy! I raised my hand and he beckoned me accompany him to the hallway. Out there he took my name and said that he wanted to see me in his office in the high school when classes were over that afternoon.  It was a l-o-n-g afternoon and all I could think about was what sort or exotic torture or punishment I was in for.  After class I ventured to the high school and finally located his office. Actually he was in an office with an outer office and a woman, who I later came to know as Edie Feld, was at the desk in the outer office. She took my name and asked why I wanted to see Dr. Friedman.  I explained that it was Dr. Friedman who wanted to see me, that a bunch of us had been throwing snowballs and that I must have hit Dr. Friedman by accident. I was pretty scared.  Edie went into the office and I heard her tell Dr. Friedman that I was there and he said fine, He would call her when he wanted me. After long time – which seemed like two lifetimes to me – Edie again went in to Dr. Friedman's off and reminded him that I was waiting to see him. I couldn't get all of what was said but I finally heard her say "For goodness sake Karl, it sounds innocent enough and this boy is absolutely scared to death. I'm sure he wasn't trying to hit you. Children do play in the snow and throw snowballs; I'm sure you did as a boy…" there was some other conversation and then in a few moments she came out, looked at me and said "he's almost finished and will be ready for you in a moment." She smiled and I remember thinking that I, too was probably 'almost finished'.  In a few minutes I heard Dr. Friedman call out "Cassel, come in here." I did and noted that when I looked at him the mark on his forehead was still red and he greeted me with "So you like to throw snowballs, do you? Don't you know that's against the rules?" I answered the way I was supposed to, -- to that and all the other humiliating questions.  Then he asked me what I sort of punishment I thought I should be given? How in the hell do you answer that when you're in the sixth grade and talking to a Dr. in the High School? I mumbled something about not knowing and that whatever he decided on would be fair – hoping that his choices didn't include being drawn and quartered – or worse.  Then he paused and asked me if I was frightened of him and I told him I was. He said, "I don't want you to be. You broke one of the rules and have to be punished but it won't be that bad. I want you to get a shovel and shovel off the front walk to the high school and then go and shovel whatever snow is on the steps at the annex. I want a good job. I will check.  I got a shovel and went to the walk and the annex but the maintenance guys had already gotten most of the snow. However, since it was still coming down I made a great show of shoveling for almost an hour.  And that was the end of it. To this day I think the think what saved me from a lot worse punishment was Edie Feld's interaction. Paul Cassel

Remembrances …… The Science Lab  Remember the third floor science labs. The long, double sided, black marble counters with the drains running their full length down the center and emptying into large sinks? Remember always having the water running at each work site – just in case? Remember the Bunsen burners and the asbestos screens that sat above the flames to hold beakers and such?  While we worked our supervised experiments there were always many unsupervised and unauthorized mini experiments going on – would this stuff explode? Would that stuff burn?  What all would this or that acid eat up?. Have you ever thought back and marveled at the fact that we didn't blow anything up or maim any of our classmates? Truly a miracle for which we should all give thanks.  I recall one day we were doing something that included the use of Carbon Disulfide ('Ol CS2) that  liquid with the "rotten egg smell." There was a huge glass beaker of carbon disulfide at the far end of the counter that must have held a half gallon after everyone had taken the amount they were supposed to be using.  It was the end of the period and just by happenstance, of course, someone asked what to do with the Carbon Disulfide and the instructor – can't recall whether it was Dr. Presson or Doc Dennis -- said to "pour  it out." Of course the instructor thought they were being asked about one individual's Carbon Disulfide, which was not the case. Whoever asked the question quickly picked up the large beaker and dumped the entire contents into the trough between the counters.  Now, you'll recall that Carbon Disulfide being lighter than water, rides on top and just as the first of it was about to reach the sink someone on that end, entirely unaware of what was going on at the other end, thought it would be cool to take a red hot Bunsen burner screen and douse it in the water.  When the red hot, glowing screen made contact with the first of the Carbon Disulfide there was a huge flash of fire that shot skyward and raced the entire length of the center drain and then was no more. Everyone was sort of stunned and nothing remained except for a rapidly dissipating white cloud and tremendous stench of rotten eggs.  Whoever the instructor was had stepped into the other room and was at a complete loss as to what had happened when he returned.  It was spectacularly spontaneous and no one got in trouble. Another remembrance concerns one of Doc Dennis' lab classes. Doc's classes and labs were always a hell of a lot of fun but I can't recall learning much chemistry. I learned lots of good detailed information about sex and intercourse, but not much about chemistry. But no loss there, all things learned were put to good use later in life.  Anyway, Doc Dennis was nearing retirement and was really concerned that nothing happen to stain his record. He was, I believe, scared to death that something bad could happen – some sort of accident.  One day Doc had popped into his office near the end of the period. Bob Bettarel quickly turned all the hot water faucets at the sinks at the ends of all the counters wide open. As you'll recall, those spigots were at least 2" in diameter and you'll also recall Girard had really high water pressure and really hot water.  It wasn't but a minute or two until the thick steam was billowing up in the classroom and just as Doc reentered the room Bettarel began shouting "Whoa …Water Gas, Water Gas!,  Whoa…Water Gas!" (You'll recall "Whoa" was a favorite expression of Doc's).  Well, Doc sort of reeled backward, staring at the white clouds and I'll bet  a thousand bad thoughts ran through his mind in that instant. He couldn't make it out and Bob continued with his chant of "Whoa, Water Gas! Water Gas!"  I recall Doc asking what in the Sam Hill was going on and Bob explaining that it was steam and therefore "water gas" and then you could see the relief in Doc's eyes but also the complete bewilderment of trying to understand just what in the hell was going on.  The steam dissipated, the bell rang and we were outta there – and I'll bet wherever he is, Doc Dennis is still trying to figure out what in the hell that was all about. Paul Cassel

REMINISCING “THE HUM” DAYS 
By Bob Blizzard ‘58
 
I would like to add my two cents (maybe, after this writing is over, inflation might bring a higher price tag) remembering the Girard College era in the 40’s & 50’s “…from child to growing man” as sung on Commencement Day, the “Farewell Song.”  First, this article is directed to my classmates and those that have experienced life at Girard College, who should be able to relate; and I would like to say that it’s the best I could muster, considering a timespan of more than six decades.  There are names and certain events that I couldn’t recall, so I’ll just blame it on having a ‘Senior Moment.’ 
 
Prior to entering Girard, there are only a few things that come to my mind that I would like to share.  I never really knew my father, as he passed away when I was two years old.  There are some events that come to my mind.  I recall observing the ‘Victory’ WWII parade in Harrisburg, PA, a brief visit with my Uncle Kenneth (who at that time was a lieutenant commander in the US Navy) and he carried me in a commercial plane (DC-3) to show me the plane that he was returning from leave (ironically, was the last time that I would ever see him again).  Things were a lot more relaxed with the airline industry than what we all experience today.  Another event was seeing the Lone Ranger and Silver.  A neighbor worked for the Hoover Furniture Store in Harrisburg, PA and I was able to shake the Lone Ranger’s hand and pet Silver, as there was a sales promotion at the Hoover’s store.  An added story with our neighbor upstairs (we lived on 1700 Green St.), they had a collie named “Laddie” and he and I were best buds.  Of course, leaving home and being raised in Girard left many years of separation you would have thought all was past history.  Now, the amazing part:  My brothers and I rented a home at 1902 Bellevue Road, after leaving Girard, and our former neighbors lived at 1938 Bellevue Road, and Laddie was still alive!  It was heartening that Laddie remembered me, and his last couple years being together again we spent a lot of time lying on the floor together, bonding.  
 
I remember the train ride to Philadelphia in September 1947.  My introduction to “The Hum” was living in House A (West End) and governess Miss Craig.  (Not one of my favorites at Girard.)  There is one episode that I will never forget; oatmeal was served at breakfast, and I didn’t eat my oatmeal.  After school, I was presented with the same bowl of oatmeal and was forced to eat it (cold).  I sat on the stairs to the basement, in anguish while the other classmates bypass me in their venture of playtime downstairs.  I soon learned in the future to overload my oatmeal with sugar (as the old song goes, “a spoonful of sugar helps make the medicine go down”). 
 
I guess it was a tradition for newbies (1^st grade) upon arrival, to have stuffed animals on your bed, but in short time they were weaned from you to let you know that you’re no longer a baby.  My first year in Girard, my Aunt Sara & Uncle Ben from Atlantic City provided a birthday cake for my 7^th birthday, which was shared by all in House A.  (That’s one way to win friends!) 
 
In my early years at Girard, I had a speech impediment; and had many incidents of being mocked and having fights with the tormenters.  I think showing my tenacity and being a strong fighter helped reduced the episodes over time.  There was one classmate (who has since passed) that persisted, and later in Junior High, we were selected to visit an alumnus’ home together for a weekend, where they had horses.  It turned things around for us, and we were good friends ever since.  (To digress a bit, my affection for horses stemmed from my oldest brother (Lin) who worked at the stables in Fairmont Park, and I would visit from time to time.) 
 
In my early years in House A, we would have to line up in preparation for meals, and for bedtime march like soldiers.  Also, I remember in springtime lying in bed while it was still light outside wishing we could still play outside.  Even so far from the Chapel, we would hear the chimes, as we did throughout the day, till our final farewell.   The playground for the West End was kind of small for the number of students, and different activities would clash.  One incident was where being too close to a batter could be hazardous.  Needless to say, someone (I don’t remember who) swung the bat and hit me on the left brow over my eye…my first scar.  I’ll never forget the long walk from House A to the Infirmary with a big gash bleeding. On a more pleasant note, I recall the winter snow days where the students were allowed to sled down the steep hill behind West End.  The most memorable experience was having President Harry S. Truman visit Girard on its 100^th anniversary.  I wonder if anyone would still have the autographs we obtained from the secret servicemen.  They were all over the campus prior to President Truman’s visit to scope out the facilities.  I still remember how close President Truman was to the students and me, when he visited us at the West End. 
 
As our class progressed, my next home (Junior School) was Section 7, where Miss Duval was the governess.  I believe she was in the military (WAC, I think) and was strict; however, she had her moments of compassion and showed her soft side at times.  There were times where she would let us in her room and would read to us.  It’s amazing what your mind can do; I can still remember the introduction to Section 7 and the smell of rubber raincoats/goulashes in the cloakroom, where we each had a section to hang our stuff.  We each had a desk/chair in the room on the first floor, where we kept our personal stuff (like Hum Muds, etc.).  While in Section 7, we had the spoils of a much larger playground, consisting of playground apparatus (monkey bars, etc.), sand box, and plenty of space for soccer, baseball, playing marbles and roller-skating.  
 
As we advanced in age, we moved to playground across the road, and would get athletic equipment from “Pop” Stevens such as baseball, basketball, and soccer equipment.  Also, there were the stilts we conquered, where it was like learning to walk all over again.  Remember those skates (w/skate key) that fit over our Hum Brogue’s?  Remember those times we went to the shoe shop for new shoes due to wear and tear, or your feet just didn’t fit like it used to?  Other memories bring back the ‘grudge line’ for individuals that were out of line, and there would be group punishment for the students to stand in-line by Sections, and make us run around the sand tent, or when the housemaster wanted to intensify their point, we had to run around the entire playground.  I kind of enjoyed that part, because I liked running and usually kept up with the lead. 
 
There’s so much that sticks in my mind during the period of Section 7.  Usually Saturday afternoons we would watch movies, and afterwards go out to the playground and re-enact the movie we just watched, such as cowboys & indians, or soldiers.  Around Halloween we could dress up in costumes that were stored in a room in the basement.  In the winter during heavy snows, various Sections would build snow forts, and there be snow fights.  While on the playground I recall watching the battalion marching along the main road on Friday’s, and yearning to be that officer leading his company whenever I moved to the upper grades.  I recall one soccer game where I kicked the winning goal for Section 7 (hero for a moment).  In the spring and summer, baseball was usually the sport most of us played, although we kept our soccer skills fine-tuned.  (I was very athletic and did well in most sports, except my batting average was not very good.  The reason was that I didn’t wear my glasses when playing baseball.  (This lesson wasn’t learned while at the Hum... It took a while to see the light.) 
 
On the rainy days we would go to the Armory, where playing time consisted of playing kickball, basketball, or skating (downstairs).  I don’t know where all the horse flies would come from in the summer time, but I remember killing them around the playground with the snapping of the garters we had for our knickers. 
 
A small number of students remained on campus during the summer break, and we would attend Summer School.  It wasn’t academic, but we were given a lot of activities; e.g., craft projects (basket weaving/hot pads), playing many board games, reading comic books, painting, and the best treat was swimming, where graduating from the little pool to the big pool was a great treat.  Another experience for those staying at the Hum over the summer, we would be allowed to be on the roof (Junior School) to observe the 4^th of July fireworks, after our bedtime.  
 
Christmas time brings cherished moments with the annual Christmas concerts, and seeing the Chapel decorated so festive.  Being soprano in the choir, I always wanted to be the one to sing “Silent Night” in the corridor of the Chapel halls for the Christmas concert, but never did.  I enjoyed being in the choir and glee club, and now I can punish the parishioners in church when there’s a favorite hymn played that we sang in Girard.  Christmas time was another period where the campus attendance was sparse.   Those remaining that couldn’t leave were merged in one building. 
 
While I was in Section 7, I remember receiving a chess set  (thanks to the alumni generosity at that time) which was very attractive representing medieval times.  I taught myself and other classmates, and even played with a governess (from Section 12, I don’t remember her name) and I was very successful beating my opponents.  When I moved up in class, I left the chess set for upcoming Hummers, and wondered what ever happened to that chess set.  Also, I remember working on a stamp collection, and this was another hobby where I passed the collection to Miss Duval and the next class.  Sometimes I wondered if I still had that collection, what major find might have been discovered over the years.  
 
While in the Hum, it was disappointing that I actually didn’t spend that much time with my biological brothers.  I am thankful that we were able to bond more closely after our tenure at Girard.
 
Another treat in the summer months was attending camp in the Pocono’s.  Lots of good memories and activities there, e.g., short & long hikes, picking up garter or grass snakes, salamanders (and taking them back to the cabin), boating (row boat/canoe), archery, swimming, (advancing to use the detached deck further out in the lake from the dock area), catching sunfish with a homemade fishing pole and any bait one could muster up, k-p duties, and sitting around the camp fire with song and stories.  Must not forget the songs we sung, sometimes for the bus driver’s benefit en route to (and from) camp (“3 cheers for the Busie, the Busie, the Busie, God Bless Him...” those that remember can fill in the blanks).  Being picked to hoist/lower camp flag morning/evening was an honor.  The showers were crude, but would be expected with ‘roughing it.’  So much was embedded in our lives during our tenure at Girard and helped make us for what we achieved in our lives after leaving the Hum.  These are moments and memories that will never be experienced again by a Hummer, (no) thanks to the mismanagement of Steven Girard’s legacy.
 
Advancing to Section 9 (Miss Galloway was my governess): life continued much the way as previous years.  Unfortunately, Miss Galloway passed away (don’t know the cause, but I recall that she seemed to be up there in years), and it was a time to reflect on the uncertainty of life. 
 
The following year our class moved and housed ‘as one group’ to Lafayette Hall (as the Good Friends building was closed), and that was a time where we all looked forward to wearing long pants (no more knickers and no more night gowns!).  This was the time where many of us took up cigarettes (fortunately for me, it was short lived as I took heed to the warnings and being health conscious to perform in sports, I quit prior to going to Banker Hall). 
 
There were times I remember that we would be able to listen to the radio at bedtime.  One of the programs that I remember was a documentary about Stalin and communism taking over Russia and threatening the world (beginning of the Cold War). 
 
Remember the challenge waking up, get dressed, and make your bed in three minutes?  There were pleasant times of music and some of the old radio shows. 
 
As our class moved to Banker Hall, we were inducted to the battalion, and I was assigned to “C” Company.  I do recall Mr. Meyers, who was a mild manner guy, a ‘chain smoker’ and coffee drinker.  You didn’t have to get very close to catch the aroma.  There was another housemaster (I can’t remember his name) that would play records in the morning.  One of the tunes that is fixed in my mind forever, was ‘Tweedle Dee” sung by LaVerne Baker.  There were bad memories with “Moose Jones” who seemed to relish using his large wooden paddle to punish the students (me included).  He didn’t hold back on the force of whacks, and in today’s standards, it would be considered extreme abuse.  Of course, he would do the punishment close to bedtime, when everyone was in the dormitory, close to his room, probably to send a message to the rest of the class.  I remember seeing expressions of anguish (and maybe sympathy) on the faces of my classmates as I’d return to my bed and hide my face in the pillow, until the pain subsided. 
 
About this time, television sprang up, and I recall racing to the halls (to be front row center seat, as the TV screens were not very large) and watch local afternoon western, American Bandstand, in the evenings George Burns & Gracie Allen shows, (etc.) sports, and cowboy movies on the weekends.  As we moved up through the years, TV novelty kind of wore out, as there were so many other activities for Classmates to be involved.  
 
It’s been awhile back in a previous Newsletter or email, that one of our classmates gave kudos to Fern McCracken; however, there was an event in Junior High that gave me a different viewpoint.  Our class was assigned to Miss McCracken’s room for our homeroom.  In the beginning of the semester, she gave the class an opportunity to vote for class captain, and Tim Tews nominated me.  Instantly, she told the class that because I stutter, they should select someone else.  Needless to say, such discrimination would not be tolerated in today’s society; and she did not make it on my list as one of my favorites.   
 
As our Class progressed in the Junior & High Schools, we had opportunities to earn money (washing windows, etc.) for such things as going to the movies at the Fairmount Theatre, excursions to downtown Philly, Art Museum (mostly following girls around), buying hoagies (at Mario’s), cigarettes & candy, Philadelphia Zoo trips, and going to Fairmount Park.  As I was going through Girard, there were times where members of the Alumni would have me as a guest in their homes (various holidays like Christmas and Easter).  I’ll be ever grateful to them, including Miss Whitacre (3^rd grade teacher) who all helped nurture me with love.  Sadly, I can’t tell all of them now how much it all meant to me, as too many years have passed and I’m sure they are in heaven.  (God Bless their souls!)  
 
As I was going through The Hum (Banker, Merchant, Mariner, Bordeaux, and Allen) I would spend time in the Infirmary (after summer break) for what was thought to be flu symptoms, and unfortunately I missed out joining the Junior and Senior Varsity Soccer Team, as I was in the infirmary.  After I got out of Girard, I found out that allergies (hay fever) were the culprit.  However, I was active and enjoyed most sports, whether it was Intramural or Varsity.
 
I recall during my stays in the Infirmary that we played “I Spy” and I always liked the chicken noodle soup, because the rich broth was very tasty.  It was prepared for just a few, compared to the entire student body.  Can’t forget those enemas on the large wooden board over the bathtub.  Remember those times going to the Infirmary for the ‘Chinese whiskey’ to treat a cough, the long instrument put in your ears for examination and to remove the wax, and the long waits lying on wooden bench in the waiting room.   The bird’s & the bee’s session with Dr. Bauer was awkward to say the least.  Won’t forget the dentists (local college students practicing their skills) who did not have the best bedside manner. 
 
As we advanced through the upper grades, I recall losing some of our class members.  One person in particular was Gregory Chabot.  I recall that he had a very distinctive talent in drawings/paintings and I would have expected him to be an artist when he grew up.  Another former classmate was Leroy Duz (not sure of the spelling); however, he was on the heavy side, and he played the accordion.  Classmates (as children do) made fun of him, but I had compassion for him.  I’m sure he left because of the abuse and he returned to Illinois (Chicago, I think).  There have been times where I have thought about him, and hoped that he had done well in life.  Other former Classmates that I have thought about were Ronald Williams (who lived in Harrisburg and taught me to ride a bike), Hitchcock who jumped the wall and stole a car for a joy ride (I hoped that his life had turned out for the better), and James Barry, who dedicated his life to Jesus Christ.  (I feel bad that I never had the opportunity to speak with him after he left Girard.  Our timing never worked out where he and I were attending Founder’s Day the same time.) 
 
Moving on; when I was in Mariner, I was prompted to take the Officer’s Test for the battalion, where I became sergeant, then lieutenant while in Bordeaux, and captain of “C” Company in my senior year.  (Funny how some wishes come true from my elementary days.)  While our Class was in Mariner, we tried out what we learned from Maggie McGee’s dance lessons, and what we saw on ‘American Bandstand.’  There was a group of us that went to the studio, but most of the time, we would go to the radio station (I don’t remember the call sign) and enjoy the music and where we got the urge to dance with some of the local girls.  It was good practice as we advanced to the prom dances, and dates with girls from ‘Carson’ & ‘Ellis.’  I’ll never forget my first love, Linda Costello.  Unfortunately, I moved back to Harrisburg, so the distance and number of years she still had in school prevented us to maintain our relationship. 
 
There were mixed emotions being on the track team.  In my sophomore year, I joined the varsity track team.  Our first track meet away from the Hum was with Bryn Mawr (College), and Coach Bradley had me run the 440.  I placed 3^rd in the race (ahead my upper classmates).  I thought at that point, I had a good future.  Mr. Bradley apparently had his favorites, and never spent any coaching time with me.  When I got to be a junior, I opted out of track due to lack of incentives.  In my senior year I rejoined the track team, and experienced much the same aloofness, but I stuck it out.  He would put me in different races (e.g., low hurdles, 220, 440, broad jump, and high jump) just to fill in open positions.  However, I never experienced the coaching/athlete relationship that one would expect. 
 
Looking back in the Junior and early Senior High School years, we all had opportunities to attend Mechanical School to experience various trades (e.g., auto, printing, electrical, drafting, sheet metal, pattern, carpentry, and even business).  When we got to high school, we were assigned certain classes in accordance with an aptitude test everyone took.  Well, I was selected for business, however, my desire was printing.  I objected greatly, and convinced Administration that I re-take the test.  I really wanted to take printing, as I enjoyed working the linotype machine and thought I could make good money in the printing business.  (Well, in my mind, I tried to match (force) the answers toward vocational, rather than business.)  I was told that the results still showed business.  Needless to say I was not a ‘happy camper.’  Don’t know if the results of the re-test really indicated the same results, so much to my chagrin I ended up in business with teachers Mr. March and Dr. White. 
 
Turns out that when I left Girard, I worked for Metropolitan Life Insurance Company as a clerk, where I learned all the duties of a sales office.  I was promoted and transferred to the Home Office (NYC) and worked for Vice-President of Administration in conjunction with the Actuary Department.  After doing a lot of special projects, I traveled around the east coast substituting for Office Managers on leave/vacation.  Subsequently, I was assigned Office Manager for the Hutchinson, KS and then transferred as Office Manager to the largest mid-west office in Kansas City. MO.  Several years later, I was transferred to Auditing Division (New York Home Office) traveling all over the country performing beaucoup jobs/projects.  About 15 years later, I was transferred to the Dallas-Fort Worth, TX area, but still worked out of the New York Home Office.  Amazingly, for someone that didn’t want anything to do with business, I became Senior Consulting Auditor over-seeing operations of MetLife Head Offices, Sales Offices, Mortgage Investment Offices, Group & Health Offices, Property & Casualty Insurance Claim Offices, and auditing MetLife Investments consisting of hotels, apartments, retail centers, office buildings, savings & loan portfolios, warehouse, and property management operations.  That was my only employer up to that time after graduating from Girard, which lasted 40 ½ years.  I would have stayed longer (maybe forever) if MetLife did not do an IPO and became a stock company.  They had to show a reduction in operations, so they restructured showing a better bottom line.  (Sorry, to get off base from the Hum, but I must admit that Girard must have known something that I wasn’t cognizant of regarding my talents, or lack there of.)
 
Well, “Back at the ranch” I would be remiss in not mentioning other experiences at the Hum.   Remember Sherman the tailor (who helped us to keep our uniforms pressed), and Carl our guardian of the front gate?  Who remembers a certain person that had a Yale key to a bike lock that actually worked on the Library door across from Bordeaux, and after library hours (on weekends), the FM radio console upstairs would play audio from TV stations, as well as music on the FM band? 
 
I’ll never forget the times spent at the Chapel listening to various concerts and vibrations felt from the Skinner Organ, performed by Dr. Banks and Miss Stacks. To this day, I enjoy listening to organ music, as well as classical music, which was embedded in our minds during the course of us growing up.  How many of us were guilty of propping up a hymnal on the bench in front of you, for the unsuspecting boy ready to sit down?  How we sat in awe watching the Seniors enter the Chapel through our years, and then in a flash, the Senior Class of 1958 had their moment.  We attended Commencements all through our years at Girard and hearing the Pomp and Circumstance March would always resonate through our minds, then experiencing our opportunity on June 12, 1958, with mixed emotions.  
 
Over the years in the Hum, I became good friends with the majority of the Class.  Like my roommates, and so many other good friends, our commencement led us all in different directions.  After many years leaving the Hum, it was a twist of fate that one of my roommates (Norm Kaucher) moved to Texas a number of years ago, and it seems that there was never a separation of many decades. 
 
If Norm can be a little forgiving, I would like to go back in time.  Sometime after graduation, Norm joined the Army and became an MP.  Other than attending his wedding (Ft. Devens, MA), we had minimal contact by mail, and a few times we would update how our lives were going.  Then there was a gap of correspondence (estimating around 15 years, or so).  After my first retirement, I had some time on my hands, so I wrote a letter to Norm (to the last known address in Germany) catching him up-to-date with my life.  Here comes the amazing part, on the very last date that Norm was in Germany, he received my letter.  Here I found out that he’s retired and moving to Texas to be near his son.  Texas being a big state, so who would have thought that his new home would have been within 29 miles from where I lived (in Texas that’s “…just down the road”).
 
I’m sorry that so many of our Classmates have passed on, and others still around that are in the silent majority, for whatever reason(s).  I’m hoping that with the efforts of Paul Cassel’s “Girard Class of ‘58 Newsletter” we can continue to have a better two-way communication with all of our Classmates.  If there might be some of you that wish not to discuss the Hum days (for whatever reason); I’m sure that most of us would be interested if you would share your life experiences with other caring Classmates since leaving the Hum, or just update where you are in your journey.  Thanks for taking the time to read Blizzard’s abbreviated memoirs.  (Those that have experienced our way of life can reminisce, and “…We’ll not forget you, till our hearts be still.”) 
 
Signed, “Blizz ‘58”