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The Muhlenberg College Series | Part II – TKE

The Muhlenberg College Series | Part II – TKE

May 21, 2015 By Rich Siegel

PROLOGUE: As a cocky, 19 year old freshman I was attempting to learn and grow. Still, that first year at Muhlenberg was as traumatic for me as any I have known. I was filled with angst, confusion, and inner rebellion.IMG_5953 Pledging a frat played against my notion that strong willed independent individuals and fraternal organizations are not a good fit. To this day I am a fierce libertarian, adamantly opposed to group mentality. In the long run, joining TKE helped a cynical, distraught loner take the first step in understanding that a crowd maybe unattractive, but it doesn’t mean that the individuals are. Thanks Jon, Rick, and my fellow TKE brothers.

Gideon F. Egner Chapel (three-quarter view), Muhlenberg College
Gideon F. Egner Chapel (three-quarter view), Muhlenberg College

Gideon P. Egnar Chapel was perfectly cast as a fitting setting to stage the opening scene of a fraternity initiation ceremony. The quiet. The darkness. The reverence. All of this foreshadowed the mysterious hocus pocus that goes along with fraternal rites of passage. In 1979, Tau Kappa Epsilon (TKE) was one of five fraternities that had a house on the campus of Muhlenberg College in Allentown, Pa. Roughly half of the male students at Muhlenberg participated in Greek life and on this April night, 29 TKE pledges gathered at the college church with the hope of soon being inducted into a secretive and alluring brotherhood. The Sergeant at Arms (Pylortes) was a Yankee from Connecticut named John Crow. As the star of the lacrosse team he was perfect for the part of a true “hard ass” who enjoyed the reputation he had of intimidating the pledges.

“You losers sit in the pews and wait for the car to come take you to the house for the initiation ceremony,” Crow squawked. “You’ll be taken one at a time in the order you rank in the pledge class…best to worst.”

I shook my head and looked at my partner in crime, Rick Greenberg. “Well pal, it’s going to be a long night.” “Greenie” and I may not have known the precise order but we knew for sure that one of us was 28th in the class and one of us was 29th .

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Me and Mitch Seidman

As a freshman in college I had reached an apex in terms of being an angry young man. I was aloof, judgmental, cynical, and at times mean spirited. This wasn’t exactly the type of personality that attracts fraternities attention when recruiting pledges. When I returned to Muhlenberg after winter break in January of 1979, the official fraternity “rush” process began. Rush was approximately two weeks at the beginning of the second semester when each of the five fraternities had an opportunity to entertain applicants in their respective houses. During these recruiting sessions the freshman get poked and prodded like cattle by suitors to see if they have the proper stock to be a member of their brotherhood. Of course each fraternity has the whole first semester to unofficially evaluate incoming freshman, but rushing gave the frat boys an opportunity to extend an official bid. I spent rush playing beer pong, watching varying forms of bestiality porn and observing a variety of loosely clad co-eds trying to present evidence that the frat attracted the best looking babes. Fortunately, my basketball teammate and future “big brother”, Jon Lucas, saw something in me beyond the jerk off exterior that was Rich Siegel. My buddy “Greenie” got bids to three of the five houses. He was starting on the Varsity basketball team as a freshman and was sponsored by the captain of the basketball team, Greg Campisi. The brothers of Phi Kappa Tau wanted him to be a PKT brother badly. Rick’s decision turned out to be easy. His buddy, yours truly, had only received one bid and it was from TKE. The moment Rick decided to pledge TKE, I knew I had at least one true ally in Allentown.

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Mitch at my Graduation

As if perched on a king’s throne, Mitch Seidman sat on top of a washing machine in Prosser Dorm. The newly elected Class of 82 TKE pledge President was attempting to begin the bonding process of future TKE brothers. Mitch was certainly intense and gung-ho on being the most dedicated TKE brother that ever walked the planet.

“O.K. fellas, we’re responsible for pulling off one raid of the house. For the raid to count, all 29 of us need to participate; so let’s agree on a date we’re all available.”

I remained silent during the discussion and neither objected nor accepted any proposed dates. I said nothing until April 15th was agreed upon. From the back of the laundry room, my rarely heard voice rose over the tumbling washers.

“I have a test the next morning and I’m not going on that day.”

A unison of groans bellowed from my 28 future brothers.

“Siegel why did you even pledge? All you do is disrupt everything I try to accomplish,” said the frustrated pledge leader as his face turned the color of his flaming hair.

I went to bed early the night of April 15th, 1979. From what I understand, 28 TKE pledges successfully raided their future fraternity house. They were given credit for completing one of the tasks on a very long list. Rich Siegel was sleeping. I gathered no one noticed, or cared.

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Don’t bother looking for me, I didn’t make the picture.
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Ken Rubin & Tony Maxwell

The pledging and hazing process brought the best personality traits out in some of the brothers and the worst in others. All around there was no shortage of hard asses. John Crow took pride in intimidating the underclassmen with his Clint Eastwood persona. Al Nicolosi never resisted a chance to question me on campus about his birthday or girlfriend’s pet name. I made it a point to never have the right answer and refused to do my public punishment of push-ups . I preferred to do double the required push- ups in private to avoid the sophomoric humiliation. Bill Hosier went out of his way to bust the balls of the pledges as if we were some dumb ass commoners not worthy of being bonded with his stellar personality. February through April made up the hazing season. Each individual fraternity on the Muhlenberg campus had a perception attached to it. ATO was the bad boys, ZBT consisted of many soon to be Jewish doctors, PKT was loaded with pretty boy prepsters who could have portrayed the cool frat in “Revenge of the Nerds”, SPE was made up of the guys who didn’t fit into the other three and TKE was simply recognized as the “nice guys”. The nice guys’ hazing ranged from over consumption of alcoholic beverages to bobbing for M and M’s in a brother’s darkest abyss.

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Marc Seelagy & Don D’Angelo

It became apparent to me that no matter the house, Greek life was, for the most part, universal. There were nuances and idiosyncrasies between the frats but mostly the same themes: strength in numbers, group mentality, and castrating individuality in favor of a strong bonded brotherhood. I observed plenty of fraters develop new found courage and boldness with a fraternal organization backing their mostly nefarious tendencies (Paul Accod, PKT). I saw an equal amount preserve their individuality at the expense of being portrayed as poor team players. (Rich Kronewitter, TKE). Then there were the mature and grounded fraters who were able to find that delicate balance of loyal soldiers to their house and understanding it was okay to have friends who displayed different letters on their shirts. Paul Alplanab (SPE), Mark Bisbing (PKT), Chris Kahn (ZBT), Bobby Doidge (ATO), and Rich Romeo, along with pledge classmate Ken Rubin, were guys who carried themselves with that understanding.

My TKE Brothers at my Gradutation
My TKE Brothers at my Gradutation

Finally as daylight crept into Egnar Chapel, I was literally alone. The angry young man and maverick in me smelled victory. The competitive and sensitive boy in me tasted defeat. I was the last remaining pledge sitting in the fading darkness on that long ago April night. In the house of the Lord, I have always struggled to find faith. Like most of that freshman year, I wore the misty eyes of abandonment. I knew I hadn’t been a committed pledge and was already trying to convince myself that being ranked dead last out of 29 pledges was some type of badge of honor. My thoughts of wallow were interrupted when three TKE brothers arrived in the foyer.

“Will pledge number 29 of the class of 1982 please step into the triangle.” The three sided, equilateral triangle represented mind, body and heart within the TKE fraternal order. The ride to the initiation ceremony was silent. A raucous house of tired and drunk fraters awaited me. As I was escorted inside of the house, I could hear screaming.

“Blackball him! We don’t want him! He’s the shittiest pledge in the history of TKE!”

Facing the counsel, with a mob that was the brotherhood at my back, I awaited my test for rite of passage. Al Nicolosi and I locked hateful eyeballs as three questions were posed to me. I remember that I correctly answered two of the three required for initiation. More yelling for my ouster ensued. Just as I had become resigned that it was all for the better, that this fraternity life was not for me, a piling of my new brothers charged in to give welcoming, congratulatory hugs. Whether any of them (or I) liked it, we were now brothers…in the bond-forever.
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The Muhlenberg College Series | Part I – The Beginning

The Muhlenberg College Series | Part I – The Beginning

May 11, 2015 By Rich Siegel

richimageI arrived alone to navigate my first day as a college freshman at Muhlenberg in Allentown, Pennsylvania, in 1978. For the Sunday before classes were to commence, I was struck by the strangely hushed and peaceful air that surrounded me. I was assigned to start my new life in the Martin Luther dormitory that sits on the northeast corner of campus. I found my way to the dorm, but could not find one soul to help me locate room 50. After some random wandering I stumbled upon my room on the second floor, all the way at the west wing of the hall. The dorm traditionally housed incoming freshman boys, and I realized the close proximity of Memorial Hall Gymnasium. There was only a stairwell, exterior wall, and ten feet of pavement that separated my small room and the basketball arena. At 6pm on this late August night it had the feel of an old fort that had been abandoned temporarily. One could sense the cyclical commotion that had calmed in May only to resume with full force in September. I was alone as I pushed open the door to my new room. An unfamiliar set of eyes from a poster stared right at me when I looked up to survey my new dwelling. The guy in the poster was dressed in a white tee shirt, blue jeans, and work boots, he had a guitar draped around his neck and looked like a typical “greaser” , back in the day. Diverting from the poster’s gaze I looked around the drab cell-like quarters and the scattering of somebody else’s paraphernalia. I felt overwhelmingly disconnected and forgotten. I dropped my big suit case to the middle of the floor and fell onto my unfamiliar bed and wept.

David Ambrose
David Ambrose

Dave Ambrose hailed from what was then, the typical central New Jersey Italian family. Saturdays were spent watching Notre Dame on the gridiron, and following church, Sunday afternoons were dedicated to eating pasta and meatballs. His family spent two weeks each summer at the Jersey shore. At a college rife with aspiring MD’s , Dave’s choice of majoring in Art History was surely atypical. His rather stoic and solemn nature was not the norm for an 18 year old freshman either. Some of his personality, I am sure , was borne out of losing his father early . That fact, along with loving athletics, but not being much of an athlete, might explain why he seemed to retreat within . Unfortunately for Dave he would being sharing tight living quarters with me who was completely lost. I was not prepared for any sort of bonding, and even less in sharing anything personal about myself. Besides having lost my way, I was not the kind of roomie anyone would be excited about—an angry young man hanging on to a self-absorbed, over inflated perception of who I was and my place in the world. I was fast realizing in this whirlwind of change , that I had been a big fish in a very small pond.

As my new living companion stuck out his hand to introduce himself,IMG_5945-1 “I’m Dave Ambrose,” I gave the appropriate salutation in return, but secretly whispered to myself, “Hi, I am nobody.”

From my perspective growing up in New Paltz did separate me from the other 18 year olds who arrived on the Muhlenberg campus in the fall of 1978. My home town was an insulated college hamlet surrounded with all the entrapments of the 60’s. To many of my friends and associates it was a time warp. Whether for better or worse I was comfortable in a world filled with partying. Drugs and alcohol had become common place in my life. My senior year in high school embodied the idea of “small town golden boy.” I resisted the step of leaving my comfort zone and heading off to college. Outwardly I was arrogant, distant, and angry. Inside I knew I was just one of the crowd but refused to accept this fact as I searched for ways to be different from my peers. It’s a surprise to me that even to this day I remember so many of my freshmen dorm mates. I have not seen one of them since graduation, but their faces remain clear in my head. John Trump and Rich Kronewitter were the TKE brothers who lived across the hall. John Kreger, a straight laced guy, who was sure to turn out to be a company man handled the resident advisor duties. He helped arrange switches in troubling rooming assignments. I lived with Parsippany preppie John Spagnola for the second semester. IMG_5948-2Steve Loh walked around like he was running for Mayor. For a tall geeky lad he was popular enough, and appeared to always get what he wanted. Scott Shikora and Bruce White were roomies from Long Island who went home every week-end. At a time when Phil Esposito was still playing they were fanatical Ranger hockey fans. And finally, Bill Scully , who although never threw one pitch for the Muhlenberg Mules, guaranteed we would all see him playing in the majors.
That first semester of my freshman year I focused on my school work more than at any other point in my life. Mon, Wed, Friday, intermediate French at 8 am, Intro. To Communications at 10am, and Freshman English at 2pm. Tuesday and Thursday it was Philosophy at 8am and American History at 11am. Every morning I made it to my 8am classes. This was quite an accomplishment for an 18 year old who the previous summer never arrived home before the street lights went down. I was proud of the 2.6 cumulative I pulled off that semester and more importantly I had demonstrated to myself I could set and reach goals. For the first time in I my life I was learning in the classroom and actually began to understand myself. IMG_5949-3I discovered in Ed Baldridge’s class that I loved History. I read “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” for Dick Thornburg’s literature class and realized that I longed to be something more than a dim jock. That fall it was clear that nothing was going to be easy for me– that nothing was going to be handed to me. I was going to have earn back the notion of who I thought I once was. At Muhlenberg I was aware not a single person could have cared one iota about the life and times of Rich Siegel.

Jay Mottola
Jay Mottola

Jay Mottola, who is now the President of the New York Metropolitan Golf Association had much to with my decision to attend Muhlenberg. Coach Mottola was originally from Tuxedo New York and I got to know him as a boy on the links. He had been the assistant basketball coach at Muhlenberg and was one of only two coaches who recruited me to play basketball at a Division III college. The other was Ron DeArgenio,  was an assistant head coach at Moravian. He recruited me on the advice of his college roommate at East Strasburg State, Kemble Matter who just happened to be my high school gym teacher. On my second day in Allentown I walked eagerly into the athletic offices looking for Jay Mottola .

“Hi I am Rich Siegel ,” I said to the receptionist. “Is Coach Mottola in?”

“No I am sorry, he took a job coaching at American University last week, he was replaced by Ron DeArgenio.”

IMG_5962-6The rug had been yanked out from under me and I felt abandoned. When informal fall practice began I counted approximately ten guards who believed they were ahead of me on the varsity basketball team depth chart. It started with senior captains Greg Campisi and Jimmy Johnson. It continued with a pair of sophomores who had seen considerable playing time as freshmen. Dave Saylor was the Allen High home town hero , who looked like and acted like he should be playing in the over 30 league. The other sophomore stalwart was the smooth and efficient Scott Becker. Behind them were Mike Clinton, Bobby Klutz, Jon Lucas, and Rick Greenberg. I didn’t know it the but the battles I had against my own teammates for playing time helped start me on a lifetime of self- discovery. I found a person inside me that I had never known. A competitive fighter with a never quit, take no prisoners , never give up attitude.

IMG_5950-4It was December 22, 1978 and Martin Luther Hall with the exception of my solitary figure in room 50 was completely still. Earlier in the morning I had taken my intermediate French final . Basketball practice was finished at 5:30 and on this night and for the first time since August I would be driving home to New Paltz. I had been the last of the class of 1982 to arrive at Muhlenberg, so it seemed fitting that I would be the last to leave after the completion of the first semester. Upon my arrival at Muhlenberg my classmates were all present but I felt totally alone. Now, I was by myself sitting on my dorm bed contemplating the last four months. It had been the most dramatic, the most frightening and the most enlightening time period of my life. I had learned I was nobody special and that wasn’t such a bad thing. I discovered I had lived so far being a person that was mostly a figment of my imagination. I knew that night that I had taken the first tiny step on the long journey of self- exploration. I had learned the hard way that I was entitled to nothing. I discovered the reward came from what was earned, what was battled for, and that pain always had to go hand-in-hand with the gain. Before beginning my ride back to New Paltz I looked across the room to the poster draped on the other wall that met me as a freshman and stared at me the four months since.. By this time I was familiar with this relatively new rock star. I thought about his passion, his indelible commitment to his work which resonated in his lyrics . “Spend your life waiting for a moment that just don’t come.

Bruce Springsteen
Bruce Springsteen

Well, don’t waste your time waiting.” Before I arrived at Muhlenberg “The Boss” had already started taking what he wanted. I shut the dorm door behind me and walked into the cold Allentown night knowing in that instant– I was both going and leaving home.

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The Pine Bush Years | Part V – The Final Chapter

The Pine Bush Years | Part V – The Final Chapter

April 28, 2015 By Rich Siegel

Old Main building
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Me
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Mark Cartisano & Barbara Rossi

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.

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Craig Brown

“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.”

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Jerome Leonardi
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Dominick Radoslovich

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.

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Mrs. Glass and her assistant nurses

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.

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(L-R)Dave Killin, Shannon Salvati, Kelly Wood & Friends

“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.

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John Cavalluzzi

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.

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Elisa Roman
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Kate Kelly

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.

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Sue Coladangelo (on right)
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Roger Norton

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…”

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Bob Peay

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.

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Bob Yuengling

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.

Filed Under: Pine Bush Series, Uncategorized

The Pine Bush Years | Part IV – The Beginning of The End

The Pine Bush Years | Part IV – The Beginning of The End

April 16, 2015 By Rich Siegel

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Myself & Ms. Simmons

At 11 pm, the end of Labor Day was fast approaching and the fearsome foursome headed into Pat and Georges for “one last drink”. The endless summer had somehow slipped behind us. A silhouetted crowd of SUNY New Paltz students could be seen heading down the road and making their way to P&G’s watering hole.

“Girls, here’s a $20,” I directed to our lady companions, “Go to the bar and get yourselves some cocktails we’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

If a band wasn’t playing, there was never a cover charge. But with Springsteen, Journey, and U2 billowing out from well-worn 33’s, I decided there would be an admittance gratuity that night.

IMG_5761-1-6“Let’s stand here and collect a five dollar cover from all of these amateur college students on their way in” I said to Bruce with a smirk.  Bruce Concors certainly didn’t need the money but was always ripe to step out on the edge. “O.K. I will I.D. them and you collect the money,” Bruce said with a straight face. After about a half hour, I had $340 dollars in my hand and Bruce had allowed at least ten underage co-eds into the joint. After using a portion of the money to purchase party favors we returned to our dates.

IMG_5762-1-7“Ladies I hope you’re ready for a long night. We are going to close this summer out with a bang!”  I then told the barkeep to get us a round of Cuervo Gold. We raised our shot glasses, “Here’s to keeping the summer alive one more night!”

IMG_5764-1-9Tuesday morning there was no need for an alarm clock because I never went to sleep. I showered alone, gargled with mouth wash, and hopped in my car- speeding through the back roads toward Pine Bush. Although  it was the 21st  “first day of school” of my life, I knew things were glaringly different than all the prior first days. I would go on to teach three more years after this one, but already my adrenaline and energy were in the rear view mirror. I had received tenure in the spring: a teacher’s free pass to longevity and stability. IMG_5760-1-5However, instead of feeling secure, my innards were that of a caged, baby lion yearning to run free. It had been a great three year run but it felt like the beginning of the end. That first day, one that should have been filled with thoughts of what was to come, was instead cluttered with a fogged hangover. All of my sensibilities were wrapped up in the party from the night before and the preceding years that had seemingly flown by. I  had  been abruptly awoken from a beautiful dream in which the friends and lovers had vanished. As I strode in the halls the “Big  Three”, as I affectionately called them: Bouzakis, Bubolo, and Casella were nothing but a memory. The PBHS version of the Rat Pack- cool, well dressed, 18 year old lady killers had left an indelible mark on me. Standing in my classroom I searched the rows of my new classes and couldn’t find Michelle Gray, Carolyn Snyder, or Stacey Browne, girls I would never see again.

IMG_5759-1-4This is what it’s like for school teachers; students graduate and move on with their lives while their mentors remain stuck in time. My fourth season into a career, whose average tenure is 35 years, and I was already thinking about a way out. As the fall of 1985 progressed, I tried hard to embrace the new seniors and continued to enjoy healthy relationships with most of the faculty. However, the administrative side was steadily pushing me closer to the edge. Ward Tice was a pleasant man with a perfectly lovely family, but as a high school principal, he was in way over his head. Water seeks its’ level and as a biology teacher Mr. Tice was adept at staying afloat. Being in command of 1500 students in a highly charged, diverse, ever growing senior high school left him gasping for breath. Ward had hired me, helped facilitate my move up from the middle school, and was responsible for granting me tenure with flying colors. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long between being anointed as the new king and attempts to have me thrown to the gallows. The biggest telltale sign of Tice’s efforts to dismantle and knock me from grace was represented by the students in my classes. Not by accident for sure, scheduled for Mr. Cartisano’s American History classes (and not mine) were Stacey Tice, Sandi Tice, Pam Hazen and Jennifer Steiler. Notably the kids of teachers in the school and those of the principal.IMG_5769-1-14

IMG_5771-15Patricia Simmons had started teaching with me at Circleville Middle school. Now in my second year at PBHS, she was making the move to the high school as head of the Social Studies department. Once a confidante and running mate as a teacher, she was now positioned to be my boss – or so she thought. My lifelong propensity to resist authority and be subjected to any kind of “boss” was escalating my growing unpopularity amongst the administration. Before Christmas vacation, it had gotten to the point where I wasn’t even on speaking terms with the head of my department. I was getting “written up” for skipping staff meetings and having students like Kim Kelly, Pati Hauck and Andrea Lunney make out my lesson plans and deliver them to Ms. Simmons for her review.IMG_5773-1-17 This was a woman who had been my friend and we had even gone on double dates together with other teachers. Now she was competing to be “public enemy number one”, whom I cruelly made fun of for her unfortunate characteristic of literally talking out of the side of her mouth.

Michelle Ponsolle
Michelle Ponsolle

Only 25 years old and feeling a malaise didn’t make sense to those in the education business. While the struggles with my fellow adults, co-workers, and bosses deteriorated, the affinity I had with the students never wavered. Before homeroom each morning, guys from my former J.V. basketball team gathered in my room to shoot the shit. We talked about sports, movies, and mostly personal stuff that never left the room. Jimmy Doyle, Dave Killen, Derek Moore, Eric Fuchs, and Mike Johnson filled the gap left by Shaughnessey, Merlken, and the like. Each kid in their own way was as special as the kid that preceded him. The cycle, though, was all too clear: the bodies in front of me would keep rotating in and out with the only constant being me. In the classroom my energy was no longer automatic. I had to press a button to jump-start me before every class. I would pick a student in my head beforeIMG_5772-1-16 every period to inspire me through the lecture. I convinced myself I couldn’t let down Kate Kelly or Billy Zwart or Michelle Ponsolle. It was a short term solution, but how long could I keep talking myself into bringing the kind of energy it took to be the dynamic teacher I felt it  necessary to be?IMG_5767-1-12

That initial day of the 1985 school year mercifully ended without incident for a very hung over teacher. A rented BMW sped along High Trail road on the out skirts of Walker Valley. The white luxury car came to a full stop in front of a back woods bar known as the Hoot Owl. The passenger crept slowly from his car, left the bright summer sun, and stepped into the darkness. As Foreigner pleaded to get the answer to what love is, the lone figure worked his way around the pool table and settled on a bar stool sidling up to the only other patron in the gin mill. The beautiful young blond was a rare sight in the Hoot Owl this Tuesday, or any other for that matter, but he knew this Pine Bush alum very well.

IMG_5765-1-10
Staci Tice

“What’s the lady drinking?” he asked the middle aged woman on the other side of the bar.

“Stoli White Russian with a tequila chaser,” chirped back the barmaid.

“Ah, same as where you left off last night,” the male customer said softly, still staring blankly ahead.

IMG_5775-1-18
(L to R) Tom Casella, Dean Bubolo, Dickie Bouzakis THE BIG 3

“I’ll have a Bombay and tonic, twist of lime.”

The two patrons never made eye contact.  “I see you made it through the first day, said the freshman co-ed. That’s quite an accomplishment after last night.”

Still only gazing straight ahead and staring at himself in the bar mirror, he gave a whispering laugh, “Not the first time I went with zero sleep. How about you, did you get any sleep?” He didn’t wait for an answer.

IMG_5766-1-11
Pam Hazen

“You know we have to take a break from this” he said.

“I knew that’s why you wanted to meet here this afternoon.” She threw down what remained of her drink and headed for the door. I walked behind her and watched her get into her tiny Ford two door and drive away headed for New Paltz State. My eyes followed the back of her car until it disappeared around the bend. The endless alluring summertime of an extended youth was fading. This exhilarating, wondrous, energizing chapter of my life was beginning to end.

unnamed-2

 

Filed Under: Pine Bush Series, Uncategorized

The Pine Bush Years | Part III – Running From Vito

The Pine Bush Years | Part III – Running From Vito

April 3, 2015 By Rich Siegel

Vito Working
Vito Working

Vito Colletta missed his calling. As he strode down the hallway in his $35 dollar Marshall’s sport jacket he looked as if he could be perfectly cast as a low level lieutenant in the Soprano gang. With his full head of slick black hair pasted to the side, shifty brown eyes, and bushy eyebrows he could have passed for a small time mobster on his way to carry out a hit. Instead, he was the assistant principal of Pine Bush High School, walking down the hallway with a sense of purpose that was testing his reputed lower than average I.Q. On this particular Monday my best guess was he was once again looking for me and not one of the students.

“Siegel did you leave school early Friday afternoon?’’ was his introduction to this latest potential confrontation.

“No, Vito, why would you make such an inquiry?” I replied sarcastically .

IMG_5582“Mrs. MaCewan said you walked out the side door at about two and never returned.”

Vito did not like me and he was doing everything in his power to catch me with my hand in the cookie jar. As Vito challenged me further regarding my early departure, I caught the eye of a 17 year old student who had developed into sort of a teaching assistant for me over the course of the school year and saw my opening.

10525842_1436405626644180_5682149928240551011_n“Vito, I am not going to let you or Mrs. McCewan embarrass yourselves any further.
Friday afternoon Kim Kelley had very a personal problem that needed private conversation. I was talking to Miss Kelly right over there,” pointing around the corner behind the stairwell.

“ Siegel I know you’re lying.”

“Well, Vito there she sits why don’t you go over and ask her.” The game of chicken was on. Mr. Colletta shot glances back and forth between myself and Ms. Kelly . Shaking his head in disgust he headed back down the hallway, walking with a defeated shuffle, once again not securing his man.

Kim Kelley
Kim Kelley

By the fall of 1984 I was ready to embrace moving out of the Middle School and walk the halls of academia at Pine Bush High School. It was a seamless transition for me at the time. I had already coached two years of J.V basketball and had become familiar with many of the athletes, cheerleaders, administration, and faculty. Now the ride from where I lived in New Paltz in my new 300zx was much shorter than the prior two years. In my mind it was a promotion, everything and everyone would be magnified. Standing in front of first period 11th grade American History class I felt like a baseball player who had spent a couple years in the minors and had just been called up to the majors. The lights were brighter, the kids were bigger, and the accountability was raised to a higher level.

Kate Bergamo
Kate Bergamo

Of the many labels I had been assigned , being called a good student was never one of them. And, now, there I was the authority and voice of reason to these late teens. As I stood in front of that initial class on opening day I was prepared to give these skeptical adolescents their money’s worth. As I think back

Caria Mclaud
Caria Mclaud

today, through steadily weakening eyes, some faces are blurred and others are crystal clear. Kate Bergamo locked in at attention with her big brown eyes. Jim Becker’s constant barrage of questions. Swimmer Regina Martin sporting a damp head from an early practice, or a late shower. Mike Lettera’s quiet smile that foreshadowed the unspoken bond we would develop. That first class at PBHS set the stage for an enchanted fairy tale-like school year for me. Little did I know, that his particular year would be the most fun, fulfilling , and rewarding year I would have in my teaching tenure.

 Greg MacAvoy
Greg MacAvoy

PBHS had been around much longer than me but in many ways we were coming of age together. Pine Bush, geographically one of the largest school districts in the state , unfairly had a reputation of being made up hard working farm families peppered with hard-core rednecks. In the early 1980’s a growing Middletown area created an overflow that brought more of the city types into PBHS. What on the surface looked like a lethal blending of polar opposites turned out be a potion of bonding and mutual respect. Superintendent Ed Moore had plans for turning Pine Bush into a winner in every way . He was determined to hire young energetic “superstar teachers”. He discovered these characteristics in the likes of myself, Mark Cartisano, Jerome Leonardi, Greg

Coach Marsh Canosa
Coach Marsh Canosa

MacAvoy, Robbie Greene, Carla McClaud and John Salvadore. Also on Moore’s agenda was having a winning football team. Moore heard that J. V. football coach Marsh Canosa wanted to leave the District to coach baseball professionally in Italy.

To keep his grips on the charismatic teacher and coach he cut an under the table deal. Canosa was allowed a half year sabbatical from Pine Bush to coach baseball professionally in Italy. Of course Marsh did not have to return, but if he did the deal was he had to take over as head coach of the a staggering PBHS football program. Marsh did come home, he installed the wing T offense, and with the talents of Mike Kiselak, Jack Shaughnessy , Rich Cameron, Tom Lamendola, and Joe Crisp Canosa’s first varsity team went on to win their only Orange County Championship in Pine Bush history.

Jack Shaughnessy
Jack Shaughnessy
Torill Hunsbedt , Mark Brennan
Torill Hunsbedt , Mark Brennan

Four of the seven teachers I mentioned stayed in Pine Bush as teachers another 25 years. Robbie Green went on to be Superintendent of Schools in Washingtonville New York. Leonardi stayed another 10 years , while I would depart with the class of 1987…….even though in that inaugural year I was sure I would never leave . There was one major factor that drove me to that belief. It was the students themselves and

Mike Kiselak, Tom Lamendola
Mike Kiselak, Tom Lamendola

the relationship I built with so many of them. Every day I brought the kind of energy to the classroom that opened minds, providing fertile ground for learning. I was challenged in American History by Jennifer McGregor, Jim Whittel and Kim Kelley.

I was debated in Criminal Justice by Bill Grau, Clint Knoll (some irony there) and Andrea Lunney. I was scrutinized in sociology class by Torill Hunsbedt , Mark Brennan and Alisa Lazio. I coached J.V basketball for the third consecutive year with players who slid in under the radar; Glenn Taylor, Derek Moore, and Jimmy Wright (currently the varsity football coach at Pine Bush).

Steve Loturco, Mark Cartisano
Steve Loturco, Mark Cartisano

I took it all in that first year, like a kid in a candy store. There was a little faculty room off the cafeteria that I don’t think many people even knew existed. Every school day myself, Steve Loturco, and Mark Cartisano exchanged war stories that

John Salvadore
John Salvadore

as of today I will not share. I observed student –student relationships, teacher-teacher relationships , and yes, teacher-student relationships. There are many tales that I have sworn to myself I will never retell, and so far I have kept that pledge. On the Senior trip to Busch Gardens I was awakened from a sound sleep only to be yanked out of my bed and mildly attacked by a swarm of 18 year old girls. I took it in fun and was always comfortable knowing that there was never anything more than youthful testing of the boundaries involving the interludes between myself and the students in my charge. Now the administration……. was an entirely different story.

Mike Lettera
Mike Lettera

It was a Thursday in the middle of June that I walked through the doors of the High school fashionably late. With a few cobwebs left from a day before of golfing, and a night on the town in New Paltz, I was startled when John Salvadore approached on my first step inside the

Robbie Green
Robbie Green

building.

“Siegs, they were paging you on the loudspeakers yesterday all afternoon. I just wanted to give you the heads up.”

The prior day had been a regent day and my kids were not testing until the next day. I had no responsibilities on Thursday but I knew teachers were required to be there for the whole day regardless. In by mailbox was a note from Mr. Colletta asking for me to see him immediately.

“I walked the building, called for you over the loud speaker several times, I got you this time Siegel,” Vito gleefully chirped. “You left the building early yesterday.”

“Sorry Vito, I had nothing to do in the afternoon, I was downstairs in the pool for two hours swimming laps.”

Joseph Crisp
Joseph Crisp
Jerome Leonardi
Jerome Leonardi

Vito’s veins in his neck were exploding as he picked up the phone in front of me.

“Mase,(Jeff Masionet was in charge of the school pool) was Siegel swimming laps in the pool yesterday afternoon?” I could tell there was a long hesitation on the other end but when Mase started to speak I could hear him.

“Come on Vito what do you want from me,”

“Just the truth Mase,”

“Jesus Vito, don’t do this to me, yeah Siegel was doing laps.” I loved teaching, and I loved the kids but having Wile E. Coyote chasing after me constantly was getting old fast. As Mr. Colletta stood there in frozen frustration I slowly turned and existed his office. Upon my departure, I said two words, just loud enough for Vito to hear, “Beep, Beep.”

richintro

Filed Under: Pine Bush Series, Uncategorized

The Pine Bush Years | Part II – Crossing The Lines

The Pine Bush Years | Part II – Crossing The Lines

March 26, 2015 By Rich Siegel

IMG_7867-15-10The top was all the way down as the little red MG sped through the winding roads of the Town of Crawford. One of the few FM stations that could get audible reception was playing Asia cranked all the way to the maximum volume, “One thing is sure…that time will tell.” At 7 am on this September morning there was the slightest aura of Autumn and school books. A kid who had possessed a disdain for being a student, and an overall cavalier attitude toward academia, was cruising along headed for his first day of being an educator. Like the dark roots that hid beneath his sun bleached hair, there was much more to this young man than met the eye.

My destination on this day was Circleville Middle School, one of the two middle schools located in the Pine Bush School District. Circleville is situated somewhere in between the city of Middletown (South) and the hamlet of Pine Bush (North). I was about to find out that the children who attended the school were a conglomerate of country farmers and pseudo-sophisticated city slickers. The combination would turn out to be volatile at times, but mostly charming. As I stepped out of my sports car and onto the pavement leading to my new life, I found myself challenged to stay focused on the moment. Before I reached the entrance doors I had to walk past three students-early arrivals on the first day of the new school year. Their faces burned into my first impression memory. I would later have names to go with these faces: Jeremy Ayres, Matt Brodsky, and Susan Brown gave me suspicious, curious looks as I brushed by them and entered the building.By the time Homeroom ended it was already evident to me that there was buzz building around room 122. Although I summoned all my powers to not let my suspicions be made obvious, I knew. The staring eyes, the murmurs, and the giggles all had to do with my presence. While inwardly I had a laugh, I was not there to be a rock star; I had chosen a career as a teacher and I was prepared to start educating. By 7:37 am on September 4, 1982, I was calling roll for the first period of my ninth grade World History class. The only thing that separated me from the students in front of me were my preppy, khaki pants, button-down shirt, and skinny tie. Like the boys staring back at me, my face was soft and not in need of a shave.
Susan Browne
Rich Siegel & Matt Brodsky
1st Period Class - World History | Elliot Ramos (rip), Lisa Cohen, Stefanie Masnyj, Mike Kennedy
On the Bus to Washington DC
John Cavaluzzi , Craig Brown on Bus
Congressmen Ben Gilman in front of Capitol Building with Kristen Buckner and another student.
Kristen Buckner and Barbara Casella
Collen Keaveny & Ashley Cunningham @ Vietnam Memorial
Maryann Murray

 
 
 
 
 
 
My room was sandwiched between two very distinctly different teachers: 58 year-old Doris Hambly and 25 year-old Dan Greenberg. Ms. Hambly was the “kindly grandmother- type” who was losing her grip on keeping up with the youth of the present decade. This fact didn’t seem to bother her in the least. Mr. Greenburg looked like he had just been rescued from a summer tour with the Grateful Dead. It had been only six years since “The Last Waltz” was filmed and still, his favorite rock group was the “The Band”. The two were a perfect sampling of the dichotomy that existed amongst the Circleville staff. When classes were done for the day, the young and the old, the married and the single, all mingled together in the hazy, muddled, seedy area of sex in the work place. The principal, a great guy, happened to be fooling around with the guidance counselGreenburgor, the science teacher was having an affair with the English teacher, and the gym teacher was trying to score with everybody. As for me, I reserved my faculty flings for an older, recently divorced, sixth grade teacher. She was a rookie teach who taught health and coached the girls field hockey team.

I can recollect so many people and events from that year in the finest detail even today: George Coates, acting as the AV guy, pushing the film projector to my room to give both of us a chance to get out of class. Rich Cameron sitting with a smirk on his face, in the back row of fifth period, claiming he didn’t have to do any work because he was going to play pro football. Dariane Miranda sitting in the first seat of a row that included four girls named Jennifer, or as I referred to them, Jennifer 1, 2, 3, and 4. I was always relieved that she raised her hand often because I had no trouble remembering her name. Barbara Casella and Kristen Buckner, a pair of best friends, went from the classroom to the sports’ bus when they signed on to be the statistician duo for the JV basketball team that I coached; two girls that I watched grow up before my eyes as they hung around the older athletes. Diana Cook, 15 going on 25, was surrounded by rumors that she was dating former Monkees’ drummer Mickey Dolenz, which she was. Chris Schick making out with the “flavor of the week”. Jim Whittel learning the state trooper code of silence early in life by walking up on a teacher on graduation night, behind the school, doing something undeniably against the rules.

All of the above are clear memories of a younger time that escaped most of us too many years ago. But in the few semesters I spent at Circleville, the most vivid images in my head come from the two occasions I chaperoned the eighth grade trip to Washington D.C. It was on the road trip in the late spring of 1984 when the lines that are only talked about in whispers were quite possibly crossed. The two Greyhound busses cruised down the New Jersey Turnpike with the sounds of Iron Maiden, Tom Petty and Van Halen seeping through air-tight windows. On the first night we arrived in D.C., a poker game broke out in one of the hotel rooms. It was tame at a 25/50 cent ante game, but as the gambling was breaking down with tomfoolery, a frustrated teacher stuck about 60 bucks was heard saying, “Shut the f… up and deal the cards.” On the next night, a male teacher and a female teacher were supposedly in a room that housed five eighth grades girls when a beer party ensued. One of the girl’s parents complained about the alleged incident when everyone arrived home. Following a shallow investigation involving some “forgetful” young girls, the Teflon teacher and the potential scandal were swept under the rug. Not only did I have lots of fun that trip with my young charges, I also spent plenty of time seeing the historical sites, and hiding in hotel stairwells with my fellow chaperone, a young student teacher named Maryann. That year’s visit to the nation’s capital was quite a sendoff for me as I was moved up to the high school in the fall.

Thirty one winters have passed. A black Cadillac glides over the exact same roads that the 1972 red MG convertible did on that long ago September morning. The music was softer, the speed of the car was slower, the ride was smoother, and the sense of urgency was subdued. It is March 21, 2015 and with the ground still white there wasn’t any sign that this was the first day of Spring. The Ides of March had just passed in the unpredictable month bridging Winter and Spring, between moving on and leaving behind. As I pass one of the many beautiful horse farms, I can see the images of my former students.

I hear the buzz of energetic youth in the hallway; the young teenagers so desperately attempting to be adults. I look into the open fields and I see those faces in front of me: Chris Battaglia, Maria Mancuso, Kelley Malara, Corey White, Sue Hassler… there are many others. As it was once upon a time, they seemed to be waiting for my direction, wondering what I’m going to say next. I’m traveling down that same highway, the one where I had made so many wrong turns, the same road I began the search to find myself. Those students I see in the field now had been my fountain of youth. The man behind the wheel of the Cadillac makes a sharp turn off of route 302 into the old school. Visualizing those younger years, he wants to go back.

Filed Under: Pine Bush Series, Uncategorized

The Pine Bush Years | Part I – The Beginning

The Pine Bush Years | Part I – The Beginning

March 18, 2015 By Rich Siegel

IMG_5340-1It was as quiet as a fraternity house could get. The ambiguous time on Sunday afternoon when you’re not ready to leave the weekend behind and certainly not desiring to think about what lies ahead. The only noise I could hear was Daryl Hall crooning something about the “kisses on a list”. It was the middle of  August and for a recently graduated 22 year old wannabe school teacher, time was not on my side. As one of only a few brothers staying in TKE house  that summer of 1982, no one would have ever detected any anxiety from an unemployed, college degree holder looking to start his career in the classroom. I had just completed my student teaching at Allen High in Allentown Pa., and beside public speaking, teaching seemed to be the only talent I possessed. The problem was Bethlehem  Steel was going out of business and a new school teacher had not been hired in the  Allentown area in the last five years. Still, there I lay with my head in the lap of Nancy Coslet, sipping a cold draft. I recall my mind being as quiet as it ever has been. Nancy was a friend who was going to be a senior at Cedar Crest College the neighboring all-girls college. We didn’t use the term then but we were “friends with benefits”. Nancy was a great girl and always looking out for me, but on this lazy, hazy, August dog day living there in Allentown, she was a about to end my moment of tranquility forever.

She pushed the Help Wanted section of the New York Times into my face, “Rich, it’s time for you to go to work.” I raised myself up, flattened the paper with all the news that is fit to print and started reading aloud. “High School Social Studies teacher with Basketball coaching experience wanted: Pine Bush High School: Pine Bush, New York.” For the prior three years I had been determined not to return to my home town area. I had been prepared to make my mark and start a life in the Lehigh Valley. Somewhere in the dim light of the late afternoon I knew I was going home. One phone call and one interview later, Pine Bush Central School District was my first professional employer. I didn’t realize it at the time, but Nancy Coslet playfully hitting me in the face with a newspaper triggered the course of the next 35 years. I do my best not to dwell on the “what ifs”; I prefer to look at spontaneous happenstance as opportunity. If my friend had skipped over that ad, or not bought the New York Times that day, God only knows how different my life could have been.I see their faces clearly now, as if it was that early September day in 1982. Mike Kennedy, Elliot Ramos, and Cheryl Brown sat in that order in row one. Standing in front of my first official class with my square knit tie and penny loafers I remember an amazing feeling of empowerment and self worth.  It took a few minutes to convince the group in front of me that I was not a new student playing a prank, but actually their history teacher. I truly loved to teach and did believe I was doing what I was meant to do. While I struggled hard in my personal life, the five years I taught in Pine Bush were magical. Only now am I aware that the experience made my 20’s bearable and presented me an extended adolescence that I needed so badly. Like at the start of any intense love affair I was smitten with Pine Bush and they with me. We were both finding our way, growing, making mistakes, rising, falling and acquiring new-found confidence.

 

 

 

 

I taught two years of eighth and ninth graders before moving on to the high school in Autumn of 1984. Even though I had a couple years of experience, the line between student and teacher became a sliver. I liked to think I never crossed those fine lines, although I’m sure there are some with long memories that may beg to differ. The fact was I had close, meaningful  relationships with both students and faculty. I taught students I was sure would go on to make a difference in the world: Scott Hughes, Regina Martin, Dean Bubalo, Mike Kiselak, and Darren Terry. I coached athletes that possessed grit and desire that any coach would die for: Jack Shaughnessey, Peter Tomasulo, Kenny Merklin, and Jimmy Doyle. What I didn’t understand then was the impact that these students had on me until after I left the stage. It was March 15, 1986  that I met  a student’s sister who would turn out to be the love of my life and future wife. She was going to medical school in Albany and I was teaching in Pine Bush. We got a place halfway in between and still call Kingston our home.

Fast forward three decades and my phone rings, I didn’t recognize the number but I made an exception and picked up the phone. “Hey Rich, this is Michelle Annunziata,” Michelle lives in the area and is one of the few people from back then that I’ve had limited contact with over the years. “Coach Murray put together a swim reunion and we’re holding it at Kiernan’s in Pine Bush, why don’t you stop by?” “Thanks Michelle, but you know I’m not big on group reunions, tell Charlie (Murray) I said hello and give me a call to let me know how it went.” Coach Murray and myself came of age together as teachers and people at about the same time and in the same place. We were very different and yet very much alike. As coincidence would have it, Charlie married a doctor and I married a Physician’s Assistant. Our wives have been in practice together for over 20 years. Yes, it is a very small world. Michelle’s phone call about Coach Murray took my attention back to Pine Bush. How did I get there? How did I get from there to here? If we try, we all can connect the dots to our lives.

Laboring with the requirement for teachers to obtain a Masters Degree prior to beginning their sixth year and wrestling with school authorities’ regimentation and rules prompted me to leave Pine Bush in the spring of 1987. I left teaching altogether two years later. When I put the pieces of my life together as the years pass it becomes more evident to me that my days in Pine Bush were a fundamental point to the start of the puzzle called adulthood. I have a deep appreciation for those early periods of a career I ended up leaving behind. The community, the students, and my co-workers accepted me as a flawed neophyte trying to make his start in the big world. In the present, there is not a day that goes by that I don’t find reason to draw on my experience in Pine Bush. We all have precise instances in time that set the course of our lives. For me, it is nice to be able to pin point one such moment. Nancy Coslet had much to do with me going back to the Hudson Valley and starting a teaching career. The dots began connecting in the hamlet of Pine Bush. Our lives have a tendency to circle back from whence we came. Lately I can feel the axis spinning. Thanks, Nancy, wherever you are.
IMG_5341-1-2

Author’s Note: More specific stories from the Pine Bush years to come in the next few weeks.

Filed Under: Blog, News, Pine Bush Series, Uncategorized

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