Wil;dwood School

 Now that I am perilously close to 70 I find the aging process seems to increasingly have a funny (odd, not humorous) effect on memory. Frequently it can result in vexing family-inclusive searches of the home, car, or clothing for such things as glasses, keys or wallets which you swear you had in your hand just a few moments earlier. A couple of weeks ago I spent 10 minutes looking for my glasses that were resting comfortably on my forehead.

What is stranger still is the sudden appearance of vivid memories of events long ago lost in time. I had one of those today while reading my Kindle. The Kindle has this fantastic feature where you just press on an unfamiliar word and the definition pops up for you. This is particularly valuable if you are reading some technical or older volumes.

Seeing this definition brought about a memory of third grade so vivid I thought I was sitting in the room where it happened.

In elementary school, I was a behavioral problem (a real pain in the ass). This one day I was sent to the principal's office for fighting on the playground. Mrs. Frizzelle was the principal at the time and she was running out of options for punishment. Missing recess, standing in a corner, or notes to home were ineffective. She threatened me with a ruler once, I laughed out loud, she laughed and that was the end of that threat.

So she devised the ultimate punishment (she thought). She produced a giant book that turned out to be the Oxford English dictionary. Up to that point, it was the biggest book I had ever seen.

With it was a block of paper and pencil and in a stern voice she said: "you sit here and copy every one of these words and definitions until I tell you to stop." This became my standard form of punishment.

After a while, she caught on to my plan. She noticed an uptick in my being sent to the principal's office. One day she said, "Phillip, are you making an effort to get sent down here.?" I held out for a moment but then fessed up, " I really like your big book" said I.

She thought for a moment and instead of saying "you behave or you will never see this book again' she said," when you want to, tell Miss Bergeron that you have to visit the principal's office." This was no problem for Miss Bergeron because we had 28 kids in the class, probably thought I was deserving of a trip there and she was glad to be rid of me. My behavior improved markedly because when you're in a little conference room with a book, a pencil and a block of paper it's hard to misbehave.

To that one event and a very perceptive Principal Frizzelle, I can now attribute to my love of words.

As a side note, both of my children had Miss Bergeron for third grade. I approached with trepidation the initial teacher's conference. Perhaps she wouldn't remember me? After all, it was 25 years since she had seen me. No chance. The first thing Miss Bergeron said upon my entry to her room was, "you should be pleased to know your daughter isn't at all like you." I was pleased indeed.

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97David Magliozzi, Cindy Swift and 95 others

If You had a Dog

 I have had a dog for most of my life. They don't call a dog man's best friend for no reason. I had my last dog about 15 years ago. After he went to doggie heaven my Mrs. swore we would never have a dog again.

Now what kind of a person holds a grudge for 15 years? Now I grant you that this dog had a few vexing peccadilloes. He would drag you down the street when leashed. He was a springer spaniel so naturally if there was a river, pond, puddle, or sprinkler he partook of the water. No big deal right? Just towel him off before he jumped on the sofa.

Now he barked a lot. If a bird flew by the window he would bark uncontrollably for five minutes. But isn't that why you have a dog? To protect you? Hey, those birds might have broken into the house for all he knew.

There were a couple of other things about him that upset Mrs. Like any good bird dog he liked to roll in dog mess just to kill his scent. He also had a penchant for chasing skunks. On consecutive days my better half called him into the house. When he came in she patted him and said "good dog," except when she discovered her hand was covered in dog shit. His next offense was running into the house happily after being sprayed by a skunk. This did not go over well at all.

So for the last 15 years, I have been dogless. I have been wearing her down and appealing to her every Christmas and birthday. Each time she asks me what I want for a gift I say I want a dog. These pleas have gone unanswered.

I began to appeal to her sensitive side. My friend has had several Yorkies and these dogs have been like family members. When you talked to them it was almost like they knew what you were saying. "Gee honey, wouldn't you want a dog like that." The silence was the reply.

Now this year I tried to recruit a co-conspirator. I said to my son "how about getting me a dog for my birthday?" He looked at me quizzically and said "and defy my mother? " What have you been smoking? I said, "Ok, I just want to warn you that worlds will be colliding cause I'm getting a dog." I saw his mind working and I had hopes that he might be loyal to his gender. But no, he put his arm around me, looked into my eyes and says "you haven't got the balls."

So I am here to tell you that in the next five or ten years I am getting a dog!!!

If you Remember Charlie Shea.

 So my senior year is coming to a close. My oh my it was a blast.

The turn of the year comes along and suddenly I come to the realization that after graduation I have no clue what my plan is.

I knew one thing for sure. I had a girlfriend and I had come to the conclusion that I was going to marry her at some point. I told Eddie Hosmer this the first day of school in our junior year. Now we had only been dating for about 6 months so she was completely unaware of my plans. No worries, I felt I had sufficient time to win her over and more importantly a more difficult task of winning over her mother.

There were a couple of barriers to overcome. First of all, I was unsure I was even going to graduate. My senior year was busy with everything but school work. It struck me that nobody would be happy (least of all Mom) if the guy who was giving the commencement address had flunked or even if they would allow me to. In those days you needed 20 points to graduate and I was only real sure about 10.

I had 5 in the bag for Boys chorus (really) and 5 for Problems of Democracy. That subject really interested me. The metal shop was a possibility if I showed up for a month or so at the end of the year. English was also a slim possibility because Mrs. Small liked me

Geometry was a far reach. I was in my fourth year of first-year geometry and things did not look good. I was working nights all through high school and geometry offered the perfect napping opportunity. It was so embarrassing that on my first day of that class senior year the freshman girls thought I was the teacher. I feel somewhat vindicated in my decision on Geometry because to this day I can't remember when I ever used the Pythagorean Theorem.

In the end, I squeaked through with Mrs. Small and Mr. Bezanson coming through after my desperate pleas to them.

Now comes the major problem. The war was in full progress and I knew I would be drafted. I knew I had to go but delaying it for a while was my preference. Paul Trabucco, Frankie Patierno, and Kevin Kelley were all enlisting in the Army and Walter Doyle had made up his mind he was going to be a Marine. I thought I would wait indefinitely if possible.

What to do??

Now Eddie Flynn RIP class of 67 was up at Umass and came home with stories of four classes a week, unlimited dating opportunities, endless flows of liquor, and weed. This was not an environment that I would flourish in.

This option (If I could get in) was snuffed out anyway when I slept through last chance SAT's. Besides my future bride was commuting to Boston to school and I had to be around!

Bobby Bogosh and Steve Stallings were sympathetic to my dilemma and said: “why not come with us to aircraft school?” It seemed to be the perfect answer. It was right over in Bedford and miraculously I got accepted!

A new barrier presented itself. They wanted the tuition all upfront in cash or bank check. My mother was struggling with my father's extremely serious medical issues so that was not an option. Besides I had been financially self-sufficient since my paper route and I had no intention of that changing. Money always means freedom.

Charlie Shea junior was in my class and he says to go see his father. Charles Sr. RIP was a prominent political and business figure in town and was a director of the local bank. So I show up unannounced on his doorstep this one Saturday morning. Talk about old school Burlington. I begin to tell him my story and he says how much do you need. I tell him and he replies, “see Bernie Murphy at the bank Monday morning and he will have a check waiting for you.” I god damned near genuflected and was on my way!!

In retrospect, I could have done a tad more research into aircraft school. Most of the instructors were ex-military and so were some of the students. They had finished their Viet Nam tours and were accustomed to discipline. Discipline was absolutely necessary because a few small moves and your head could be removed by a propeller, you could be electrocuted or overcome by vapors from some of the more dangerous chemicals. Add to that it was 8 hours a day of instruction and project work for 18 months after which you had FAA exams, paper, verbal and practical for your license. If you didn't pass, tough shit, no refunds. I suddenly became a student.

The war was coming ever closer to home. Burlington lost 6 boys in Viet Nam and we knew them all, Bill Campbell, Richard Harper, Gil Dashner, Harry Wallace, Paul McGinness, and Jimmy Ludwig were all lost to us. The loss of Jimmy was ever more keenly felt as my mom was friends with Mrs. Ludwig and Jimmy's sister Cathy was in our class.

All of this changed for most of our class when on December 1, 1969, the Selective Service system conducted a lottery to determine the order of call to military service in the Viet Nam War for men born between 1944 and December 1950. If you didn't get called in the first year the next's group all had to be called before it was your turn again.

My draft lottery number was 276. By a simple bouncing ball, I was spared the horrors of war. Nine months later I married the girl of my dreams. To quote Bob Dylan, “ A simple twist of fate.”

The Donut Concession

 At the end of my sophomore year, Wally Zaremba RIP cornered me and told me he was tired of being the class president and I should consider running. I said "no thanks", I had a car, a night job and a pocketful of money. He caught my attention when he said: "you know they let you out of class any time you are working on the class business." I was in and won and served both my junior and senior years.

Keep in mind during the rest of this piece that like any good member of my gender I took credit for success but it was the girls in our class who did most of the work. I wouldn't have got elected or raised a dime if it wasn't for Karen Larson, Karen Parker, Lorraine Skinner, Linda Clausen, Jean Harney and too many others to name.

I loved Eddie Fogelberg. He was head of the English department. He was a great teacher and town historian. I have his book and every newspaper article he ever wrote but we weren’t on the same fundraising page. At a sales meeting rallying the troops, he could turn you into a somnambulist.

Mr. Fogelberg was lukewarm toward some of our more aggressive fundraising ideas. Sure, we had the normal stuff like dances, calendar, and cookie sales but we weren’t setting any records. He went out on a limb and approved a horse show but that was the extent of his risk-taking.

That all changed our senior year when Phil Russo became our class advisor. Mr. Russo taught the business classes.
I knew Mr. Russo Quite well. He lived in my neighborhood and I had delivered his newspaper for a number of years. Of course, the flip side of that is he knew me quite well so it was no surprise as to what he was getting himself into.

We got off to a good start with the normal stuff but we soon hit on a blockbuster. We were going to do a candy sale and one of the girls I think Karen Larson came up with the idea of an incentive, not some certificate or blue ribbon or some small recognition, something good! We were looking for some pizzazz.
So we came up with some really nice prizes for one through five places The top prize was a Honda motorbike. It was going to take a little investment but Mr. Russo quickly signed off on it.

We announced the plan at a senior assembly and it was met with cheers and pledges to win. Now Larry Lundgren RIP was the single best salesperson in our class. Much of my own sales success in later life I attribute to Larry’s mentoring. He could sell snow to an Eskimo.

Larry immediately announces that no one should set their heart on that bike because he, Larry Lundgren was destined to be the winner.

A brief aside. The pinnacle of Larry’s sales success came when he was named by Jose Menedez with O. J Simpson in attendance as Hertz National Sales manager. Later at a sales meeting with 50 top producers in attendance, they paid Larry the ultimate compliment by throwing rolls of toilet paper on the stage while cheering him after one of his presentations.

But I digress.

Larry put in a good effort but the ladies blew his doors off. Roberta Turco didn’t make any pledges she just got busy selling candy. Like well over 200 boxes. I couldn’t remember the number so I contacted Roberta. She couldn't remember the exact number either but she sure remembered that motorcycle. Even after 50 years, she was still a little salty over her mother making her sell it.

It was a great success but our biggest moneymaker was donuts. In those days the senior class was given the donut concession. Every morning when the school buses emptied we had 800 or 900 students walking in front of me and Dave Freni. And we were ready to give them a carbohydrate fueled beginning of the school day.

The previous classes didn’t seem to take it that seriously because frequently there were never any donuts because they had already run out.

We had to get the money from Mr.Russo every day as we had to front the money for the next day or there were no donuts. We appealed to Mr. Russo to quadruple the money as we thought there was much greater demand.

He readily agreed but was concerned about overage. "Day-old donuts wouldn’t have much appeal" he opined. We met that objection by saying we would leave the overage in the teacher's room. He was good with that.

I can tell you from experience that teachers like donuts better than cops. There was some serious staff weight gain that year.

We again appealed to him to expand the product offering, he said no to the coffee but soon we were moving quantities of milk and juices.

One drawback was having to get to school really early. My mother was impressed because my junior year she was throwing cold water on me to get me out of bed. She thought I had a renewed interest in school.

We finished the year rolling in money and spent some underwriting the class banquet. We couldn't get rid of it all so by the 5-year reunion it became a nuisance having responsibility for it.

By that time we could all drink legally so we subsidized the reunion and gave away 40 half gallons of booze as door prizes.

Let me give you a tip. If you’re going to do fundraising have the business major lead the program and have the English literature major proofread the advertising copy.

Evil stick of terror

 t begins with a majestic drive down the middle

Followed smoothly by an iron to the green

I race the cart down the path with hopes raised up high

But disappointment is soon clearly seen

It's not a tap in nor a gimmee for birdie much to my chagrin

But a twisting downhill ten footer to get the bastard in

I turn to the bag and pullout the little stick all shiny and clean

I watch the longer putts for info I can glean.

Up and down I eye the distance from ball to hole

While my opponent knowingly removes the pole

I try to hide my shaky knees from my matchmate

Who hopes my putting skill won't decide the contest's fate.

Despite all my careful preparation

The putt goes wildly sliding by

Could it be me who made an error

Or was it that goddamn evil stick of terror.

Tales of Mabel

 The Center school building which in the 30’s was the town’s first high school but housed just 7th graders by the time I got there. When we started there we were busting out all over socially with dances and the Friday night roller skating bus and 13-year-old Hell-raising in general. The principal of the school was one Mabel Keating. A stern and solidly built woman that would strike the fear of God in any of us who she confronted. She patrolled everywhere. Your shirt had to be buttoned to the top, your lunch better be eaten. The girls were smarter than us by stuffing peas or carrots into their empty milk cartons. Another no no was hanging around in the boy's room. If she heard any hi jinx in there she would damn well come in there and pull you out by the ear or scruff of the neck.

It was against this backdrop that one of the funniest events of my short life occurred. A bunch of us including one Martin Hill was hanging around outside after lunch and I lit off some firecrackers I had brought to school. The quite portly Mabel came clomping through the parking lot like a whirlwind and grabbed poor Marty Hill by the throat. For the moment we all thought this was hilarious.

Later on, in class we heard Ms. Keating’s voice on the intercom to all the classes saying that Marty was in deep deep trouble. We could almost hear Marty whimpering in the background. Ms. Keating said that Marty denied having set off the firecrackers and she expected the guilty party to show up in the office at once. I am not sure if I was feeling sorry for poor Marty or I wasn’t sure he could stand up to the interrogation so I walked up to the front of the room and told my teacher, Mrs. Doherty, that Ms. Keating wanted to see me as I was the guilty party.

I got up to the outer office and the lady at the desk said not a word but pointed to the half-opened door of Ms. Keating’s office. Through the crack, I could see a poor forlorn-looking Marty sitting with moist eyes. I knocked on the door and walked in and said to no one in particular that it was me. A very angry looking Mabel looked at Marty and pointed to the door and Marty was gone like the wind.

Strangely enough, I wasn’t all that scared because I was well deserving of the ruler that was coming to me for this transgression and many others. Everyone knew that Ms. Keating beat the Hell out of kids with the ruler although none of us knew anyone who had actually been struck. Much to my astonishment, Ms. Keating came around the desk with a plate of cookies and offered me one! In a tone of voice that I had never heard from her she said: “well Phillip, you are a very honest boy.” We chatted amicably for a few minutes and she sent me happily on my way. When I returned to class I didn't dare tell anyone she had given me cookies I just said she yelled at me. After all, I had to maintain my image as a trouble maker. Later that day at a school assembly she made me stand up in front of everybody as an example of honesty. It took years to live that down with my peers.

A Burlington religious story

 This one day my mother says to me “I signed you up to be an altar boy. I was struck dumb. Our family wasn't exactly devout. I said, “how come?” Mom replied that it would help me with language in high school. “What language, I already speak English,” “no I mean Latin,” she said. Latin? “Is this something new? Nobody I know speaks Latin.” “ Don't be a smart ass, you're doing it.”

So I get carted off to altar boy school. They give you a card with instructions on the mass as well as the responses to the priest. The problem was, of course, the card did not include any translations. It wasn't till I was older that I found out what dominus vobiscum meant. So much for the attempt to help me with Latin.

I finished up training and memorizing all the Latin responsorials and I am now ready for my first performance. In my first week as a rookie at St. Margaret's I told Father Brady I was a little nervous. Don't worry it happens to everybody” said Father Brady in his very reassuring way.

During the 7 a.m. Mass on Wednesday morning everything was going smoothly until it was time for communion. I went to get the cruets of wine and water and as I turned and took a step toward the altar my foot got caught in the back of my cassock. (It was the first time I had ever worn a dress.)

Down goes Phil Down goes Phil! (Howard Cosell) and the cruets shot across the altar and smashed. Father Brady never skipped a beat and came back with new cruets and completed communion and Mass. Fortunately, there were only about 10 congregants in the church so my humiliation was limited. After Mass and after I mopped up the mess, I apologized to Father Brady. He said "no problem it was just an accident." After a second he smirked and said: "let me be honest, that's the funniest thing I have seen at Mass in a very long time." (and we both had a good laugh)

In 1964 I was traded from Saint Margaret's to the newly opened Saint Malachy for a first-round draft choice and cash. (Haha not really the priest said you're going.) In those days we had four or five masses on a Sunday morning so after a while, some boredom would set in and you had to be a little creative. Now and then you might do two masses on a Sunday and therefore you were interested in speeding things up a little. You might ring the bells a little quicker or when delivering the water and wine you might hustle up a bit. In those days communion would be served at the altar rail and the altar boy would hold a communion plate under your chin in case a Host or any dust might fall to the altar. The first pastor at Saint Malachy was Father Flaherty, a wonderful man. This particular morning mass was going a little slow. Some of my friends over the previous weeks were being smart asses and a little slow to open their mouths when it was time to receive the Host. So when I got to them I would give them a little jab in the throat with the communion plate. Their mouths would open quickly. After mass Father Flaherty said to me that he noticed that I employed a rather new communion plate technique. I confessed quickly "yes Father, I apologize." Said Father Flaherty "no need Phillip, well done."

Al Fay

 You know you're from Burlington if you knew Al Fay.

One of the great benefits of getting old is the privilege over the years of meeting and befriending unforgettable people in your hometown. Al Fay was such a person for me. I met him 40 years ago through politics and then encountered him endlesslessly through all walks of Burlington life.

For the fire union he was a tough negotiator, in fire prevention he was a stickler for safety. He came on when the department was only 6 members and gradually grew to include many iconic figures in Burlington. Herb Crawford, Cliff Skelton Phil Pollicelli, George Clark, Doug Hyde, Lee Callahan, Steve Yetman, Wally Decoste, and Gary Cauldwell just to name a few! It was a sleepy department in the 50"s but oh my how quickly things changed!

For children, he was a source for thousands of fire truck rides and endless bell ringing. He was a constant participant in the 4th parade as well as Pride Day or any of the elementary school carnivals. All kids play with trucks but for 25 years Al made sure they played and held in awe really big trucks by contacting every major player in the region to provide equipment!

He once said one of his greatest joys was taking the Special Olympics kids for ice cream. It was such a simple thing but he knew how much joy it brought them each time.

Fun and games were only one side of Al. As a Planning Board member and Selectman Al's influence has been felt all over Burlington. Al's support for economic development was unabashed. He told me, "Tax money solves problems" and he knew residents like to talk about quality of life issues but they are frequently reluctant to pay for them.

Much development has passed through town hall over the past couple of decades and Al had a hand in all of them. I am kind of a Luddite when it comes to development in Burlington, longing for the days when nobody knew we were here. But Al knew the challenges of an economic dynamo and he knew what was necessary to meet the future.

He will be greatly missed.

No Wallet in your coffin

 In the quiet corners of a cluttered mind, where treasures gather dust, and dreams unwind.

Money is a river, not a stagnant pond, Flowing through our lives, of which we’re so fond.

What good is a lifetime of gathering gold, If it sits in the shadows, untouched and cold?

Let it dance in the hands of those we adore, Spend it on laughter, on love, and much more.

Share it with family, let friendships thrive, Plant seeds of kindness, and watch joy come alive.

Charity’s embrace wraps the world in grace, A ripple of giving, a warm, bright place.

For remember, my friend, when the journey is done, There’s no wallet in your coffin, no race to be won.

So let your heart guide you, and let your spirit soar, In the currency of love, you’ll find wealth evermore.

Joys of Reading

 In quiet corners, pages turn,

A world awaits, where hearts can yearn.

With every line, new realms ignite,

A spark of joy in the endless night.

Through stories spun with golden thread,

We wander paths where few have tread.

Exploration blooms in the mind's embrace, Each chapter a journey, each word a place.

Imagination dances, wild and free, In landscapes painted by you and me,

Here dragons soar and oceans sing, In the heart of a book, we find our wings.

With each new plot, we glean, we grow, finding joy in the ebb and flow,

In laughter and sorrow, in triumph and fear, the gift of learning is forever near.

For through the pages, our spirits will soar, A boundless journey, forever more.