We recently enjoyed the 50th high school reunion for the 1974 graduating class at Bulkeley High School in Hartford, Ct. When I realized we were looking at fifty years since we had walked the halls of the school, I was a bit stunned. At sixty-eight years old my body is feeling and reacting like you would imagine a body that old would feel. I am aware that being sixty-eight in 2024 is clearly not the same as being sixty-eight in 1974. That being said, I am still physically feeling like a man nearing seventy. Mentally I feel like I am forty and not quite prepared to be looking at 50 years ago. It’s a strange combination.

I clearly remember my mother preparing to attend her twenty-fifth reunion. Coincidentally, she also graduated from Bulkeley High School. I remember thinking that my mother was getting so old. Twenty-five years? Her life was clearly nearing the end. She was forty-three years old! I wasn’t even fully developed at forty-three. Perspective is everything.

I attended the reunion in early June along with sixty of my former classmates. I was a bit apprehensive prior to the day. I suppose it is fairly common to worry about whether those who you have not seen for fifty years will even remember you. Vanity kicks in with concern about how your appearance has changed in fifty years. You are certain that the change has not been for the better. With a graduating class of 367 there are going to be individuals that you had little contact with during those four years. It was surprising how many faces were familiar and how many memories came flooding back as former classmates were welcomed.

Reminiscing with former friends and acquaintances sent my thoughts back to a time in the spring of 1970. I was graduating from St. Augustine’s grammar school. Most of my classmates were on their way to South Catholic High School. I was adamant that I would not be following them. My relationship with many of the priests and nuns at school had been less than positive. Their often oppressive dogma and heavy-handed approach was no match for my underlying anger and headstrong attitude. On at least three occasions I was threatened with banishment back to the public school. Besides, there was no way that my mother had a spare $1,500 for tuition even if I had chosen to continue my relationship with the good Catholics. And I would not ever have asked her to make that sacrifice even If I had wanted to attend.

Like many other freshman students on their first day of high school, I entered with a great deal of apprehension. I was going from a small grammar school to a very large high school which might have had as many as 1800 students at the time. There were so many new things with which to contend. A schedule with a homeroom followed by seven different classes with seven different teachers scattered throughout a huge building. Lockers caused major anxiety. Finding your locker was the initial task and then learning how to work the combination lock. It was ironic that in my professional life as a high school educator I tended to be the go-to person for new students who needed help with those locks.

Most or all freshmen had lockers in the remote area near the tech ed or “industrial arts” area of the building aptly called “Freshmen Alley”. Freshmen Alley was fertile ground for seniors to occasionally torture lowly freshmen. In the first week of school a standard practice was for upperclassmen to identify unsuspecting young rubes with an attempt to sell them elevator passes. Fortunately, I had an older brother whose friends had warned me about this. Unfortunately, I am not completely convinced that my own brother would not have tried to sell me one.

Being introduced to a large student body that was far more diverse than my previous experience was both eye-opening, and in retrospect, a blessing. There were still undercurrents of racial tension. We were not too far removed from the assassinations of Bobby Kennedy and Rev. Martin Luther King. Neighborhoods in the Southend of Hartford were not fully integrated. The school provided an opportunity to experience some level of integration that did not yet exist in most of the day-to-day living arrangements of students. It was not an ideal situation to bring about complete understanding and some level of harmony, but it was a crucial step provided by classes, clubs and athletics.

One event that made that first year particularly difficult was the loss of my friend from St. Augustine. We lost our friend Bobby Niederhauser to an accidental shooting. He was a gentle giant with a great sense of humor. Everyone who knew him loved him. His loss was dark cloud for many of us during that school year.

I made it through freshmen year relatively unscathed with quite a few new friends and a few old ones. I was a mediocre student at best. I can examine that period in my life and view it more clearly in the rear-view mirror. I was basically moving through each day in somewhat of a haze. I spent a great deal of time inside my own head simply trying to make it through each day. I was not fully engaged in school nor in most relationships with others except close friends. It did not help that I had been introduced that summer to the wonders of getting high, and although I would not characterize myself as a serious pot head, I certainly imbibed enough that the haze I was living in was not entirely psychological or emotional. In retrospect, it affected a number of things chiefly academics and athletics.

The one thing it did not affect was my need and want to make sure that I had some pocket money. I had always had some kind of employment since I was eight or nine years old. Growing up money was scarce. I did whatever I could to make sure I had some money in my pocket because I could not rely on getting the things I needed or wanted unless I bought them myself. It was probably too much of a focus at that young age and took time away from more important pursuits especially school.

Sophomore year started with a bang. The teachers were soon on strike and all of our classes were taught by substitutes. At first most of my classmates and I saw this as a vacation. It wasn’t long before the luster of skating by each day wore off and the boredom and realization that we were simply not learning anything set in. I am not sure I or anyone else understood why the teachers were striking exactly, but I believe the general sentiment was that we hoped that the strike would end soon and things would return to normal. It was a happy day for students when the strike finally ended and the teachers returned to their classrooms. Historically, it would be one of the last teacher strikes in Connecticut as the Connecticut legislature would soon make it illegal for teachers to strike and enact a binding arbitration law which would affect me professionally for many years to come.

I clearly remember that upon the return of the teachers my attitude about school and learning shifted dramatically. I can pinpoint that shift and clearly connect it to the influence of great teachers. This was especially true of my English teachers. I found the approach of Mr. Pisarsky especially appealing. He treated his students like adults and emerging scholars. His questioning and discourse were provocative and he was able to create connections between the material and his students. I was also a member of a “rap” group led by Mr. Pisarsky that I found helpful and a safe place to express some of the feelings and frustrations I was experiencing at the time. Later on in life I still wonder whether the members of the group were selected because we were seen as students who needed this outlet or if we simply self-selected.

Another teacher who made a tremendous impact on me was Mr. Murphy. He saw something in me that I obviously did not see in myself. I took a class called Mass Media with him. It was at the dawn of video as a medium. While the other students were being asked to do some universal assignments, Mr. Murphy pulled me aside and assigned me to a project looking into a local issue and writing a piece on a that issue and creating a video essay. He assigned me a camera and I was on my own for a while. I think that he recognized that I need something that was a bit more creative where I could also use some management and planning skills as well. I would later recognize this as my introduction to differentiation in the classroom.

Two other teachers that provided motivation and relevance to the learning were Mr. Nogiec in biology and Mr. Curcio in history. I knew Mr. Nogiec from my brief stint on the wresting team. I just connected with him like most of his students. Mr. Curcio quickly recognized that the daily task of memorizing facts and spitting them back was not a challenge and losing my interest. He decided to pull me aside one day and introduce me to The Prince by Machiavelli. I was responsible for the reading and then discussing it with him and doing some writing assignments. I found it fascinating and learned so much that I could later connect with other readings and situations. I advanced my knowledge while Mr. Curcio saved himself from a potential daily pain in his ass.

I was beginning to blossom as a student in every aspect except one – math. Somehow, I had a serious gap in my math knowledge and reasoning and never seemed to get it. I was very proficient in arithmetic, but when the subject moved on to more abstract problem-solving involving number values, I was clueless. The only thing that got me through the first couple of years was working with Mr. Diloreto who also happened to be our Under-16 basketball coach and would later be a longtime colleague and friend, and Mr. Riccio who really dumbed it down for us and was really more interested in comedy than math.

I made poor Ms. Gubitz’s daily existence a living hell in geometry and I am sure that the only reason she passed me with a D was to ensure that she would never see me again. And senior year in Algebra II with Walter Blake was clearly an act of pity. He had a very dry sense of humor and whenever he had to explain something to me for the tenth time he would just smile, shake his head and mumble, “what is going to become of you”? He would later find out and be forever mystified.
I played on the football team during the first few years. I never really gave my participation the kind of effort I should have so I played little and rightfully so. During Sophomore year I decided that I would try to make more of an effort to get in better shape and improve my strength and speed during the off-season so I decided wrestling would be a good vehicle. I had zero previous experience but decided I would give it a go. I was assigned to the 185 pound class.

That turned out to be disastrous. The 185 pound class was occupied by a state champion and All-America wrestler who also happened to hate me and possessed a personal vendetta. I was assigned to wrestle him every day in practice. He joyfully proceeded to toss me around like a rag doll daily inflicting as much pain and torture as he could. Every day must have been like Christmas morning for him. Mercifully, I injured my ear in the process and had to have surgery. This may have been one of the few times that surgery was a preferrable option. I regrettably never went back to wrestling.
By Junior year I was doing well academically (sans math) but was still a bit of a loose cannon otherwise. I was fortunate to get fifth period study hall which meant that the period was almost ninety minutes long with lunch included. I had learned a trick which I would employ in my senior year as well. I knew that if I did not show up to study hall the first day, the paraprofessional monitoring the class would simply think that my schedule had changed and not pursue it any further. This left me with a ninety-minute gap in my schedule at lunch time.

By this point in our lives, there was always some friend who had a car at school. We spent the next two years somewhere off campus during that period. Usually, it was McDonalds. The alternative was hanging out in the back of the school. Younger people are shocked when I share that students were allowed to hang out in the back of the school during lunch and free to smoke. It is difficult for them to wrap their minds around that scenario. Later, when I became the principal at Prince Tech, I would find out that Prince, during that time in the seventies, had a break built into the schedule for students to smoke or get something to eat. Mostly to smoke. Now, you cannot smoke anywhere in or around a school – adults included.

My senior year began a bit later than the rest of the class. I was in the hospital with an infected finger which I came close to losing. I returned to school with a bandaged hand that probably could have been seen from space. I was not allowed to play football which was a disappointment to me, but I am not sure any of the coaches were heartbroken. Senior year was somewhat productive as I and many others looked forward to our next steps. I had decided that I would definitely go to college. I was not completely sure what my path would be, but I knew that it would involve working with people in some capacity.

My overall GPA was not as high as it could have been mostly due to a poor freshmen year and my deficiency in math. My verbal score on the SAT was decent but the math score was abysmal which resulted in a lower overall score. I applied to Central and Eastern CT State University and was accepted at both. Although I was satisfied with my acceptance, I knew that I would not be attending either one. There was no way my mother could afford the tuition even if I commuted from home. I had no knowledge of financial aid at the time nor did anyone with that knowledge share it with me. Despite this limitation, I was determined that I would start college at a community college and transfer when I had the money.

The end of the senior year was as wild as can be imagined. We went to the senior prom and immediately after the prom set out to spend the weekend camping at Berlingame State Park in Rhode Island. We rolled into the park close to midnight. I cannot recall how we were even allowed to do that. We spent the next eight to ten hours partying and swearing to not allow any individual to find sleep. Although I will not share the details to protect the innocent, (who am I kidding – no one was innocent) some of us were ushered from the park the next day and the rest left voluntarily. We learned the hard way that they do not play at Berlingame State Park or Rhode Island in general.

The next important event was graduation. Back in those days the three public high schools had graduation exercises at the Bushnell Theater. Our large class graduated without any major disruption and we were free. Myself and a couple buddies decided beforehand to secure a couple of rooms at the Hilton Hotel on Asylum St facing Bushnell Park. In 1974 eighteen was the majority age. Drinking, and surprisingly, reserving hotel rooms, were legal.
We got two rooms on the tenth floor behind a fire door facing Pearl St. Whoever the nice young man was who booked the rooms for us was most assuredly fired the next day and walked from the building.

The party that night was insane. There was at any one time sixty to seventy people in those two rooms. We were visited more than once by the hotel staff to no avail. The highlight of the evening was watching from our tenth-floor windows as the Pearl St fire station caught fire and had to be put out by the firefighters from that station. We heard the sirens and watched as they pulled the trucks into the street and attacked the fire. Someone must have been cooking some great three-alarm chili that night.

I spent the next year attending Manchester Community College for a semester and Greater Hartford Community College (now called Capitol Community College) the second semester. The good people at Manchester Community College unlocked the secret of financial aid and I also worked a great deal of hours at several jobs to save some money for the eventual transfer to a four-year school.

With my savings and financial aid, I was able to transfer my sophomore year. I chose Eastern CT State University for two reasons. The first was that I knew I would not be able to commute from home. The second was that I knew I had a built-in roommate because one of my best friends from high school would be attending as well.

I entered ECSU with the intent on majoring in English and declared as soon as I could. It was also clear to me that the primary positive influences in my life, and those responsible for me even being where I was, were clearly teachers, specifically, my English teachers. They had taken a somewhat broken, aimless person and made me a more focused and literate person with an ember of passion. That smoldering passion was to learn more about language and literature and pass that interest and knowledge on to young people who needed me to be one of those people that had lit the flame in me.

I had more fun in college than any one person should be allowed. At the same time, I never neglected the task at hand. I had a system. For the most part every week was the same. From Thursday evening at six pm until Sunday morning at whatever time I awakened (sometimes it was pm) I partied like a wild man. Sunday afternoon until Thursday afternoon I was dedicated to schoolwork and intramurals. This system served me well. Except of course when I decided to take a Shakespeare course at 8 am on Friday mornings. How I maintained a love of Shakespeare despite that weekly struggle is amazing.

In May 1978 I graduated from ECSU. I was the first person in my extended family to graduate from college. I was proud of that fact and also strangely proud that I had done so with almost no support from home. I had faced the responsibility on my own and accomplished what I set out to accomplish on my own. Some close to me took some of the bloom off the rose by denigrating my choice of major and my choice to become a teacher. How would I survive? There was no future in it. Go to law school they said. They simply did not understand my journey or my motivation.

I did not get a full-time teaching job right out of the gate. I took on substitute teaching for a while. What a horrible experience. I remembered how we would torture subs when I was at Bulkeley. I was reliving that from the other side. A few times I substituted at the elementary level. That was a fun experience. The little ones would make pictures for you and want to hold your hand. Despite that I was still glad that I had chosen certification at the secondary level. Middle school was the worst. Raging hormones and out of control emotions ruled the day. And personal hygiene was yet to be area of focus.

Later on in the year I was able to grab a long-term position with the Hartford Public Schools at a special program called Workplaces that was located in the Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute building. I thought I had landed in heaven. The schedule was great and location was perfect. When I left for the summer, I was not sure whether I would return with a full-time position. My attempts to get the administrator to get back to me most of the summer failed. It wasn’t until the day before teachers were to report in August that I found out that I had a job at Workplaces and a schedule.

It was too late. I had secured a full-time permanent position at Weaver High School. I spent the next eighteen years at Weaver and greatly enjoyed my time there. I enjoyed working with the students and my colleagues. I grew tremendously as a professional and enjoyed a great deal of success. Ironically, when I would tell people that I was a teacher at Weaver, they would get a concerned look on their face and ask how it was with trepidation in their voices. They assumed the worst. They did not understand the rewarding experience that my colleagues and I had daily.

One of the fun and interesting experiences was going to district-wide department meetings and overall professional development. It was interesting to attend these meetings and sit with my former teachers from the English department and feel like I had made good on the effort they had made to push me along my journey. They were welcoming and never dismissive or condescending. I also had the opportunity to run into some other old teachers at PD meetings. I distinctly remember running into Mr. Blake. He had a look of astonishment and joked with me about his worry about where I would land. I think he said something to the effect of “Please tell me you’re not teaching math”.

My department supervisor was Art Pepin who had been one of the best English teachers at Bulkeley. He was a tough and demanding teacher and was no less demanding as a Dept. Chair. After a rough start he turned out to be one of my greatest influences and supporters over time. After his first observation; a lesson that I attempted to teach on some aspect of grammar, he sat me down and shared his feedback. “That was the most boring f…ing lesson I ‘ve seen in a while’! He was right of course.

Thankfully, with his guidance, an open mind, and a willingness to learn, I improved. The greatest lesson that he imparted to me, which I would later share with people that I mentored or supervised was, “ If they didn’t learn it – you didn’t teach it”. Shortly after he retired, Mr. Pepin got sick and was dying. I was relieved that I had the opportunity to share with him before he was gone what he had meant to me as mentor and supporter.

Following my time at Weaver, I spent a few years at Sport Sciences Academy before leaving the Hartford Public Schools for a brief stint as a Principal for CREC. I built and operated the first middle college high school in Connecticut at Tunxis Community College. Although it was extremely tough, and we had little support, our small but talented staff successfully graduated three classes of very tough and troubled students who had a number of challenges in their lives. Many graduated with college credits.

The school was closed in 2003 due to budget concerns and the lack of support from CREC. I had some opportunities to move on to other positions but was fortunate enough to be able to return to Hartford serving as the principal at A.I. Prince Technical High School. I had some history with Prince. My uncle taught at the school for years and my cousin graduated in 1974 as the valedictorian. My uncle used to bring my cousin and I to the school for haircuts when were younger. I spent ten years as the principal at Prince and could not have been more fulfilled and proud to have served in that role.

Looking back over the thirty-five years that I spent working with Hartford students and their families, I am most gratified that I was able to exemplify and carry on the example that I had been provided by many of my teachers at Bulkeley. I am most proud that I can honestly say that every decision I made was driven by what was best for the students in my charge. Those decisions were not always popular with colleagues, or staff that I supervised, but more often than not, turned out to be the best for those students. I just hope that I had a tiny bit as much influence on those students as my teachers at Bulkeley had on me and maybe I will be fondly remembered by those students when they reach the stage to celebrate at their fifty-year reunions.