Who was your favorite teacher?

Mine?

There’s NO DOUBT about it :

My favorite teacher was Joe Callahan—the Boys P.E. Teacher, at Lincoln Elementary, who was actually a drill sergeant who used his G.I. Bill school money to get a teaching credential, and kick our butts into manhood.

Our last year with the previous PE Teacher was some guy named, Ketza (?) whose idea of P.E. was 10 jumping jacks, then, playing kickball on the blacktop in the parking lot.

Well, that all changed when Joe showed up.

“Yeah, that’ll make a man outta ya’.” was Joe’s attitude toward his predecessor’s M.O.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

I. FIRST CONTACT
II. SOME OF OUR FATHERS APPROVED
III. JOE’S BIIGGEST INTANGIBLE GIFT TO US—SELF RESPECT
IV. JOE’S CREATIVE EXERCISE REGIMEN—CARDS, COCA COLA, LAUGHTER & “BRIAN”
V. PUNISHING THE GROUP—NOT JUST THE INDIVIDUAL
VI. JOE’S TANGIBLE GIFTS TO US—SPORTS
VII. JOE’S “INSPIRATION” REGIMEN—REWARD VERSUS PUNISHMENT
VIII. The 12’O’CLOCK GYM CLASS
IX. PARENTS (AND MAYBE TEACHERS) THAT DID NOT APPROVE OF JOE’S M.O.
X. JOE’S SHORT-TERM MEMORY
XI. JOE’S LONG-TERM MEMORY
XII. AUGIE

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I. FIRST CONTACT

I’ll never forget that day when I “encountered” him in roll call on our first day with him as our new teacher, outside on the blacktop.

Was I a 24/7 “uncontrollable kid” with an attitude problem? Not exactly. But, I did have my moments of being aggravatingly incorrigible with some teachers.

Joe changed that, too. LOL.

On the very first day of P.E. class, Joe lined us all up on the black top, and I was approximately in the center of the first row.

Exactly like a drill sergeant would do in boot camp, he was loud and unapologetically brash in introducing himself to us, as he’d put the tip of his nose against the tip of our noses, and we’d smell his breath while he looked each of us right in the eyes and shouted at the top of his lungs with comments like, “You will NOT be cream puffs! You will NOT be sissies!; I’m going to turn you into real men…You maggots! …You ninety-eight-pound weaklings…If ANYONE kicks sand in your face, you REMOVE HIS FACE! Got it?!”

By the time he was within three or four students of introducing himself to me, I coughed, and a little phlegm came up, so, I spit it out on the blacktop.

Bad move!. LOL

Joe skipped the other students and came straight toward me and stuck his nose in my face.

“What’s your name, maggot!” he inquired pseudo-angrily.

“Colbert!.” I said quietly.

“What?! I can’t hear youuuuu!” he pressed on with the “Drill Sargeant” act.

“Col-bert!” I repeated loudly, while “crapping in my pants”.

“How would you like to lick that up with your own tongue…Col-bert!?!” he said presenting a “threat” as a question.

“No, sir!” I replied.

Anyway, you get the idea of what kind of M.O. he had planned on using with us :

“Welcome to Fort Lincoln!, Private, First Class!”

II. SOME OF OUR FATHERS APPROVED

In retrospect, that was awesome! But…at that INITIAL moment in time? Many didn’t think so.

Truth be told, the first week was admittedly a major shock, since we weren’t accustomed to that.

Those of us with fathers who were proud to serve in the armed forces ( my father was a World War II vet, who fought in the European theater) really liked what Joe was teaching us. It must’ve drawn up memories of their boot camp days at Fort Bragg, or wherever.

Judging from how the boys who complained about Joe’s gruff style were talking in class the next day, I can easily envision that some of them came home after school, and complained to their fathers, “Dad! He’s too rough on us.”

“Well, it’s about time someone taught our boys to be men.” I can just hear the unsympathetic replies. “Teachers are teaching our kids to be limp-wristed, hippie-type, pinko commies”….etc.

I can also just see the leftist-thinking pseudo-“intellectual” Norman Lears of society trying to portray such gleeful acceptance of the “rough-and-tough-and-hard-to-bluff” educational paradigm for our boys as a product of “ignorant Archie Bumkers”; and., hilariously, the notion that the anti-thetical “there’s-nothing-wrong-with-being-a-pacifist-sissy-Michael Stivics” of our society as being “intelligent”, or even, “heroes” by some collosal stretch of the imagination.

You’d NEVER see the writers of leftist TV shows advocating the wholesale espousal of such values (at least, NOT in regards to patriotism or love of “country”) as : courage; bravery; gallantry; valor; heroism; intrepidness; nerve; or simply having BALLS, as a good thing, but rather as a dying anachronism of outdated patriotism and misguided loyalty to an oppressive system keeping down the very people who are defending it—-the way socialists today defend their own lock downs, while deeming those who protest in favor of being free to leave their homes as “selfish”.

But, not on Joe’s watch. Those were ALL good values that should be inscribed above the doorways of all schools, for all students to see all the time—coming and going.

III. JOE’S BIGGEST INTANGIBLE GIFT TO US—SELF RESPECT

As previously noted, prior to Joe’s arrival at Lincoln School, we had no sports teams, or any real calisthenic programs, or any real self-respect, or discipline, or even any potential of ever becoming real men, in the physical sense of “prowessness”.

Some, but not all, of the boys were, essentially “girly” men, in that they would not at all be capable of defending themselves against a bully, whether that be in a school yard fight, or anywhere else for that matter, not because of a lack of physical strength ( I suppose we all had the capacity to inflict harm on others if we really wanted to) but rather a lack of COURAGE to stand up and fight back, instead of the cringe-worthy “I-won’t-fight-back-so-please-don’t-hit-me-’cause-I-FEAR-a-bloody-nose” response that was standard protocol of Lincoln School “boys”, pre-Joe !

We weren’t all “girly men”. There were a few “bad boys” of which I was not one of them, at that time.

One of the boys, had frequently bullied most of the other kids in class. On more than one occasion, he grabbed me in a headlock, and would give me a noogie.

Initially, it wasn’t Joe Callahan that taught me to fight back, but my own brother, Jim, who was two grades ahead of me.

Up to my admission to him that I was being picked on, he never saw the kid, Ron Bowlen, do anything to me.

But he said, “If I ever see him picking on you, and I don’t see you fighting back, I’m gonna help him beat you up. ‘Cause I don’t want a sissy for a brother.”

Then, it happened.

I was in the 4th and 5th grade hallway, when Ron went through his routine, got me in a headlock, began his noogie, when I heard, “Hey!”

It was actually a teacher shouting to get Ron to stop his bullying, but, I thought it was my brother, so, I went “Gonzo” on this kid. I was swinging my fists wildly, but I don’t think I connected one time. They were all misses! But, Ron, just stood back, with his eyes wide open and the look on his face was one of “WTF! This kid’s crazy!”

LOL!

He never bothered me again.

Afterward, we didn’t exactly become friends the way I did with my friend, Jim Spolar, when we got into our fight, but Ron, from that day on, would nod to me with a look that said, “You’re OK, you pass. I’m not gonna harass you anymore!”

I was actually more afraid of my brother, then I was of Ron, or any teacher—well, except Joe, of course. I just needed to be startled into that epiphany; and startled I was!

But Joe’s message to us was that “male prowess without moral guidance leads men to become thugs without conscience”.

I didn’t really understand that until I was much older. But it was a good point to remember and live by.

Us? Punks? Not on Joe’s watch.

But men? Yes! That was his goal!

And, for the most part, he succeeded—i.e., until some parents complained.

IV. JOE’S CREATIVE EXERCISE REGIMEN—CARDS, COCA COLA, LAUGHTER & “BRIAN”

Joe established a calisthenics regimen consisting of ULTRA-challenging exercises that we were so unprepared for.

He “inflicted” on us such joys as “Chinese sit ups”; “Fingertip pushups”; “Back-handed push ups”; “one-handed” pushups; regular pushups in the “50-plus reps” range; he even made us crawl across the SMOOTH gym floor on our bellies (i.e., with no shirts on).

We even weight-lifted.

One of Joe’s signature “skits” ( for lack of a better term) was he’d say stuff that was designed to make US LAUGH….

BUT…

We were supposed to resist the urge to laugh, else…punishment.

He’d tell us stories how his son, Brian, who was a few years YOUNGER than us, would be able to do various exercises with no strain versus us “weaklings”.

While he had us in a particular exercise, he’d walk around us with a monologue of sorts.

“My eight-year-old son, Brian, makes you all look like cream puffs! When he gets up in the morning, I don’t even let him go to the bathroom, until he’s done his one hundred jumping jacks in his underwear out on the front lawn!”, he’d say, or something along those lines. “Did you do your jumping jacks in your underwear on the front lawn this morning, you maggot, Spolar!”

Of course, you’re NOT supposed to laugh, but, you would, because you couldn’t help it.

Joe made it sound funny.

“Did you just laugh, Botzenhart?” he’d say.

“No, sir!” Gary would say, trying to fight off the urge to laugh.

“I could swear I heard you chuckle.” he’d counter.

“No, sir!” Gary would repeat holding his pushup or sit up.

“How ’bout you, Brewer? Did you hear him laugh?” he’d persist, trying to get us to just bust out laughing at the top of our lungs.

“No, sir!” Chris would say, holding his position.

“You’re not lying to me, are you…you cream puff!” he’d continue onward, while he’d stick his face in Chris’, while Chris tried hard not to let the funny faces he made, trick him into laughing out loud. “I hear a hundred pushups in your future!”

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He also played this “game” of cards with us.

He’d walk out of his office in the gym, with a bottle of Coke (it might have been a Pepsi; I forget—but it was definitely a cola) in one hand, and a deck of cards in the other.

“Ah, Crap! Here we go.” was what each of us was thinking when we saw that soda-and-deck-of-cards set up because we knew what was coming next.

Whatever exercise we were doing, the deck of cards dictated what the quantities of repetitions were going to be; in other words, if he pulled a Two (of ANY suit—clubs, diamonds, hearts or spades) then we’d do “two” pushups; if it was a “10”, then ten pushups; a “jack” was 20; “queen, 30; king, 40, and the dreaded Ace, 50…you didn’t think the Ace was going to represent “one”, did you?

But if he pulled a really low number like two, he’d make sure those two were NOT easy.

He almost made us WISH he HAD pulled an Ace of 50 fast pushups, instead of only two, REALLY SLOW ones, that lasted an uncompassionate five minutes!

Joe was very creative that way.

He’d say “Down”, and we’d lower our bodies toward (but NOT in contact with) the floor for the downward portion of the pushup. BUT…

He would NOT say “Up” right away.

Don’t be silly, that’s too easy.

Instead, he’d keep us in the down position while he’d walk around us, taking his wallet out and sliding it under our bellies at random, to see if our bellies touched his wallet, and if it did, it was “punishment” time FOR EVERYONE, NOT just the person who “failed the test”.

V. PUNSIHING THE GROUP—NOT JUST THE INDIVIDUAL

So, we were all cognizant that the failure of an individual, meant punishment for the group—VERY “BOOT CAMP”.

Boy, did THAT change our mentality!…and Fast! LOL!

We all became “Jack LaLanne” overnight.

When our bodies were first subjected to his merciless “adjustment” of our physiques and stamina, we’d go to our post-P.E. classes, with our hands LITERALLY shaking from the fatigue; but that was short-lived as each week we’d LITERALLY get stronger and stronger, and what seemed like a godless amount of exercise to do THIS week, was child’s play by next week.

He was building us up rapidly.

VI. JOE’S TANGIBLE GIFTS TO US—SPORTS

Joe established two things that no prior teacher had :

[1] team sports—basketball and wrestling ( I lost ONLY FOUR matches in my three years on the wrestling team—-This is where I pat myself on the back…LOL); and

[2] contact sports —boxing and Shotokan Karate.

VII. JOE’S “INSPIRATION” REGIMEN—REWARD VERSUS PUNISHMENT

When he started the team sports, we became the Lincoln Leopards in all our sports activities.

We never had sports teams. This was all new to us.

His philosophy was “reward for success; punishment for failure“.

For instance, if we WON a wrestling tournament, he’d literally take us ALL out to ( ALWAYS ) Ponderosa Steak House (how a teacher could afford that, who knows?). BUT….

If we LOST…

We would want to consider transferring to a new school, because we did not want to go to class for fear of the punishment that awaited us—and punishment there was; LOTS of it! Guaranteed.

“Abandon all hope ye who enter here.” should have been the sign above the gymnasium door.

HUNDREDS of jumping jacks; running LAPS around the school’s outer perimeter for the whole hour; or the dreaded “100 Chinese Situps”.

We all felt like we were smack dab in the middle of the Flames of Hades, with the demons laughing at our pain.

Those were the longest gym classes, that made many feel like there should have been a law against that kind of treatment.

But, in the end, it was all good.

Thank you, Joe.

VIII. The 12’O’CLOCK GYM CLASS

Another treat for those of us who were school sports-oriented was the Twelve’O’Clock Gym Class, which was for those select few who were considered the elite in their chosen sport.

The trade off with that class was that if you chose it, you actually ended up shortening your lunch hour by 15 minutes.

Specifically, the normal routine was that at noon time, ALL students would go home for lunch, and they’d get a full hour : 12:00 PM to 1:00PM.

But those who chose the noon-time gym class, got to leave school at 11:15AM and had to be back at school at noon, while all the other students were going to lunch.

Our little clique consisted of my best friends, Jim Spolar, Chris Brewer and myself.

We’d spend our 45-minute lunch walking two blocks to Ogden Avenue, where there was a hot dog joint called “Jimmy’s”, where the owner handed out these gargantuan-sized bags of LIMP-AND-GREASY fries—and I don’t mean that as an insult. That’s a compliment! To THIS DAY, I STILL LOVE “limp-and-greasy” fries…I don’t like crunchy fries.

Jimmy’s set the standard for me. When you saw the bag, the bottom was soaked in grease and they TASTED AWESOME!

Anyway, we’d inhale our lunch and hurry back to school and wait for the bell to ring, as the doors flew open and the normal crowd rushed out the doors to go home for lunch—and we rushed in!

Frequently, during the reward classes ( vis-a-vis the “punishment” classes), we’d play either Floor Hockey, or a game called “Killer Ball”, which was essentially, dodge ball, with fewer rules, and a lot more aggression.

When it came to Floor Hockey ( I don’t know why I remember this, but I do) , one of our players, Gary Botzenhart, had this signature catch phrase when he’d take shots he knew he’d make : “Cash in your chips!”

Score!

LOL!

The 12’O’Clock gym class was a BLAST!

Thanks, Joe!

IX. PARENTS (AND MAYBE SOME TEACHERS) THAT DID NOT APPROVE OF JOE’S M.O.

There were some parents ( and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if there were some teachers, too) that did NOT like Joe’s militaristic approach to teaching P.E.

As mentioned before, in addition to team sports, we also had CONTACT SPORTS: boxing and karate.

It was all handled appropriately with the mandatory  wearing of certain protective gear during participation in those activities such as headgear; boxing gloves; cups; knee pads, whatever the situation called for.

There were no bare-fisted “fights to the death” or anything over-the-top like that; but some kid got a bloody nose, and it was all over with.

“F— you people!” I felt like saying to these pieces of shit parents, “That’s fine, if your sissy ass kid doesn’t want to participate, it’s NOT MANDATORY in the first place; it NEVER WAS! COMPLETELY OPTIONAL. But, to tell ALL the other kids (that weren’t injured—the WHOLE GROUP) that they can’t participate, either, because it’s “too dangerous” is the death knell of cultural manhood. No kid ever died of a bloody nose, unless he had pre-existing medical problems, which has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with the kids that weren’t getting hurt in the first place.

Lumping them all together like they were a monolith of identical needs is so very “collective”-minded and leftist in their cultural retardedness.

I don’t think they wanted the education to be a physical one, in the first place, depite the word PHYSICAL in the term “physical education”—-NOT GENDER INDOCTRINATION!

Instead, they found themselves, uncomfortable with his “turning-boys-into-men-via-physical-challenges” approach, as though all they wanted him to do was indoctrinate us with a politicized “sex education” class, that was geared to tricking us into being a group of PATHETICALLY skinny-armed, SUPER MEEK, vegan-like, lefist-thinking, bloody-nose-fearing pacifists like the “Michael Stivics”, that Hollywood’s liberals yearn to see as a role model OFFICIALLY recognized by the educational establishment, so they can assure themselves of a non-stop and steady supply of obedient ninnies in the future.

Real men and women tend to question authority because they know “authority” is ANTITHETICAL to FREEDOM!

The less authority there is to obey, the more freedom you have. Duh!

Yes, I have heard leftists argue that “less is more” when it comes to their interpretation of societal freedom. Their perversion of logic NEVER ceases to amaze me.

At any rate, in the pursuit of providing us growing boys with GOOD MANLY ROLE MODELS, the ONLY other male teachers available as “role models” were Misters…Garzoni, Sheers, Lane, Ketter, and Morris in ascending order of “maleness”—i.e. Mr. Morris was way more male than Garzoni was.

With only Callahan and Morris to guide us into manhood, taking Callahan out of the picture, pretty much guaranteed, we’d stop producing resilient “Rambo’s” and start churning out “Woody Allens” that acted like “Richard Simmons”—i.e., frighteningly emasculated boys—somewhat like the laughingly ineffectual police force in the fiction-comedy “Demolition Man” where the police don’t know how to take down a violent criminal (played by Wesley Snipes) because they were never trained in how to handle VIOLENCE.

Can you imagine that ? Men who don’t know how to handle violence?

Wow! I can’t fathom that there ACTUALLY ARE people who WOULD try creating a “male” that RUNS FROM VIOLENCE, because he’s too scared to fight it—a FRIGHTENED PERSON is a “civilized” person, and a brave person, is a dangerous person, according to retarded leftists.

The point is : Callahan was not wrong in molding us into men; the parents who stopped him WERE WRONG!

The world will NEVER RUN OUT of BAD GUYS!

NO POLICY can EVER PREVENT them from existing in the first place.

And for them to exist, while simultaneously having NO MEN to fight them off (because the “new man” has been scared away from using violence to stop violent beings, and where the weak MUST surrender if they don’t want to die) , is BEYOND IRRESPONSIBLE!

Wow! I can’t believe ANYONE would think like that.

But Callahan’s departure was proof that they do!

X. JOE’S SHORT-TERM MEMORY

Joe, being a P.E. Teacher, would likely rub shoulders with other P.E. teachers at team sport events and the like.

That being the case, at some point in time throughout his career, he became acquainted with a P.E. Teacher by the name of Evans (I don’t remember Mr. Evans’ first name—I want to say Bill, but I could be a mile off. ).

In any case, somewhere within my first month of my Freshman year, Mr. Evans stopped me, after class one day, and said, “I was talkin’ to your ol’ gym teacher, Joe Callahan, and he said you’re a good wrestler. Do you think you’d be interested in maybe tryin’ out for the team?”

The fact that Joe REMEMBERED me only 5 MONTHS later was not exactly astonishing.

Anyway, I was game, mainly because I didn’t want to disappoint Joe by not continuing on in my wrestling “career”.

But, I was also interested in earning some money, because as a young musician, I needed LOTS of gear such as guitars, amps, pedals, etc—all of which cost way more money than I had in my non-existent bank account that I hadn’t yet started, and that meant getting a part-time job.

The two-fold problem I was encountering was that :

[1] it would be difficult to to be on the wrestling team, if I had a job to go to after school; and

[2] technically, I wasn’t old enough to get a job (in many, but not all, cases, the law required a student to be at least 16 years of age), because I was only 14 years old.

But there was ways around that brick wall.

You had to lie about your age, for starters—which was easy for me since :

[a] most employers in 1977, weren’t too adamant about getting proof of an employee’s age; and

[b] my biological predisposition to growing facial hair at an earlier age than most other boys, made me “look” like I could be 16 years of age, with a “peachfuzz” moustache and sideburns.

“Here’s your paycheck son.”

“Thanks, boss.”

I had to choose between the two : I chose a job. And wrestling was history.

XI. JOE’S LONG-TERM MEMORY

In contrast to Joe’s 5-month, short-term memory, which checked out fine, his five-YEAR long-term memory did show a glitch in the system.

Specifically…

Back in the spring of 1982, my sister, Linda, was living in Cicero and she called me up out of the blue one afternoon, to tell me that my old gym teacher from Lincoln, Joe Callahan, had just moved into a house about four doors down from her place.

“Really? Joe Callahan?” I asked.

“Yeah.” she replied, “The next time you stop by over here, maybe you’ll want to stop over by Joe’s and say ‘ Hello ‘ to him, or whatever!”

She didn’t have to tell me twice.

At that time, I was dating my daughter’s mother—we never did get married—and I told her about him, and asked if she’d be interested in taking a ride with me to go see the guy, and talk about “old times” at Lincoln School, or whatever.

She was game. So, we got into my truck and rode to Linda’s house.

En route, I bragged to Nancy (my girlfriend) about my almost perfect record, and how it was Joe who got Mr. Evans to want me on his wrestling team, so I ended up making it sound like I was some “legend” or somethin’.

Anyway, we got to Linda’s house , and we spent some time over there, and then she walked us out onto the public sidewalk to point out which house was Joe’s.

With that, Nancy and I walked the four-house distance, and started walking down his driveway.

Standing at the side door, was, you guessed it, his son, Brian.

As Nancy and I walked down the driveway, Brian, who was using his key to unlock the side door, opened the door, and looked at me and said, “Can I help you?’

“You must be Brian.”: I said, not knowing if Joe had any other kids since he never mentioned anyone other than him.

He acknowledged that he was, and I explained to him who I was—a former student of his dad—and that I just stopped by to say hello.

“Yeah, he’s back there.” Brian replied pointing to his dad by the garage, “I’m sure he’d like to hear from you.”

There he was. The MOST INSPIRING teacher I ever had : Joe Callahan!

With my chest held high, and my pride riding on the winds of past glories, I marched toward the garage with Nancy by my side, and as I got closer and closer to Joe, I could tell from the look on his face that he had NO IDEA who I was.

In his defense, the last time he saw me (5 years ago at that time) I was kind of a long-haired stoner-looking kid, trying hard to grow facial hair and look older than I really was.

But now, I had short hair, and I had shaven off my peach fuzz, because I was trying to impress my then-girlfriend’s father, who I did NOT impress when he first met me, because I still had the long hair and peach fuzz. So, I cleaned up to curry whatever favor I could from her father.

In any case, Joe did not recognize me at all.

“Hey, Mister Callahan, long time , no see!” I said reaching out to shake his hand, convinced from the look on his face that he was clueless about who I was.

He forgot my name, and as soon as I said it he (at least pretended) to remember me.

Amazing! Five MONTHS, and he remembers me.

But, five YEARS, and I was forgotten.

Again, in his defense, he went from (I believe) TWO more years at Lincoln, then got a job at St. Joes in either Lagrange, or maybe Western Springs.

Either way, to go from a small grade school of less than 100 kids per year, to to probably over 200 PER YEAR at a high school , multiplied by two or three years there, and we’re talking about having taught somewhere between 500 and 700 students since the last time he saw me.

It would have been arrogant on my part to assume that my face would stand above the crowd for any lengthy period of time.

XII. AUGIE

Lastly, about the only negative memory I have about Joe is actually an “uncorroborated” story from a close friend of mine, Augie, an Hispanic kid, who claimed that Joe had said some uncouth things regarding Augie’s ethnicity.

Because Augie was my friend, I knew that he wouldn’t just make that up out of thin air. Especially back then, in the 70’s, when there were no trends (like THERE ARE TODAY) of false allegations of racism and what-not, because the teacher didn’t hand out an unearned grade of “A”, or whatever.

I knew Augie and his sisters and his dad (I don’t ever remember meeting his mother, though) and they were all super awesome people.

There had to be some truth to that. But, as far as I knew , Joe never said any of those things when any of us were within earshot. Maybe that was the plan. I don’t know.

At least, I never heard anything bad go down between Augie and Joe, verbally, or otherwise. Maybe I wasn’t paying attention, and that is very possible, since I wasn’t looking for stuff like that. Who knows?

Augie was special to me because he, (like three other Hispanic kids before him) befriended me when I had no one else to turn to.

Kindergarten :

When I was in Kindergarten, I lived in the 26th & Komensky and 26th & Karlov neighborhoods on Chicago’s near west side.

At that time, in 1967 and 1968, there was an heavy influx of Puerto Ricans, into the neighborhood, and whose children I hung around with frequently—mostly out in front of the house; never really leaving the block, or anything, like that, except, maybe, to go to the “OLD SCHOOL” drug store [Tom] Cerkez Drugs Store, on the corner at 26th & Karlov, where they SERVED CHOCOLATE MALTS for 25 cents! (or, was it 50 cents? It might’ve been 50; but even that sounds kind of high for 1967 or 1968).

When I wasn’t slammin’ malts at the drug store, I was playing with the kids that lived next door and across the street.

Eventually, some of their culture started to rub off on me and I started asking my parents if they’d buy me clothes (shoes, shirts, etc) that the Puerto Ricans wore.

LOL.

My parents thought that was cute.

“I think my kid’s Puerto Rican.” my dad often joked back then.

Third Grade (Francesville, Indiana) :

Then, in third grade, I lived out in “the country” of Francesville, Indiana, where we lived on a farm and there were NO KIDS for me to hang out with.

BUT…at school, Ricky Rodriguez, a Mexican kid, who the other kids didn’t really talk to, befriended me.

We’d sit together at lunch time, and we’d talk in class; but once the school day was over, and I was returned to my home in “Outer Fucking Mongolia”, I was back to having no one to play with.

7th Grade — Augie Martinez

In 7th Grade, I made the “mistake” of SCORING HIGH on my aptitude tests.

Why was that a mistake?

Because all my closest friends were in the “MID-IQ” classes.

In 6th grade, I was with my friends that I hung out with; but in 7th grade, my aptitude scores catapulted me up a notch on the scholastic scale, and suddenly, I was sitting in class with all the “brainy nerds”, who I didn’t feel comfortable with.

Except Augie.

“Hey, man.” Augie said, “You’re with us now, huh?”

“I don’t know’.” I replied, “According to my class schedule, this is where I’m supposed to be.”

I looked around and I saw class mates like Lorraine Mockus and John Kozik—kids who I thought were future Mensa members. That’s not who I was. I was a “Regular Joe” destined for the flannel shirt work force.

I did not feel comfortable at all among them.

But Augie put me at ease.

“Hey, they wouldn’t’ve put you here if they didn’t think you could cut it, Floyd!” he reassured me.

Initially, I found his reassurance somewhat comforting. In fact, I think I went to Augie’s house once or twice to study for science classes. Walking into his bedroom, I seem to remember he was really into Albert Einstein big time—which INSPIRED ME to put up an Einstein poster in my dorm room in my Freshman year at the College of Santa Fe .

The Poster was a quote :

“Great Spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds.”

To me, that was so spot on.

Anyway, Augie befriended me when I felt all alone in a class of kids, who I felt socially, culturally, and educationally estranged from.

So, when Augie told me that story about Joe, I was bummed out a bit, because Joe was the only teacher I felt molded by; and Augie was the only kid in the “brain class” that I felt comfortable with.

I wish I could’ve time-traveled my way back to Lincoln School, and get Joe and Augie to not dislike each other. But who am I? Right?

Mr. Morris, on the other hand, the industrial arts teacher, was also a cool guy, but we did not have him every semester like we had Joe every semester—hence, the greater likelihood of forming a relationship with a teacher one is around more frequently.

In closing, allow me to offer my apologies to Augie , …

…but also, my respect for Joe.

Thumbs up to both of you, wherever you are.

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