by Ethan Johnson
July 8, 2007

As part of our multi-state driving tour that Ate My Brain, I arranged to meet up with a former grade school classmate. Margaret [Crichlow] and I haven't seen each other in well over 2 decades, I'd say, but thanks to the magic of the internet we (I?) have been enjoying bouts of email pong for a few weeks, which made the live reunion a bit smoother, I think. I mean, we'll always share the bond of being childhood classmates, for better or worse, but 2+ decades of not interacting with someone is a bit of a hurdle when meeting up again. Margaret offered to take me on a reminiscing tour of all three schools that we attended. Here is where it all began for us: Marion Hills Elementary School in Darien, IL.

Unfortunately, Marion Hills was decommissioned as a school somewhere in the 1990s, and transformed into administrative offices for the Darien Park District. There is evidence that park district classes once were conducted in the building, but now the former school seems to be teetering dangerously close to being razed outright. One of the park district people told us that they were in the process of moving out of the building when we popped in for an impromptu tour. Translation: Good thing I had my camera in tow because when the High School reunion happens this coming November the building may be off-limits to foot traffic. Your hip tip for the day: Take nothing for granted, and if you think that a potential photo might be worth the effort, it probably is.

Of course, I wish I had gone more nutso with the camera. Here are some of the photos that I did manage to squeeze off, and my commentary:

Mrs. Haddick's room, 2nd grade. As a new student from West Allis, Wisconsin, this is where it all began for me. Margaret still has her class photo sheet from back then (I'm not on it because I transferred in mid-year somewhere) and there are faces on there that are utterly unrecognizable. Possibly kids who went to other schools, or more embarrassing, people we grew up with and have now forgotten. Some people are inherently more recognizable over the years than others, anyway.

Two views of Mr. Gormley's 6th grade classroom. One memory I still have (tour or no) is one of my classmates writing "krapola!" over her shoulder on the left chalkboard (2nd photo) after missing a trivia question. (I'm your go-to guy for arcane childhood memories.) We split our time between Gormley and Schreiber. Margaret informs me that we did half-days, which I suppose we did. I seem to recall the annoyance factor of having all of our "stuff" in our desks in Schreiber's room and having urchins potentially stealing stuff out of them in our absence.

Mr. Gormley's schtick was to yell "Homework?!" at the end of class and we all had to answer "no" in unison or else we'd get homework. Someone invariably blew it with a faint "yes", but we had a few homework-free nights here and there.

For whatever dumb reason the doors to the classrooms that Margaret et al spent their formative years in were locked, but the corresponding classroom would be open. 5th grade was Mrs. Buckman (our teacher) and Miss (?) Marron. Marron's room was open, Buckman's was locked. I thought I would remember which door is which, but anyway these should be Buckman and Anderson (3rd grade). I don't think I got a shot of 4th grade (Theriault) as she wasn't one of my all-time favorite teachers. If I passed on Anderson (outrageous!) then fine, I got Theriault's room.

Two views of the teeny-tiny gym/cafeteria. There are a few fun facts associated with this place:

• The first photo shows the basketball net that was used for tryouts. I went through all of the practice drills, worked on the 45-degree approach for layups, the works. And I didn't make the team, despite my height, which everyone thought was the only necessary component for making a basketball team. No, I lost out to even taller (!) Danny Stark, who shall we say was "special needs". The coach got on his case for telling everyone who made a successful shot "lucky!" Special needs or no, he did the work, made the baskets, and made the team. I have no beef with Danny (I'd be quite an ass if I did, methinks) but if I want to squelch questions about why I don't play basketball, I say simply, "I lost out to a retarded kid." Squelch.
• I managed to not get a shot of them, but the lunch tables folded up into the wall. One day, one of them wasn't latched properly and it fell, breaking Mrs. Sorgenfrei's leg. (Our gym teacher.) Just the thing we needed: A demanding gym teacher on crutches. She pulled through just fine though.
• Guy Lewis and I taught Lisa D'Angelo how to swear here. She came to us for swearing lessons, and we dutifully coached her on how to emphasize what word, including how much oomph to put into exclaiming the f-word. We're so proud. Lisa, you should show your kids this article. It was 4th effing grade, kids! Torment your mother with this fun fact!
• I still don't know how I did it, but somehow during an all-class hockey game I smacked a slap shot through the crowd of confused classmates and scored the winning goal. Just like in the movies, I actually got mobbed by my classmates. And this was just a meaningless gym class exercise, not against Hinsbrook or something.
• I have absolutely no idea where anyone sat during basketball and volleyball games. I'm guessing folding chairs along the baseline, but we're talking maybe 12 inches of clearance between the baseline and the wall. I do remember taking in a few games, plus sitting on a bench along one of the walls wearing my Cross Country uniform and feeling immensely cool for wearing a shirt with the school name on it and getting to sit apart from the rest of the school during a pep assembly or something.

Two views of the library. Here's where I really felt like a character on Lost. The room has been completely decomissioned, to the point that the lightswitches don't work anymore. I remember this room being so much larger than it is, but that's relativity for you. There was a bank of cubicles for lack of a better word along the wall pictured in the first photo where you could sign up for SRA (?) tests/lessons. I don't remember how they were delivered other than having to wear clunky headphones, but I loooooved those things. Among the cool books in the library collection: Alfred Hitchcock and the Three Investigators. (I still have yet to read my $1 copy of The Mystery of the Flaming Footprints but I think I am sufficently inspired to do so.) Also gigantic copies of The Gold Bug and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

Also, this is the place where Mark Sloan, Mike Bushen, and Dennis Mulder (and possibly one more?) performed a concert. No singing, just fake-book renditions of songs like "Tom Dooley".

The gateway to Mrs Everhart's office. Ah. memories.

Two views of the building exterior. Yes, it was a small school by today's standards.

The church across the street. I threw this in because it was a place of great weirdness. Despite our foul-mouthed ways (out of school), there was this "rule" among the boys that you couldn't swear on church property, regardless of the denomination. However, it was somehow OK to fight on church property. BUT, no swearing during the fight. Not sure who made these rules, but good grief.

Margaret and I, 22+ years later. This poor woman who I pressed into service couldn't figure my camera out, and we were on the third take when this picture was finally snapped. Our smiles don't look half as fake as I was dreading.

Some final trivial items before I wrap this up:

• The trophy case has been completely emptied out, so I didn't bother snapping a photo of it. Had they left it intact, for whatever reason there was a replica of the Blue Flame. Never did find out why it was featured in our trophy case, other than us being a small school and they needed "content".
• Next to the trophy case were some cool vending machines (long since removed) that sold pads of paper for probably 25 cents, and pencils for 5 or 10 cents. The pencils featured NFL teams, and at the time, getting the New Orleans Saints was like getting Old Maid. I converted to Saints fandom in the late 1980s, partly citing my life-long bashing of New Orleans in my decision-making process.
• The baseball diamond on the far end of the playground area has been removed. That's where I discovered I had pinkeye, which naturally had to come during a flurry of insults, resulting in the famous, "oh, you're gonna cry now?" "No, I have goop in my eye." "Suuuuuuure." I was blinded for what seemed like weeks and missed the end of 6th grade. For some classmates, I was never seen or heard from again. If any of them read this, now you know where I disappeared to. Fortunately I was far enough along in my classwork that I automatically graduated to 7th grade, which kicked off a years-long rebellion, but that's a story for another time, if at all.
• Mr. Crouse was the 6th grade teacher for many years, but was replaced by Mr. Gormley right around the time that I would have been expecting to have Mr. Crouse as my teacher. I saw a more recent photo of him at Hinsdale South High School and he was virtually unrecognizable. Of course, I'm back at the 1970s version, with the thick 70s mustache and dark hair, not some old dude.

• Since I know Kent Newsome hung in with this article until the bitter end (right Kent?), here's a reward: I once brought in a Pete Seeger record because he sang "Blow the Man Down" on it, which was one of the songs we had to sing in music class. The real treat came either before or after, when he sang a ditty about Pepsi:

  Pepsi Cola hits the spot
  Ties your belly in a knot
  Tastes like vinegar, looks like ink
  Pepsi Cola is a stinky drink.

  Yes, I was a hero for those 30 seconds until the boring part.

Whew, that's a lotta reminiscing. What am I, your grandpaw? Get back to work! <EM>