Words thoughts ideas and musings from classmates friends family and others about then now the time in between and the time to come
As we have reached out to our old classmates we’ve heard the stories of memories, moments, the time since then, and lives they’ve led and so, when Pat Halton forwarded the words below, it seemed only fitting that we have a page without pictures. Just a page for words.
Patrick Halton
A short and true story: When my family moved from Little Neck (Saint Anastasia’s Elementary School) to Manhasset in August 1959, all of my six siblings then went directly to Saint Mary’s schools that fall, but there was no room for me at Saint Mary’s Elementary School. So, I attended Plandome Road School for my 3rd grade experience. (You may recall the concrete wording above the front entrance of the school facing Plandome Road said “PLANDOME PVBLIC SCHOOL” in Greco-Roman style and it made me wonder why no one ever corrected that obvious, careless misspelling. Consequently, I was suspicious of everything the teachers taught that year.) And quite a different experience it was, as it was my only non-Catholic school year out of 16-years of “civilian” formal education. Returning home after my first day at Plandome Road School, I had a list of school supplies that my teacher (Mrs. Robinson) said my mother would need to get for me. Two items on that list still stand out in my memory: A floor mat and a smock. My mom asked me what on earth I needed those two items for and my response symbolized the contrast between Catholic and Public education then: The mat was for taking a nap everyday on the classroom floor after lunch and the smock was to be worn during arts and crafts class, where we learned to use a pottery wheel, paint and how to sew too. I would pay for those liberal artsy-craftsy diversions when I entered Saint Mary’s for 4th grade in the fall of 1960. I found myself far behind in Catechism and classroom relationships, often wondering and distracted by when we would take naps, paint pictures, make clay bowls, and sew aprons for our moms. None of those mind-freeing happy pleasantries ever happened again. Consequently, I recall earning and receiving the “focused attention” of our 4th grade homeroom I.H.M. Sister, due to my less-than-adequate Catholic assimilation that was clearly below the class average. As much as I feared the nun’s wrath, I knew that the word of my less than stellar knowledge of the Catechism and other fundamental academic subjects would find its way home and my father (a former Marist Brother, you may recall), would then deal with me. Fortunately, my parents understood better than our frustrated I.H.M. Sister in that church basement 4th grade classroom the impact of my 1-year Plandome Road School sabbatical. They gave me enough breathing room to recover and progress and I matriculated to 5th grade and beyond with you and our fellow penitents. Wherever we attended school, all of us should be especially grateful and proud of our parents who made the strategically wise decision and costly investment of planting our families in such a special place we know as “Manhasset” and it’s smaller enclaves. After many decades of doing other things and living in many other places worldwide, it remains the singular place we always feel at home again.