Graduation Weekend, in Three Takes

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River Forest, Illinois, June 1976. Where did I imagine I'd be in 40 years?

My alma mater is in the news.

A Newsweek article about Trinity High School.

Thanks to my classmate Nora for pointing this article out to me.

Religion Class

River Forest, Illinois, January 13, 1976. Religion classes were mandatory at my high school. Few of us took the classes seriously, and we usually tried to find a course that wasn't very "religiony." This photo is from one of those classes, Marriage Class.

The requirement that students wear uniforms did not mute self-expression.

Grading

River Forest, Illinois, November 1975. A teacher at my high school uses the time between classes to review a few papers.

"Bonjour!"

River Forest, Illinois, November 1975. Here's another snapshot from my stint as a high-school yearbook photographer. The woman on the right is the Dominican sister who taught French. I enrolled in French-language classes after I completed my two years of Latin study. She was an amazing teacher: she never allowed us to speak English in her classroom. I felt nearly fluent in French after I completed the coursework.

This teacher's training was so good that when I enrolled in college, I tested out of the foreign-language requirement and earned the equivalent of four years' credit in French. I was so excited when I learned the news that I called her from my dorm room telephone to thank her.

(Does anyone still install terrazzo floors [distinguishable from "terrazzo tiles"]? The Venetian apartment in which I lived had them, too. I just love them.)

Close-up Reunion

Athens, Greece, April 16, 1976. We continue to explore the Parthenon.

"Ticket Nunsense"

The President of my high school encounters a vanity-plate problem.

"She wanted students to see it all."

My beloved high school English teacher, Sister Angele, died last week. Some of the reflections at her wake stirred up memories. 

Although I don't share Sister Angele's love of travel, touring Greece with her was a great experience. She was a tolerant chaperone who left us on a long leash as we explored Greece and Turkey. We dodged serious trouble a couple of times. Our group also avoided some of our responsibilities. For instance, we all carried assignments overseas because we had homework. I was supposed to read Vanity Fair during that trip expressly for Sister Angele's class. I started reading the book on the plane ride home.

When we returned to school, Sister Angele pulled me aside into the hallway outside of her classroom. She warned me not to detail our "escapades" to classmates. Sister Angele's message and tone were stern, but her head posture and glint conveyed an appreciation of the mischief.

Santorini, Greece, April 1976. Sister Angele is the teacher who required us to memorize and recite the prologue to Canterbury Tales in Middle English. She taught me not to fear public speaking, and she introduced me to the study of the Middle Ages. She thereby started two threads that ran through my life.

Think Big.

River Forest, Illinois, November 1975. Here's another image from my stint as a high-school yearbook photographer. I took this in the office of the school's library. You likely notice the card catalog and typewriter. Did you see the film-strip canisters?

Kumbaya

River Forest, Illinois, September 1975. A cherished high-school friend visit me this week. She took a day off and drove up from the Chicago area. I had seen her twice in the last thirty-eight years. We picked up as though no time had passed. She brought a photo album filled with some touching snapshots. Among them was this one she took at the "Big Sister/Little Sister" picnic the high school hosted at the beginning of our senior year. We attended a mandatory, outdoor Mass during the picnic. My friend correctly remembered that I disliked going to Mass, and she recalled I was annoyed by the 1970s-ish "cool" Mass trappings. I'm (wearing a bandana and) apparently singing compliantly in this image, but my friend spotted a look of discomfort and skepticism in my brow.

Thanks to my friend Mary for making this photo available to us.

Keeping her cool.

River Forest, Illinois, November 1975. I served one year as a "photographer" for the high-school yearbook. Here, I captured the amazing nun* who taught our AP English class. She's also the woman who organized and chaperoned that trip to Greece. I credit her with refining my understanding of culture.

*The women who ran the high school were "sisters," not "nuns."

"Red pants, that's France!"

Suburban Chicago, November 1960. This clip reminds me of "Red pants, that's France!" I learned that piece of uniform history during my senior year in high school, when I took "Western Civilizations." Western Civ was the course that turned me on to studying history. I liked the class because we used a college-level textbook,* and the teacher, Sr. Francia Shannon, was amazing. She taught us to use primary sources.  

I think my classmate will remember how we repeated, "Le pantalon rouge c'est la France!"

*Our edition was a hardcover with white binding. I saved it for about 30 years; I think I got rid of it when we last moved. I have a newer, paperback, edition on the shelf—one that I used when I taught the course in the late 1980s. I'm annoyed I can't find my high-school volume. It had my underlines and notes. I'm a purger, but this is a time when I regret getting rid of something.

In Progress

Suburban Chicago, December 1972. Dad captures me working on the Mount-Olympus-crossword-puzzle project.

The Life Box (Part 15)

Here's an extra-credit project I did.* Extra credit. Ridiculous, I think now. I suppose in high school "extra credit" acts as an incentive. Like "do overs" and acknowledgement of  "effort."

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*This is a photocopy of the project. The teacher kept the color original.

The Life Box (Part 14)

By the time I enrolled in high school, the parochial curriculum no longer carried a Latin-language requirement. The school offered four languages: Latin, Spanish, French, and Italian. Most Catholic schools offered German instead of Italian; my high school taught Italian because it had a substantial enrollment of first- and second-generation Italian students. I'm sure my Parents would have directed me to study German if that language had been available.

My Parents decided I should study Latin. I wasn't thrilled about Latin because it was not a spoken language. But I came to love Latin for several reasons. First, the Dominican Sister who taught the course—Sister Mary Hope O’Brien—was a delight. She was elderly, and she wore full habit, in the pre-Vatican II style. She had me with that from the outset. Sr. Mary Hope was a tender, thoughtful person. When I had an appendectomy in the winter of my freshman year, for example, she sent some fellow sisters to deliver a care package to me at the hospital (this was back when an appendectomy resulted in a week-long hospital stay). Sr. Mary Hope also taught me the discipline of memorization, drilling, and repetition.

Second, studying Latin led me to appreciate grammar. I only approached grammar with discipline after I had studied sentence structure in the Latin language. My understanding of Latin grammar made it easier for me to study English. It also strengthened my Lithuanian because the Lithuanian language—like Latin—not only conjugates verbs but also declines nouns.

Third, Latin was a foundation on which I built my post-graduate education. I studied medieval history. It would have been difficult to pursue that field without a basis in Latin. Latin, in turn, made the study of French and Italian—also part of the medieval history program—much easier.

Here are some views of my Latin notebook:

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How did a sticker from my Animal Kingdom scrapbook make it into a high-school notebook?

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The drills begin. Here, the drills focus on vocabulary.

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We completed a translation exercise early in the school year.

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Vocabulary and conjugation drills.

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My handwriting doesn't look anything like that any longer.

A Friend of the Blog

My friend V and I met because of Amber Reunion. This is the second or third time that I've connected (or reconnected) with someone because of a blog. (The first time was when a beloved, high school friend spotted me over at Althouse. Ah! This also counts as a surprise of sorts.)

V, an active, life-long scout, had been searching for historical photos of Lithuanian scouting. She stumbled on this blog, but she did not see a direct way to contact me. Instead of commenting, V wrote to one of the Madison Lithuanians after she saw occasional references here to Wisconsin life. My friend and former folk-dancing teacher, Nijole, put V in touch with me.

V and I have been email pals ever since that original connection, and I am delighted to report that we will be meeting in person this summer.

Indiana, about 1965. Here's V with her Mom. Mom's folkdress is of exquisite quality. The book is about Lithuania's first President, Smetona. You can read more about Smetona here.

Thanks to my friend V for making this photo available to us.

The Life Box (Part 5)

In the 1970s, my high school—like many others of that era—divided students into groups based on the school's perceptions of our potential. Students clustered in the "AP" category enrolled in college-prep courses with demanding workloads. I often found the homework expectations overwhelming. There were many nights when my Parents permitted me to stay up beyond my bedtime so that I could finish assignments.

Most homework projects were rewarding. I enjoyed doing the newspaper project that accompanied our study of Romeo and Juliet. The same teacher who assigned the newspaper project also required us to write a play. I wrote a story about a man fleeing life behind the Iron Curtain. 

 

During my freshman year, I took a "World Civilizations" course. It was one of my favorite classes. Early in the year, the teacher assigned a "team project." We were to work in groups of two or three girls, and we were to produce a document that illustrated our understanding of ancient Greece. I chose to work with a classmate that I had met in gym class during the first week of school. 

 

Here are some snapshots of the assignment we submitted forty-one years ago. A few thoughts popped into my head as I looked at the project today: (1) In my first career, as an historian, I focused my research on Mediterranean piracy (see the last paragraph of the project's text); (2) The teacher who created this assignment still teaches at my high school; and (3) My partner on the project and I keep in touch, and she occasionally visits the blog.

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The Verona Morning Star

My favorite high-school teacher also taught English. We students thought this teacher was cool because she was only eight years older than we were. She was fresh out of college. She was stylish: her clothes were a bit hippie Bohemian, and she styled her hair in a long shag. The teacher spoke to us as if we were adults, and she often peppered her vocabulary with words we hadn't hear before. She moderated the "Creative Writing Club," which I joined, and she took a group to hear Germaine Greer speak at the local community college. (What I remember most about Greer's lecture was how Greer flirtatiously played with her long, silk scarf throughout the talk).

 

During my sophomore year, the teacher assigned Romeo and Juliet. To test our understanding of the play, she assigned an unusual homework project. We were directed to create a newspaper that knit the themes of the play and showed our grasp of its historical setting.

 

We received the assignment on a Friday, and it was due the following Monday. When I returned home from school, I headed that afternoon to my Best Friend's house. My Best Friend was artistic, and I hoped she'd have some materials with which I could craft the piece. We found some large sheets of newspaper stock in her supplies. My Best Friend and I went out to her backyard, where we burned the edges of the paper to make it appear aged. From there, I spent the weekend writing up stories about Renaissance Verona on my Parents' Royal Typewriter. I drew advertisements, maps, and a comic strip. 

 

The assignment was the most memorable one I completed. What I learned from this teacher—and from my other, favorite teachers—was that good teachers don't teach you material; they teach you to think differently and apply what you've learned critically.

 

 

Suburban Chicago, October 12, 1973. A piece of twine originally held the two pages of my newspaper together.

 

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Page 2 featured a column by Margarita's Mouth, "Verona's Galloping Gossip."

We go to the "Knit In."

Madison, Wisconsin, March 9. 2013. Today we visited the Madison Knitters' Guild 2013 "Knit In"!

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The Knit-In took place at the Bishop O'Connor Catholic Pastoral Center. The Center used to be a seminary. When I first moved to Madison in 1990, I tried to get a teaching job there. I didn't qualify for a position because I was not licensed for high-school teaching. I took a job at a yarn shop instead.

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The Flag of Vatican City flies on the property.

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In the Center's foyer, there's a curio (not curia) cabinet filled with (mostly) nun tchotchkes.

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Let's take a closer look. The doll on the bottom shelf, at the far right, looks like one of the Dominican sisters who ran my high school. (Have you seen The Singing Nun?)

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The Center's Chapel is light, modern, and inviting.

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We finally arrived at the Knit In's "Marketplace," staged in the center's Gymnasium.

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Although the space was crowded during much of the morning, things cleared out a bit occasionally.

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There were many tempting items, but we kept our impulses in check. We picked up a lovely bag (thanks, Donna!) and some exquisite buttons crafted from cedar wood.

Thanks to the Madison Knitters' Guild for organizing such a nice event. And thanks to my friend for creating another memorable outing for me and Mom.