On the campus of New Paltz State University, the Old Main building’s mere presence exudes educational fortitude. Old Main was constructed in 1907 and 35 years later became the signature structure for the newly named New York State Teachers College. As the years have passed, every public school teacher in the Hudson Valley has taken educational classes inside its walls as they worked towards their mandatory requirement to obtain their Masters in Education. In the summer of 1986, the building represented both a gateway and an obstacle for a 26 year old agitated and abashed educator. In the fall of 1987, I would be entering my fifth year in the teaching profession. The end of the year would represent the conclusion of my probationary period. The requirement for certified teachers in New York State is that they have to obtain their Master’s degree by the completion of their fifth year in the classroom in order to continue their certification. I was well behind in my matriculation and was on campus to see my graduate advisor whose office was located on the third floor of Old Main.
“Rich, you’re 15 credits shy of the 30 necessary,” began my student advisor Jim Hillstedt. “Three courses this summer and one each semester (fall and spring) and you are done.” I nodded as if this was a good and doable plan.
“Thanks Mr. Hillstedt,” I postured. “Now I have a strategy and all I have to do is execute.”
The foliage was ripe on that early June day as I left the center of educational studies at SUNY New Paltz and walked through the summer sun with hope, but a lack of passion. I had already struggled finding the motivation to get me through undergraduate studies. College, to me, was a necessary evil in life. Earning a four year diploma was the completion to an assignment that I knew from the time I was in diapers needed to get done. Despite the fact that myself and formal education didn’t get along, I choose a career as an educator; a career that required more classroom work beyond earning an undergraduate degree. Simply stated: I didn’t mind handing out assignments, but had grown tired of being given them. My mind and spirit had quit being a student after my senior year in college. I had signed on for four years of World Religion, Major British Writers and Microeconomics, but 30 credits after undergraduate studies weren’t happening. That summer I received a grade in one of those three classes and “Incompletes” in the other two. I would be entering the fifth year of my probationary period behind the proverbial eight ball.
I have not been inside of Pine Bush High School in 28 years. The school has since been completely renovated and enlarged significantly. My classroom was located in one of the two rooms directly across from the principal’s office and the nurse’s office. During my free periods, if I wasn’t in the pool area, I could be found near the school nurse’s headquarters. Madeline Glass was a woman probably around my mother’s age at the time. In many ways Mrs. Glass was like my school monitor and advisor. I would confess things to her and ask for advice, but mostly looked for her approval. The latter was very hard to come by. I think there was some level of mutual respect but I received nothing but tough love from her. She knew when I was hung-over, when I was fighting with the administration, and when I was teetering on crossing professional lines. She picked on me, teased me and judged me just enough to make me question her one day.
“Mrs. Glass, for three years you have been the first to point out of my flaws and shortcomings. For the record, can you think of any good qualities I have? Just one?”
Mrs. Glass sat quietly for a few seconds before replying, “No, but give me some time to think about it.” It wasn’t until the end of the school year that Mrs. Glass offered up an answer. “Rich I’ve been thinking about the question you asked me and it took me this long to come up with an answer. You are an excellent teacher and possess good manners.”
Phew, my mom had done something right in raising me.
From the first day I stood in front of a class back in Allentown PA., I never doubted my abilities in the classroom. When I decided to be “on” I could get kids to learn about subject matters they had no interest in. At my best I could reach 25 students in a single 45 minute period. My problem was by the time I had begun my fifth year teaching I was having a difficult time “turning it on”. That was not the case for my fourth period, 11th grade American History class, the year of 1986-87. Shannon Salvati sat in the seat closest to the door. Dominick Radoslovich sat in the back row. Craig Brown and Sue Coladangelo were located in the front opposite of Shannon. I think the reason that class stands out in my mind is not because of it’s over abundance of brilliant students, but more because they challenged me to bring my best every day.
Whether real or perceived, I sensed that class didn’t believe I was all that. They had heard the talk and I wanted to prove to them that I still belonged. That class was my own personal test to see if I could still do it. The fact was I could. The only question was whether or not I wanted to. Kate Kelly sat right in the middle of the class. Her sister was a senior at the time and one of my favorite students ever. I knew Kate struggled with me comparing her to her sister and had an initial resentment toward me. Two seats away sat John Cavalluzzi, a bright, fun loving kid. I wanted to prove to John, the whole class, and particularly Kate that I was still a dynamic teacher. I found out 25 years later that Kate married John but never found out if she liked me as a teacher.
Even though I did some of my most inspirational work in that fourth period class, I had failed my own test. I was stale. How could I possibly do an effective job for another 30 years? I looked around at my colleagues and saw plenty of dead weight. I also observed many dedicated and committed classroom teachers who had stayed fresh and still had the passion you need to consistently be the kind of mentor students deserved.
Bob Yuengling taught high level math and was a no-nonsense, serious educator. Bob Peay, a throwback to the 60s, was a Pine Bush institution whom the kids loved for always keeping it real. Mark Cartisano always had high energy and a true romantic relationship with History. If I continued in education, I would have done well to mimic many of his skills. Roger Norton was just a “good ole boy” Science teacher who never took himself too seriously. Elisa Roman was an old fashioned task master – a tough lady who was a fine teacher and highly respected by her students. Her being a huge Mets fan made me like her even more. Finally, Jerry Leonardi, a 35 year old man going on 65. Despite his quirkiness, his heart was always in the right place. Whatever needed to be done, Leo was there. Basketball coach, yearbook advisor, master cook, and a converted English teacher into a Social Studies teacher. If students or faculty needed a motivating quote or a shoulder to lean on, Jerry was their man.
As my car made the sharp turn around Osiris Road, I heard a squealing sound indicating that my tires were low on air. My attitude was mostly flat for such a delightful June day.
“I’m going to give up the booze and the one night stands and then I’ll settle down to a quiet little town and forget about everything.” I was singing along with Gerry Rafferty as he was winding his way down to his number one hit “Baker Street”. “But you know you’ll always keep moving, you know you’ll never stop moving…”
The irony was that my own personal stagnation was forcing me to move on. I wasn’t even close to finishing my Master’s work and had been granted a year’s leave of absence to get it. I was promised that if I did complete it, my teaching position would be reserved. The story that time told was simple. I never earned a Master’s degree and never again entered the halls of the Pine Bush High School.
Twenty eight years later, I can still see most of the faces. Even now when I dream of those days, there’s one person who appears every time. He’s always dressed like a preppy, frat boy. On the outside, he looks confident, yet reluctant. I see him walking down the hall and everyone seems to know him as he says hello to just about every passerby. Sometimes in my dreams he is happy and content, other times he is doubtful and confused. Back then I thought I knew him well. Nearly 30 years later, when I awaken from these dreams, I realize I didn’t know him at all.
