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 .
“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.
“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.
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.
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
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.
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
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.
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
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).
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
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.
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
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.”
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.”
