A Unique Elementary School Experience...

Sister James Edward, Sisters of the Holy Names, with friends, around 1950

I attended kindergarten at Elmer Avenue Elementary School in Schenectady.  It was less than a mile from home and I walked there and back every day at the age of four.  It was a different time.  When it was time for me to start elementary school in earnest, there was never any doubt that I would follow my older brother and sister to the school associated with our church, St. John the Evangelist, about which I have written many blog entries. 

At the time I started at St. John's, the school was housed in two rather large Victorian residential buildings.  First though third grades were held in a building that had at one time served as the residence of Mr. Bert Curley, the first organist and choir director of the church, starting in 1905.  It was behind the church, facing Eastern Avenue.  By 1945, the building housed a couple of restrooms, some classrooms, and a room upstairs that could be used by a school nurse.  There was also a closed solarium or sun porch that was used as a lunch room.

The other building was on the east of the church, facing Union Street.  It held fourth through eighth grade classrooms and a solarium that served as the music room.  It also was the residence for the nuns who ran and staffed the school, so it included their kitchen, dining room, and sleeping quarters.  The nuns were of a French-Canadian order, The Sisters of the Holy Names of Jesus and Mary.

My first grade teacher was a young nun named Rolande Cassidy who had entered the order in 1937.  She had taken the name Sister James Edward (at that time, new sisters took the names of saints whom they particularly admired.)  We always knew her as Sister James.

We've all heard the stories of nuns who are threatening disciplinarians.  My experience with the nuns who taught me through sixth grade certainly doesn't support that myth.  Starting with Sister James Edward and subsequently Sister Alice, Frances Ovila, and others, my perception was of a group of selfless, kindly, loving and devoted women in service to their God and church.  There were of course moments when I deserved and received discipline at the hands of the good sisters, but I have no recollection of anything damaging to my psyche.  These were wonderful years, taking place immediately after the end of World War II.

There were disadvantages to attending a small parochial school at that time.  We had no formal physical education program because we had no gymnasium (the "new" school, built in the 1950s that replaced the old buildings included a gymnasium).  And there was no formal science education as there were no lab or science classroom facilities.

On the other hand, we were thoroughly versed in the written and spoken word and certainly in the tenets of our faith.  We wrote essays or "papers" starting in the third grade.  We were expected to use proper grammar at all times, and the nuns I knew were not shy about correcting our speech.  We learned cursive writing from the second grade on, with daily writing drills.  And one of my fondest memories was starting each day reciting the Pledge of Allegiance facing the flag with our hands over our hearts, followed by the Lord's Prayer.  It was a simpler time, but those skills have served me well.  I'm still accused of being part of the Grammar Police.

Even though my parents transferred me to a public school starting in seventh grade, I remained close to many of my old St. John's classmates.  In 2003, they reached out to me to invite me to a 50th reunion of our elementary school class!  I flew to Albany and rented a car for the appointed weekend.  On Friday night, I joined Mike Leding, Noreen Quinn (Now Noreen Bennett, and others at a pizzeria for an informal Friday night gathering.  There were wonderful recollections among a group of old comrades.

On Saturday evening, we were to have a formal banquet at the old Mohawk Club, now called the Stockade Inn in Schenectady's historic Stockade Area.  The Guest of Honor was to be none other than Sister James, now constrained to a wheelchair and blind, but still living and eager to attend.  I dressed up and arrived at the Inn a few minutes early.  I bumped into Maury Lynch in the lounge.  We had probably not seen each other for 45 years.  Soon we heard a commotion coming from the ballroom and meandered that way.

As we entered the ballroom with its tables arranged beautifully with fresh-cut flowers and elegant place settings, I spotted someone in a wheelchair at the opposite end of the setup.  "Where's that old nun?" I called out, echoing a greeting often used by our old pastor, Father Arnold J. English, when he was being  somewhat mischievous.  Without hesitation, I heard back, "I can't see you, but it's either Michael Leding or Bobby Mead!"  I knew I was in the right place.

We had a fabulous banquet.  Mike acted as Master of Ceremonies, his natural calling.  My favorite line of the night, as Mike was asking Sister James to say a few words, "Sister, you're the only woman in the crowd who doesn't color her hair,"  We basked in a sea of memories and stories and recollections until late in the evening.

It was not long after that wonderful evening that I received the news that Sister James had passed on.  I like to think that God allowed her that last party as a favor to us before He called her home.

Images of St. John's...

I've posted here several times that the church I grew up in was St. John the Evangelist parish in Schenectady, New York.  I recently had the opportunity to scan a photo album that was issued at time of the church's dedication in 1905.  Thanks to my old friend, classmate, and fellow codger, Mike Leding, for loaning me this precious album. Enjoy.  Be patient -- The file may take a while to load.
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1k-7DHdnDA2FzPD7Qloh7afSZU6_5Fuje/view?ths=true

Reminder of the Past...

The other day, I opened a medicine cabinet that we seldom use.  I spotted a prescription bottle and picked it up.  It was dated September 3, 1983.  That was the day I was discharged from a 28-day treatment program for alcoholism and drug addiction.  The pills, a few of which are left, are a drug called Anatabuse.  Antabuse is the brand name of the prescription drug disulfiram, which is used to treat chronic alcoholism.

The medicine blocks an enzyme that's involved in metabolizing alcohol.  When Antabuse is combined with alcohol, it may cause symptoms such as:

• Headache
• Nausea or vomiting
• Flushing of the face
• Chest pain
• Weakness
• Anxiety
• Blurred vision
• Confusion
• Sweating
• Difficulty breathing, or choking
• In extreme cases, death

Antabuse isn't a cure for alcoholism, but it may effectively discourage some people from drinking.  As I was approaching the end of my 28-day treatment program, I was terrified that I might compulsively drink again and that the next time would prove fatal for me.  Alcoholics do things like that.  I was willing to do anything that was recommended by the "experts," Dr. Bill Goodson and Dr. Bob Wise.  They recommended two things that this little bottle of pills reminded me of.

Dr. Goodson is a psychiatrist.  He recommended the use of Antabuse.  His theory was that if you knew that drinking while taking the drug might kill you, or at the very least make you so sick you'd wish you were dead, it might just work as a deterrent to compulsive binge drinking.  In my case, he was certainly correct.

Bob Wise, a clinical psychologist with an exceptional understanding of addiction, suggested a legal contract between me and Margo.  If I were to drink alcohol again, in any amount, I would have to move out of the house for thirty days, to be allowed to return only when and if she agreed to it.  A second offense would result in a permanent eviction, only to be ended after an intervention by professionals including a divorce attorney.  I agreed, and we signed a formal contract with witnesses.  This was very serious stuff.  I was desperate to stay sober and clean.

Now, over 36 years later, years of freedom and happiness free of booze, this discovery served as a gentle reminder of my continuing vulnerability.  Thank God for these little nuggets of wisdom that seem to pop up in the most unexpected places.

The Story of Our Lives in the Springtime...

What Goes Around Comes Around...

In 2011, I was part of a group of Camber Corporation employees who went to Texas A&M University’s College Station campus in response to a request by a former Camber client.  This gentleman, a retired Marine Corps Colonel, was working for the Texas A&M System, involved in managing proposals to obtain large Government contracts.  

At the time he contacted Camber, he was involved in responding to a request for proposal (RFP) issued by the Department of Health and Human Services’ Biomedical Advanced Research and Development Agency (BARDA).  It was BARDA’s intent to have one or more Centers for Innovation in Advanced Development and Manufacturing (CIADM) set up by the successful bidder(s) responding to this RFP.  The centers were in direct response to a report published in August 2010 entitled “Report to the President on Reengineering the Influenza Vaccine Production Enterprise to Meet the Challenges of Pandemic Influenza,”  

These centers would involve the construction of large and complex laboratories and production facilities capable of developing and producing massive quantities of a vaccine in response to a deadly influenza pandemic.  (I seem to recall that the goal was 120 million doses of vaccine within six months of the adoption of a specific product).   Can you see why I have been reflecting on this recently?

We assembled in a conference room at an appointed time.  In came the Colonel, neatly dressed in a dark business suit, looking very professional.  “I don’t have much time,” he said.  “I’m trying to get thirty faculty members to respond to seventy questions from the Government.  They want the answers by tomorrow night.  Have you ever herded cats?”  He explained that the reason he had called us to meet with him was that in his prior position, while on active duty, our company, Camber Corporation, had provided exceptional support services that helped him excel in his job performance. He then asked if we could introduce ourselves and describe briefly how we might help him in his proposal-developing effort.  He was in a hurry.  The operative word was “briefly.

”

Unfortunately, some of my colleagues missed the message.  They rambled on about their impressive resumes and broad professional experience.  Some droned on for several minutes. Finally, it was my turn to speak as the last in line. I took less than thirty seconds for my response, ending with, “Colonel, I’d love the opportunity to support you on this proposal.”  He contacted us when we returned to Huntsville.  I was the only one he wanted to hire to come back to College Station.  I’m convinced to this day that my brevity and consideration of his request was the main reason I was called back.

One of the skills I had mentioned in my brief oral portfolio was planning and scheduling large, complex programs.  When I had arrived back in College Station and presented myself to our new client, he made my job clear.  “I need for you to develop a detailed schedule of the way we will execute this job from beginning to end.  I have write-ups from the researchers and the medical experts and the construction firms that are going to build the facilities.  I need you to read all their narratives and put it all together in a cohesive schedule.”  The proposal was due in about three weeks.  I told him I’d give it my best shot.

Soon, I was poring over a pile of inputs from team members.  There were multiple large construction firms that had joined the team.  Part of the job involved constructing a large office complex, a state-of-the-art biological laboratory facility with the highest possible biological safety level as defined by the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) and NIH, and of course, the vaccine production facility, which would look like a moderately-sized factory.  Each of these construction firms had taken a different approach toward their portion of the schedule. Where one went to exquisite detail in describing their approach, another was described in vague, summary detail.  Integrating them would be a challenge.

Regarding the laboratory facility, someone had laid out a precise roadmap that included the sequence with which equipment had to be installed and tested.  I would need to determine the lead time for acquiring much of the laboratory gear in order to illustrate the ordering process in detail that would enable the orderly integration of the lab.  I began to construct the overall framework of an integrated schedule, making dozens of phone calls to clarify how the pieces would come together to create this massive pandemic response complex.

Three weeks later, just in time to be included with the massive proposal, my job was successfully completed.  I presented the proposal team with a schedule of nearly 1,500 tasks, all logically integrated, with data on who was assigned to perform the task, where it would be performed, start and end dates, accounting codes, and references to the Statement of Work sections that had required the task.  By employing the database functions contained in the scheduling software, a user could reorient the display to satisfy many different stakeholders. 

The A&M Team was extremely pleased with the product I contributed to their proposal.  More importantly, they went on to win one of the awards.  Initial funding was around $176 Million, with future growth potential of well over $1B.

Dr. Brett Giroir

I worked on this proposal seven days a week while I was in College Station.  One of the proposal team members with whom I worked (literally side-by-side, as our offices were in adjacent spaces) was Dr, Brett Giroir, who was at that time Vice Chancellor for the Texas A&M University System, and had come to the A&M System having served as Director of DARPA's Defense Science Office from 2004 to 2008.  Just a few days ago. I was watching the Corona Virus Task Force daily briefing when I saw none other than Dr. Giroir step to the podium.  He is now a four-star admiral in the U.S. Public Health Service Commissioned Corps, who currently serves as the Assistant Secretary for Health under the Trump administration.  Among his collateral duties, he concurrently serves as the director of the U.S. coronavirus diagnostic testing.  Talk about a small world!

The Ave Maria Religious Gift Shop

I was attending Mont Pleasant High School in 1957.  One of my best friends was Raymond Jankowski.  He loved not far from the school and we'd often go to his house after school to "Hang out."   I learned that Ray's mother had an affinity for horse racing.  She also enjoyed an occasional wager on the horses.  She would say she was going over to Crane Street to place a bet.  It never occurred to me at the time that this was both illegal and remarkably convenient (as Crane Street was very close to the Jankowski's home on Willett Street.  Legal off-track betting was something unheard of at the time.  This was strictly a local activity (service?) of organized crime.

Fast forward to the summer of 1959.  Now I'm attending the University of Rochester and I'm home for Summer vacation.  My friend Hal Johnson is working for the city Department of Parks and Recreation as a Park Recreation Director.  And his park is not for from Ray Jankowski's house.  So sometimes the three of us are seen hanging out.  By now, Hal and I have developed an interest in betting on the horse races taking place not far away at Saratoga Race Track.  I'm sure this interest was enhanced by our frequent evening visits to BL's Tavern which I've written about in an earlier blog entry.  The proprietor of BL's, Benny Lenciewicz was an avid horse racing fan and engaged daily in wagering on the horses.

So one day, Hal and I decide to bet on the Daily Double at Saratoga.  We ask Raymond J. where his mother used to place her bets.  He informs us that it was the Ave Maria Religious Gift Shop on Crane Street.  That's all Hal and I needed as we headed over to Crane Street during Hal's lunch hour to place what I recall to be a $5.00 bet.

The Ave Maria Religious Gift Shop was not much to look at.  As we walked in, we saw a couple of sparsely populated racks of religious greeting cards and a shelving unit with a few statues, crucifixes, rosaries and votive candles.  In the back of the store was a counter behind which sat a balding gentleman who reminds me today of Danny DeVito.  "How may I help you gentleman?"  We explained that we wanted to put $5.00 on the Daily Double at Saratoga for that afternoon's races.  He was shocked at our request!

"That sounds like somethin' to do wit' gamblin'," he pronounced.  "I don't know nuttin' about no gamblin'.  It ain't even legal.  Now get the hell outta here!"  Needless to say, we left.  We proceeded back to Ray's house, sure that he'd given us some bad information.  When we got there, Mrs. Jankowski, Ray's mother, was home and invited us in.

We shared our story.  She laughed hysterically.  She explained, "You were in the right place, but you should have had me take you in to introduce you.  Nobody is going to accept bets from a complete stranger.  You have to be "connected."  We gave Mrs. J. our $5.00.  She placed our bet, which yielded exactly nothing.  That ended Hal's and my joint gambling careers.

The Meads and a Football "Giant"...

Mel Hein as New York Giants Center

I've written more than once about my parents' closeness to the family of Carroll and Eleanor Gardner.  The relationship started when my father and Carroll (whom I always knew as "Uncle Pink) grew up as next-door neighbors on Eagle Street in Schenectady.  Almost as interesting as the Gardners were some of the people whom my folks got to know through their friendship.  One of these secondary friendships was a gentleman named Mel Hein and his family.  And Mel, whom I called "Uncle Mel" turned out to be a genuine football giant.

Carroll ("Pinky") Gardner had a sister, Marge, who married J. Harold "Hal" Wittner.  Hal was the Athletic Director at Union College, the campus of which was only a block from our house.  He was another of those non-blood-relatives whom the Mead children addressed as "Uncle" Hal.

Hal Wittner had attended Union College in the late teens and early twenties and had been a stellar athlete.  He was Captain of the Union Garnet baseball team both his junior and senior years as an undergraduate.  He had become Union's Director of Athletics in 1938.  When World War II broke out in late 1941, the Navy established an officers' training program called V-12.  Many prominent athletes volunteered to assist the host universities with the physical training aspects of the program.  That is how Mel Hein ended up at Union College in Uncle Hal's department.  He served as Union College's football head coach from 1943 until 1946, when the family left for California.

The Hein family lived on University Place, just about a half-block distance from our house.  They had a son, Mel Jr., whom they called "Cappy."  Cappy was my age and we became fast friends.  Little did I know that my friend's father, "Uncle" Mel Hein, was a true football "Giant."

According to Wikipedia: "Melvin Jack Hein (August 22, 1909 – January 31, 1992), sometimes known as "Old Indestructible",[1][2] was an American football player and coach. In the era of one-platoon football, he played as a center (then a position on both offense and defense) and was inducted into the College Football Hall of Fame in 1954 and the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1963 as part of the first class of inductees. He was also named to the National Football League (NFL) 50th and 75th Anniversary All-Time Teams.

Hein played college football as a center for the Washington State Cougars football team from 1928 to 1930. He led the 1930 Washington State team to an undefeated record in the regular season and received first-team All-Pacific Coast and All-American honors.

Hein next played 15 seasons in the NFL as a center for the New York Giants from 1931 to 1945. He was selected as a first-team All-Pro for eight consecutive years from 1933 to 1940 and won the Joe F. Carr Trophy as the NFL's Most Valuable Player in 1938. He was the starting center on NFL championship teams in 1934 and 1938 and played in seven NFL championship games (1933–1935, 1938–1939, 1941, and 1944).

Hein also served as the head football coach at Union College from 1943 to 1946 and as an assistant coach for the Los Angeles Dons of the All-America Football Conference (AAFC) from 1947 to 1948, the New York Yankees of the AAFC in 1949, the Los Angeles Rams in 1950, and the USC Trojans from 1951 to 1965. He was also the supervisor of officials for the American Football League from 1966 to 1969 and for the American Football Conference from 1970 to 1974."

How many people do you know that have their own bubble gum card?

On February 2, 1992, Uncle Mel's obituary appeared in the New York Times:
Mel Hein, 82, the Durable Center of the New York Football Giants
By Robert Mcg. Thomas Jr.

Credit: The New York Times Archives

Mel Hein, the great center-linebacker who was the iron man and captain of the Giants teams that won seven division titles and two league championships in the 1930's and 1940's, died Friday night at his home in San Clemente, Calif.

He was 82 years old and died of stomach cancer, his family said.

From the time the big all-American from Washington State stepped onto the field in a Giants uniform for the first time in 1931 until he retired at the end of the 1945 season, he was a legend to Giants players, coaches, fans and opponents. 

Called the Greatest Center

Virtually impossible to get past on offense and all but unblockable on defense, he was widely described as the greatest center ever to play the game.

The Giants owner, Wellington Mara, who grew up awed by the great 1930's teams of his youth, once called him the No. 1 player of the team's first 50 years, and if there has been his equal since, it is the linebacker Lawrence Taylor.

Al Davis, the Raiders owner and former coach who worked alongside Mr. Hein when both were assistants at the University of Southern California in the 1950's and who later hired him as supervisor of officials for the old American Football League, was even more outspoken when he was asked about Mr. Hein last week.

"He was truly a football legend and a giant among men," said Mr. Davis. "Mel was one of the greatest football players who ever lived."

For much of his career, in the days when players were expected to play both offense and defense, the 6-foot-3-inch, 230-pound Mr. Hein was considered indestructible.

After playing virtually all of every game at Washington State for his full four years and then leading the team to the Rose Bowl (a loss to Alabama in 1931), Mr. Hein continued the pattern with the Giants.

The first, and only, sign that he, too, might be subject to human frailties occurred in the championship game against the Packers in 1938. He was knocked out briefly in the first half and had to be carried off the field but returned a few minutes later (despite a broken nose) to help the Giants nail down their second N.F.L. championship. It was the only time in his career that he occasioned a timeout.

Mr. Hein then won the league's most valuable player award for the season, the first time the award was given. No interior offensive lineman has won it since.

For all the glory of his career with the Giants, it happened largely by accident and through a violation of sacred postal regulations.

In 1931 Mr. Hein wrote to several N.F.L. teams, including the Giants and the Providence Steamrollers, offering his services. When the Providence team was the first to respond, offering him a $125-a-game contract, Mr. Hein signed it and mailed it back.

The next day a Giants contract, offering $150 a game, arrived, and Mr. Hein sent a wire begging the postmaster in Providence to intercept the other contract and return it. The official obliged, and the rest is Giants history, A Coach and an Official

After leaving the Giants, Mr. Hein, whose $5,000 salary in 1945 made him the highest-paid lineman in the N.F.L., served as line coach for several pro teams, including the Yankees and the Rams, and then spent 15 seasons at U.S.C. before accepting Davis's offer in 1965 to direct the A.F.L. officials. After the merger of the A.F.L. into the N.F.L., he remained as supervisor of officials for the American Football Conference until his retirement in 1974.

He was elected to the College Football Hall of Fame in 1954 and was a charter member of the Pro Football Hall of Fame when it was organized in 1963.

He is survived by his wife, Florence; a son, Mel Jr.; a daughter, Sharon Wood, and four grandchildren.