"I am not a teacher: Only a fellow traveller of whom you asked the way" (George Bernard Shaw)

When I was coaching track and field at North Shore H.S. I had a young man on my team who ran the 100 and 220 yd. dashes, and the last leg on our championship mile relay team. His father was my doctor, but that fact in no way affected the magic of my relationship with Bob Marsden, a champion in every possible way and in any arena. And recently we have been in touch through e-mails. After Bob graduated in 1968, I don't remember ever seeing him again. Among other messages, the following is one that gave me the great satisfaction as a former teacher and athletic coach. Bob has been reading my "Memoirs of a Tail Gunner" and apparently has reached the description of my 80th birthday celebration. However, it was not at my birthday that I received remembrances from former colleagues and students. It was at a "tribute" part;y held in Glen Cove some time later that had been arranged by Debbie (Benson) French, a student I always loved. And I copy Bob's e-mail to me:

"Reading "Memoirs" today and it is winding down...the 80th birthday celebration, February 27, 2004 which I was not able to attend due to (another)financial melt-down that was all too common in the Marsden-Randall household as we too, were winding down. I recall the event as Debbie (Benson) French (daughter-in-law of Principal John French) sent out letters of petition to those dear to Doc to please send in some accolades of remembrance. That I did. As I'm reading these tributes from a booklet at that party from colleagues and from "real" students who actually had the tracked-intelligence and privilege to be in Doc's classes. I had a fleeting moment of thought that perhaps I just might make the cut. And then, there it was. Quite an honor to be among the roll-call of those closest to Doc's heart...to find that perhaps in one small way I am part of his legions in memory, and of merit lending worth to one's life. Damn...humbled am i, Doc--"

Speaking of being humbled, I simply cannot avoid that emotion myself in light of the fact that "Flash" (as I like to call him) can still remember the bond we established in several track seasons, and that he still feels the way he does about his old mentor and coach. I have no shame in admitting that I relish these kinds of letters that I receive from former students who now are in their 50s or 60s and who remember me as they do, and feel for me as they do. After all, as a perk to the kind of salaries teachers receive, there remains the satisfaction that somehow you have set a spark in the lives of your students. That's what teaching is all about. And that's the truth.

"I am not a teacher: Only a fellow traveller of whom you asked the way." (George Bernard Shaw)

When I was coaching track and field at North Shore H.S. I had a young man on my time who ran the 100 and 220 yard dashes, and the last leg on our championship mile relay team. His father was my doctor, but that fact in no way affected the magic of my relationship with Bob Marsden, a champion in every possible way or arena. And recently we have been in touch through e-mails. After Bob graduated in 1968, I don't remember ever seeing him again. Among others, the following is one that gave me the most satisfaction as a former teacher and athletic coach, and also as a writer. Bob has been reading my "Memoirs of a Tail Gunner" and apparently has reached the description of my 80th Birthday celebration. However, it was not at my 80th Birthday that I received remembrances from former colleagues and students. It was at a Tribute party held in Glen Cove some time later that had been arranged by Debbie (Benson) French, a student I always adore.

Reading “Memoirs of a…Tailgunner” today and it is winding down…the 80th birthday celebration, February 27, 2004 which I was not able to attend due to (another) financial melt-down that was all too common in the Marsden-Randall household as we too, were winding down. I recall the event as Debbie (French) Benson (I think, daughter of Dr. French, our Principal) sent out letters of petition to those dear to Doc to please send in some accolades of remembrance. That I did and ironically, I think I just sent it out to you all. As I’m reading these tributes from colleagues of faculty…from “real” students who actually had the tracked-intelligence and privilege to be in Docs’ classes I had a fleeting moment of thought that perhaps I just might make the cut. And then, there it was. Quite an honor to be among the roll-call of those closest to Docs’ heart…to find that perhaps in one small way I am part of his legions in memory, and of merit lending worth to ones’ life. Damn…humbled am I Doc -

Speaking of being humbled, I simply cannot avoid that emotion myself in light of the fact that "Flash" (as I like to call him) can still remember the bond we established in several track seasons and that he still feels the way he does about his old mentor and coach. I have no shame in admitting that I relish these kinds of letters I receive from former students who now are in their 50s or 60s and who remember me as they do, and feel for me as they do. After all, as a perk to the kind of salaries teachers receive, there remains the satisfaction that somehow you have set a spark in the lives of your students. That's what teaching is all about. And that's the truth.

Son Joel sent me an e-mail today of three videos I never saw before. I must have been out to dinner or somewhere not in front of the TV set. They are attachments to youtube where you can watch the videos. I copied the links and I'll paste them here hoping you can succeed in accessing them!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yJ8M_Vglbw0

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fHbWyCBBkC4

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DvpMRMSUIGs

"Put money in thy purse." (Iago in "Othello")

February 8, 2009

In June, 1982, I was told by--I don't remember whom...several people--that I would need less money to live on when I retired than I would while working. Not only that, but the "Bored" of Education offered me $10,000 dollars to get rid of me and the high salary I was costing them so they could hire someone to replace me for about half the amount I was earning. Just as it happens in baseball these days. A team trades a player making $20,000,000,000 a year so they can replace him for someone they contract for $100,000 a year. I was gullible because I never heard of $10,000 before, let alone owning that much cash at one clip. I could use it to get rid of my debts, sell the house, get out of town, and live on my pension of $21,000 a year for the rest of my life. $10,000 was beyond my comprehension and wildest dreams. Consequently, I didn't hesitate, and informed the Bored that I would retire--and I, therefore, collected my ten grand, and while salivating I wondered if it would pay for me to go to Roosevelt Field and run it up at the trotting races? Well, I, wise beyond my years, decided against that because if I lost any of it, I would take hemlock without hesitation. Anyway, to get on with this too long story, the person or persons who told me that I would have a ball in retirement living on practically nothing were out of their minds. They were blatant prevaricators, or else they were idiots. Not idiot savants--but just plain ordinary idiots. You really need at least twice as much retired as you do when you are working and bringing up the family.

And why is this? You might ask. Well, first of all, when you leave town for Florida, let's say, you have to take out a 30 year mortgage to buy your condo which by this time costs you five times as much as it did to buy your big house on Dogwood Ave. in 1956. When the salesman told me how much the down payment was, I broke out in a hot sweat (remember, this was Florida), but succumbed to his sales pitch because the community had a clubhouse with all the amenities I could possibly enjoy--a weight room, a ballroom, a poolroom, tennis courts, a golf course, an indoor swimming pool, a 600 seat theatre, an outdoor pool near my building, a sauna, a jacuzzi, a hot tub, racquet ball courts, and etc. How could I resist such a mesmerizing opportunity? Instead of retirement, I thought I had somehow died and went to heaven. So, I bought the condo. Since it was a very new community, (only four buildings existed,) very few people had moved in--but still the lure was the clubhouse. I went there almost every day to swim all alone 80 laps in the pool. I pumped iron, I played golf, I played raquet ball (alone), I shot pool. All this in my very own clubhouse! No one else appeared there until several months later.

Let me continue with this story about the falsification foisted on a foolish fellow. In retirement, you need more cash than you do while working because you go out to dinner at least three or four times a week. If you are married and the spouse is also retired, the oven becomes a place for potted plants. Then of course there are the vacations--to Europe, to Asia, to China, to Australia, to Hawaii and wherever there is money to be ripped from your wallet. Each December often is the time to go on Caribbean cruises to enrich Carnival, Holland American, Royal Caribbean, and various other cruise lines. Now, lately, there has been a plethora of casinos opening up in Condoland. Several are run by Seminoles and several by the state. Each, however, has the lure of gambling--poker, black jack, Texas Hold'em, and slot machines galore. Of course, you don't want to lose your pension on these things, so you opt for your social security check instead--which means that at the end of the month you eat in Wendy's.

The lesson to be learned from all of this if you are still in the work force is as Romeo pleads with the apothecary, "Hold, there is forty ducats, let me have a dram of poison."