Shorewood

I will be eternally grateful to my parents for making the decision to move from Racine to Shorewood, Wisconsin when my brother and I were but wee'uns. My father was studying for his PhD at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee (where he wants his ashes scattered; I kid you not) and my mother was working to support the family. For a short while we moved elsewhere, after my father got a teaching position at the university in Bowling Green, Ohio; but then my parents got divorced, and my mom moved with us kids back to Shorewood. From my first day in first grade at Lake Bluff Elementary, with Miss Ann Furlong, I fell in love with school. Miss Furlong had a chic shag hairdo and wore pencil skirts and taught in the most glorious huge, sunny classroom with red geraniums on the windowsills. It was the Seventies - the school was experimenting with "open classrooms" and we would often open the large divider between our class and the one adjacent and have group activities. I remember every teacher: Miss Perkins, the wonderful music teacher playing "Sounds of Silence" on the ukulele; Mr. Saeger, the kooky and brilliant art teacher who once suggested that I add to my bizarre crayon-batik print of a gorilla (why a gorilla? who knows) a cartoon caption reading "Cuddle up a little closer..." - a song reference, I learned; Mr. Stich, the principal, a soft-spoken man with a linebacker's physique and a diplomatic demeanor that reminded me of Henry Kissinger (yes, I knew who Kissinger was); the librarian, Miss Mitchell, with her slightly raspy voice, reading out loud to us in that cozy warm library that smelled of glossy paper and ink...and I began my love affair with books and libraries. I remember wanting to be the absolute best at everything, just so my teachers would smile and be proud of me. I craved their approval.

Throughout intermediate school and high school, I had inspiring and demanding teachers that helped me think critically and speak more eloquently and insisted on not settling for mediocrity in my work. I was a sometimes lazy student who wanted to do a little of almost everything, but I was not disciplined enough to excel at any one subject, except giving good speeches when running for class or student council president. I participated in one of the first academic decathlons, and surprised everyone by winning top awards in my category (3.2 GPA and under, classic underachiever that I was)...I always performed well under time-constrained competitive pressure. It was when I was home alone, forced to plod methodically through a research paper or math problem that I would become discouraged and bored and distracted, and not bother to finish my work. My mom was working long hours as a saleswoman, my dad was in Ohio, and no one cared too much about looking over my shoulder and forcing me to finish. Mr. Huth, my literature teacher, newspaper advisor, and mentor at SHS, encouraged and cajoled and pushed me, and when I was achieving any success at all in college, I wanted him to know it. Sadly, he passed away from lymphoma a couple years after I graduated high school, and I never got to tell him that I was finally getting my roller coaster grades on a steady, upward track. I remember hearing the news of his death from my friend Pete Schmidt and being utterly shocked and devastated because I felt like I had no one to make proud. Not that my parents didn't care about my achievements - but Mr. Huth knew things about me that my parents did not. He spent more time with me during the day and after school during those trying teen years. Tears come to me now as I write this, and I am surprised by the effect his passing still has on me. Having someone pay careful, patient attention to you when you secretly feel invisible and and insignificant is a powerful, powerful thing.

I think that if I were to move from Manhattan and back to Shorewood, I'd like to be the drama teacher at Shorewood High, teach literature classes, and direct the plays and musicals after school. It'd be good to give back a little of what I got. ...Barbara Gensler, the SHS drama teacher (still going strong!) mercilessly drilled discipline and a work ethic into me as an actress that I only truly appreciated when I was in grad school suffering through an MFA. Every time I failed to memorize a scene thoroughly or debated having beers with buddies instead of analyzing a play I remembered her warnings and her telling me should would not cast me in a larger role if I couldn't buckle down and do the work. She didn't ever give me that lead. I didn't earn it.

My old Alma maters are struggling a bit now due to reduced enrollment and budget issues, though they are still highly rated schools. It's time I put some effort into raising some money for endowments, and to encourage my wealthier alum chums to do the same. http://blogs.shorewoodnow.com/comfort_connection_community/archive/2008/03/20/smelling-the-flowers-and-future-endowers.aspx