LouisBoston Meets 2001 Odyssey

Greetings:

When we last left our hero (“Where Were You In Your 60’s?”) the laudatory echoes of second graders were dopplering as he fled into the sunset. Memorable, but destined to be unique, it will be fondly remembered. However it will not have achieved all time top ten status regardless of the pride or bemusement.

“Saturday Night Fever” caught me reminiscing about an occurrence that would make the top ten.

Once again planted in front of the television, my retroment is stimulated by flashbacks. Tony Manero is doing his stuff….and lookin’ good.



As for the flashback…

It was ‘Carnival’ week at Newfound Regional High School. That meant it was the week before February vacation and class spirit would be ubiquitous during the multiple competitions. Each class would try to out-game, out-exuberate and out-energize the others. Bragging rights was the reward.

There was always a theme. The theme inspired hallway decorations and daily dressing. This particular year it was the movies. Hollywood and movie environs transformed the corridors. One of the daily themes was to come to school dressed as a favorite movie character. Well alright!

Now given the fact that I have 359 dvds in my Netflix queue and that I came within a phone call of trying to be a professional film editor instead of an educator, I felt that I had a vast reservoir of choices. Of course, costuming would be a key determinant.

This could be an opportunity to incorporate another satisfying moment in my life. While living with Gini before we were married my father had expressed concerns about my getting a job. (We are now into the second layer of flashbacks). Though exploring the role of a ‘kept man’ had its allure, I had to agree that I should be proactive. My father wanted to know how I dressed for interviews. I told him I wore nice slacks, a shirt and tie. “You don’t wear a suit?!”. (This from a man who prided himself on his professionalism as a pharmaceutical rep).

“Dad, I don’t even own a suit!”, I proclaimed defensively.

“Look, get a suit. I’ll pay for it!”, was his exasperated rejoinder. The wheels began turning. It was 1972, we aspired to being and looking like hippies. Our fashion consultation reciprocated the determination that the purchase had to be a three-piece suit. Several phone calls to the metropolitan Boston area revealed the fact that three-piece suits would not be casually found on the racks.

We escalated our criteria and headed for that hallowed haberdashery, LouisBoston. Its century plus existence begged our business. One can only imagine the look on the parking valet as we arrived in a Volkswagen Beetle and handed him the keys.

No sooner had we entered the store and asked for three piece suits when we were met with the response, “Someone must have told you about our new arrivals from Paris”. Yes, they must have…

After indicating that I wanted a suit just like the salesperson was wearing I was soon being custom fitted. Sure we will take the three silk, you-have-to-tie-it-yourself bowties and, by the way, how do you tie a bowtie? Dad was a bit speechless when he got the bill but to his credit barely complained.

My first trial run with the suit was when we had traveled to Long Island to present Gini to my Italian grandmother, the mystic. She was charmed by Gini (of course) and was appropriately impressed by the three piece suit:



Replace the shirt and bow tie with a wide-collared red silk shirt and a gold chain and I was an avatar for Tony Manero. With the aid of a paint can and a boom box I was ready for Newfound’s Carnival. (back to level 1 of flashbacks)

Each morning at the high school the students would gather in the main lobby since the hallway doors would not open for them until first bell. Teachers were sequestered with the day’s lesson plans in their classrooms appreciating the temporary isolation.

The computer lab, my classroom, was the first one on the left from the double doors to the lobby. When those doors opened with the bell I turned on the movie soundtrack and boldly strode towards the oncoming horde, swinging my paint can and struttin’ in my suit.

“Stayin’ alive! Stayin’ alive!”…

Thankfully one of my cinephile students got the portrayal and chortled it aloud (chortled?!). Though the hall lights did not diversify and strobify I felt compelled to dance. Awe, incredulousness, antipathy…it is hard to describe the reactions. Most stayed in the vicinity to take it all in.

Somehow at the appropriate bell the boom box was silenced and “Tony” entered the computer lab for the day’s lesson. Of course there had to be an encore so at the end of first period the boom box was re-established in the hallway and “Stayin Alive” was played to its conclusion. “How Deep Is Your Love” faded quickly as second period began.

Feeling quite pleased with myself (and a bit out of breath) I assumed we were now back to a normal day. We had a bit of a laugh first about the dancing but settled into our routine.

As the period was about to end there was a knock at the door. It was the head of the food service from the cafeteria. We were good friends so even though I had no idea why she was there it was nice to see her.

“Are you coming out in the hall again? All the ladies want to see you dance.”

Cue “Night Fever” and call my agent.

It was a blast.

Where Were You In Your 60's?

Greetings All:

You would think that this man has reached a significant milestone, some kind of stone any way. He looks hale and healthy. This was from visits, salutations and exhortations of many friends and relatives during August and September. The Baron and the Baroness both turned 60 while celebrating 37th wedding anniversary. Feasting was the daily fare.



Nostalgic music inspired Sex Pistols air guitar and body surfing at the dining table:



Well then let us settle in and recount the early days of the current experience of the 60’s.

Atrial fibrillation, staggering back/hip pain, substitute teaching 7 year olds and submission to pyramid kharma schemes on the internet. Is there no end to the refulgence of the Golden Years?

Well, let me set up my newest piece of writing as a segue.

Chip gave us a call and said that we had to see Spike Lee’s “Passing Strange”. Described by the Internet Movie Data Base (IMDB) as: “A young black artist leaves his Los Angeles digs and travels to Europe to find himself. A theatrical stage production of the original Broadway musical.”

There is a strand that ties the protagonist to his relationship with his mother. Art rapidly emerges as one of the primary themes of the musical. Chip said he cried for twenty minutes after seeing the movie the first time.

He then proceeded to call us for the next two days asking us if we had seen the movie. Meanwhile he had seen it five times. With this kind of pressure we had to watch it. We loved it and I felt particularly inspired to write about my own perception of art in my life.

Chip said he really liked my response and I was pleased that our artist son found pleasure in it.

Scene: Bridgewater Hebron Village School, Fall 2010


Context: Written response to Chip

Greetings:

“…You know it’s really weird when you wake up that morning and realize that your entire adult life has been based on a decision made by a teenager!...” (quote from “Passing Strtange”)

Let me pass this ‘strange’ anecdote by you.

“Greetings Mr. Duggan, I was wondering if your name had been placed back on the sub list.”.

This was the opening line of a phone call I received on Monday. Somehow she convinced me that I would appear the next day to look after ten second graders. This despite my decision to not volunteer for subbing because of the stress associated with teaching and going back to work and having to earn money and recently having atrial fibriulation and..and… there I was on Tuesday morning at 7:45. What am I…stupid?

I knew the teacher and she was there to greet me.

“You know I don’t think you are going to like this but thank you for doing this.” She then proceeded to point to piles of paper, indicate lesson plans, gesture towards various texts, explain the nuances of the options I could exercise with each one. The spinning of my head was quite quiet. There was barely a breeze. I am sure she felt that she had explained all the necessary instructions and that ‘Mr. Duggan’ had absorbed it all. Yikes! I felt like Arlo Guthrie going through his draft physical from Alice’s Restaurant.

The official starting pistol was the Pledge of Allegiance. I silently but respectfully weathered it. And then began the process of surrendering a pedestrian view of the day and becoming immersed in Gwen, Alaric, Corie, Christian, Skyler, Jack, Levi, Hunter, Adele and . Collin was absent.

Levi, self-appointed, came over and shook my hand and welcomed me to the class. He was careless of whether he had an audience. He thought this was the right thing to do.

As the day unfolded I realized I could write ‘Q.E.D.’ on the day like it was a math proof: ‘Quod Erat Demonstratum’ – ‘What was meant to be shown was shown’. And that was subbing at the elementary level took too much energy.

My immersion was complete, however. I, too, became careless of an audience. I referenced my craft to accomplish the assigned material. But my immersion was complete. Craft led to the release of my soul. No matter how close chaos crept no matter how dynamic the traffic became, my soul led the way.

They sat, listened and questioned as they were benedicted with Roman numbers, the Greek alphabet and the mobius strip crescendo. Lessons were accomplished; learning was celebrated and demonstrated.

This is my art.

And it was about to become too real.

“Mr. Duggan…He’s awesome!”