Old School

Sad to say, but "old school" is in decline. Some might think this is a good thing, but it's not. To me, when you say someone is "old school", that isn't a pejorative but rather the highest compliment that can be paid. Old school means doing things the right way, even when it may not be fashionable. Old school means having principles and sticking by them. It means no shortcuts, not being afraid to follow your conscience, not worrying about being popular, and no apologies. Old schoolers believe in family, God and country. They believe in education for its own sake. Hard work is what they know, and they are not tolerant of laziness. They are respectful and polite to others in an increasingly hostile world.

I grew up in an old school world where there was little tolerance for self-pity and no professional victims who blamed everyone for their problems except themselves. If you wanted to eat and have a roof over your head, you worked. As I think back, many of the jobs people did were hard. There were still ice boxes around in those days. Before electric refrigeration people used wooden boxes that held blocks of ice to keep food from spoiling. These blocks were delivered by muscular men who drove trucks and delivered the ice blocks from the ice house to their destinations. I remember they wore burlap sacks over the shoulder onto which they hefted the heavy blocks using a large metal pincers. Oftentimes they delivered to second or third floor apartments. The work was brutal, but they did it with dignity. This is how they fed their families. They were old school.

For many neighborhood people, education was something of a luxury. They had to quit school and go to work to help out the family. It's no wonder that they vowed their kids would not suffer the same fate. Many dipped into meager incomes and found the few dollars to send their children to parochial schools. Others relied on the public schools which were exceptional in those days. Kids were encouraged to learn and parents allowed the schools to do their jobs without the incessant interference teachers must put up with today. At graduations, you would see these old school parents bursting with pride as their sons or daughters received their diplomas. Having a college grad in the family was almost unheard of. For them, an education was everything. They were old school.

Being poor was no excuse for being rude. There were standards, and people abided by them. You respected your mother and father, not only because the ten commandments required it but because it was the right thing to do. You respected elders and people in authority like policemen, clergymen and teachers. Men held doors for women; young people gave up their seats on the bus to older people; profanity in mixed company was looked down on; manners were actually something we cared about. I remember learning things in school like how to make a proper social introduction, how to act at the dinner table; not to stare at people who were different; and how the words "please", "sorry", and thank you" could take you a long way in this world. Courtesy is old school.

Clearly attitudes about things like work, education, and family have changed over the years. I see kids saying things to their parents and teachers that would have got me a wooden spoon upside my head. I see punks taunting cops and the cops bending over backwards to avoid responding. An old school cop would have planted his foot in someone's ass and administered a much needed lesson. Teachers get hassled by bratty kids with no manners and no fear of reprisals because they know Mommy will back them up. Bullies electronically terrorize the odd kid out until the poor kid does something to himself or someone else. This is the world we live in and I think we are all worse off for it. We could use a little "old school" to turn things around.

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Crumbs

Sometimes thoughts come into my head about things I remember from growing up in the Fifties, but they're not substantial enough to devote an entire blog to. (Sorry about ending that sentence with a preposition; Miss Baumann would be horrified.) There is no rhyme or reason to these random recollections, still, I wanted to share them, like breadcrumbs being cleaned off the table cloth with one of those fancy silver restaurant sweepers that adds ten bucks to the price of your meal. 

My church, Our Lady of Lourdes in the Bushwick section of Brooklyn, used to ring the "Angelus Bell" every day. The Angelus Domini, shortened to "the Angelus," is the ringing of the church bell -- in three groups of three chimes with a pause in between each group, followed by 9 consecutive strokes -- and its associated prayers, which spring from the old monastic practice of praying at the sound of the Angelus Bell. As Catholic school kids we were instructed  to stop what we were doing wherever we were and say 3 Hail Marys in honor of the Incarnation. As we got older it became harder to follow this practice for fear of being teased (or worse) by our jeering friends. Only those guys who were very religious and very tough continued to pray unmolested.

One of man's cleverest creations was the wooden desk that school children sat at. (Sorry again Miss Baumann.) These marvels featured a writing surface complete with an inkwell (yes Virginia, we used real ink and plastic quill pens) and a carved-out notch where you could rest a pencil or pen without it rolling down the slanted desktop. There was a shelf under the desktop for storing books that kept them accessible, yet neatly out of sight. Also built in was a wooden bench that could be folded up to facilitate getting in and out of your seat. The final touch of genius was the way these units were bolted together so that the backrest of each seat supported the desk behind it. They were assembled in rows of maybe 10 desks, and served many generations of Lourdes boys in their white shirts and blue ties.

Street kids had a definite pecking order. At the bottom were kids who were hopeless at sports or who had some distinguishing characteristic like a lisp, a stutter or eyeglasses that could be made fun of. (See previous Miss Baumann apologies.) . In the middle were kids who could play sports passably and knew enough about their limitations to not press their small advantage. The alpha boys excelled at sports and usually were chosen first when games were played. There were also guys who were good with their fists who, regardless of their sports prowess, found their way into the upper echelon just because those who might disagree with them didn't like getting beat up. I sometimes wonder how many of the bookish, bottom-tier kids wound up as corporate CEOs making ten times more than the alphas now working many levels below them. Karma is a bitch.
  
For me, the ultimate candy store treat was an ice cold egg cream. There were some "musts" for serious egg cream drinkers that separated those truly in the know from the amateurs. First, it had to be served in a large Coca Cola glass, NEVER a cone shaped paper cup. Next, it had to be made with Fox's U-bet chocolate syrup. Finally, it had to be prepared in the proper sequence. Chocolate syrup followed by milk filled to about 25% of the glass's capacity and then cold seltzer stirred with a long spoon as it was being added so as to create the signature creamy head that formed on top. That first sip (no straw please) would coat your upper lip with white foam as the cold chocolate goodness hit the back of your throat. (No, there is no egg in an egg cream; if you thought that you never lived in Brooklyn.)

Once in a while I am confronted with something that triggers one of these dormant childhood memories and the connection is almost electric. 

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“SPALDEEN DREAMS” POSTS.

ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG, BRAINDROPS:  http://jpantaleno.blogspot.com/

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: 

Children's Craniofacial Association   http://www.ccakids.com/