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Dear Wheatley Wildcats and Other
Interested Persons,
Welcome to The Wheatley School Alumni
Association Newsletter # 132.
According to Substack, in the first 24
hours after publication, Newsletter # 131 was viewed 3,189 times, was “liked”
19 times, and received two comments. In all, 4,728 email addresses received
Newsletter # 131.
Thanks
to our fabulous Webmaster, Keith
Aufhauser (Class of 1963), you can regale yourself with
the first 131Newsletters (and much other Wheatley data and arcana) at
Wheatley School Alumni Association Website
Also,
thanks to Keith is our search engine, prominently displayed on our home page:
type in a word or phrase and, wow!, you’ll find every place it exists in all
previous Newsletters and other on-site material. I use it frequently; it
(usually) works!
I edit
all submissions, even material in quotes, for clarity and concision, without
any indication thereof. I cannot and do not vouch for the accuracy of
what people tell me.
We
welcome any and all text and photos relevant to The Wheatley School, 11 Bacon
Road, Old Westbury, NY 11568, and the people who administered, taught,
worked, and/or studied there. Art Engoron, Class of 1967
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Writes
Art Engoron (1967) - From several Class of 1961 sources (Rhoda Kalkin
Schneider, Bob Cullen, Gene Razzetti, and Peter Nelson) I have pieced
together, as best I can, the following): The girl second from the left in the
second row from the front in this photo of a seventh grade class (school year
1956-57) taken in front of the Willets Road School is Angela (“Anne”?) Neil
(Neal?). The teacher is Mr. Zoro(?). Angela's mother was a live-in
house-keeper for a family living in the Country Club area. In or about
eighth grade, feeling “extremely uncomfortable” (according to one source),
Angela switched to Roslyn High School, using someone’s address in that
district. [[[I welcome any clarification or further edification. Art]]]
Writes Daniel Quaranto (1967) - “During the 1960-61 school year at
North Side my teacher was Mrs. Batchelder. She was quite elderly
for a teacher at the time, and she was strongly opinionated. I distinctly
remember her returning from winter vacation and proclaiming that she had gone
to Florida and had brought half a dozen watermelons back for the janitors.
She enthusiastically explained how ‘blacks’ loved watermelons and how much
‘they’ appreciated her kindness.”
Writes Ellen Frey Wineman (1967) - “Reading the submission from Mr Arnold
was so nice! During Prom Season I participate in a program of "Mock
Crashes" at several area high schools in Delaware County, PA. The
purpose is to demonstrate the consequences of impaired or distracted driving.
This is the live action version of those catastrophic auto accident films we
had to watch at Wheatley. I remember Mr Arnold telling us that Drivers
Education was the one class that might actually save our lives. I think of
that every time I participate in one of the crashes. You were right, Mr
Arnold.”
1958 - Barbara Newman - Ping Pong
Medalist
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Writes Barbara - “Hi, I had a great time at the recent
United States Open Table Tennis tournament in Ontario, California. I won a
silver medal in Woman’s Singles, Silver medal in Women’s Doubles, and Bronze
medal in mixed doubles. Sending holiday greetings and best wishes in
the New Year. Barbara”
1963 - Fran Levy - Essay - Behind the
Trade Parade - December 21, 2023
“Recently
my husband and I were stunned by a comment made at a party by a fellow guest.
We were discussing the congested lines of daily traffic bringing tradespeople
— working people — to the East End of Long Island, known locally as ‘the
trade parade.’
The
guest called it ‘the parasite parade.’ He was specifically referring to the
mostly Hispanic immigrants who work all over the Hamptons but can’t afford to
live here. They drive for hours in horrendous traffic every working day to
support their families, here and back home.
How
could this person not see what seemed so obvious to me? That no ethnic or
cultural group should be collectively labeled in that ugly way. How could he
not see how much this immigrant population supports the life we live and how
hard these individuals work?
Because
of the lack of low-income housing, most of these workers live 30 to 40 miles
or farther away. With the traffic here, their commute can take hours. Many
awaken at 4 a.m. and are on the road by 5 in order to start work at 7 or
7:30. Without these workers, the Hamptons could not function. They support
every aspect of our life on the East End.
Lately,
I see more and more trucks with Hispanic names on them representing privately
owned companies — plumbing, electric, landscaping, and construction firms,
just to name a few. There is also a growing presence of store ownership among
the Hispanic community. These companies are often owned by people who rose up
from very little through sheer hard work. How are these individuals
parasites? They are not looking for handouts. They want to work and often
work 10 to 15 hours a day. They also want to be seen and appreciated for
their work.
I never
had to leave my country, my family, and my home to make it in a foreign land
where I did not know the language, had very little money, and had to find
work to support myself and my family. I greatly respect those who triumph
over such difficult challenges.
I began
appreciating Hispanic people when I was in college. I studied the Spanish
language and Hispanic culture. The program I was in sent students to isolated
mountain communities in Puerto Rico to experience the culture firsthand.
At age
19 I arrived in Puerto Rico, and a local resident named Andres drove me up a
rocky mountain road to Indiera Fria, a poor barrio in the city of Maricao. On
the way, Andres stopped at different homes to introduce me to the local
jibaro people (subsistence farmers). The homes were modest and rustic.
Families graciously invited me in and proudly served food from their land:
oranges, bananas, boiled green plantains, pigeon beans and rice. The coffee
was strong. My stomach was not.
When we
arrived at our destination, my stomach was churning. Though they spoke no
English, my host family was very welcoming. They lived in a corrugated metal
shack with no electricity or running water. I unpacked a few of my belongings
and was led to the cot where I would sleep.
I fell
asleep to the sound of the coquis, wild birds, and the creaking sounds of the
floors and tin siding. It was probably only 8 in the evening, but it was
dark, with just the faint glow of light from candles.
At
around 5:00 the next morning, I awoke along with the roosters. I stumbled to
the door, stuck my head out, leaned over, and puked. The sun was just coming
up. I saw red fires blazing in the distance. The air was thick with the smell
of smoke.
When I
lifted my head, a tall, slender man with deep dark eyes was walking toward
me. He was carrying a machete. We looked at each other. Then my head dropped,
and I puked once more.
I soon
found out that this man was Hector Rivera, the head of the house, and the
blazing fires were the sugarcane fields being harvested. Hector was returning
from the fields after over 16 hours of work. He was a gentle giant of a man,
and, with a caring smile, he helped me up.
Over the
next two months, through dancing, singing, playing games, and helping with
the tasks of daily living, I began to build relationships with the families
of Indiera Fria.
I fell
in love with these families and the language. The people showed great pride
in all that they did. They loved sharing their customs. They were hard
workers. They were warm, playful, and respectful. The environment that they
had to survive in was harsh and required constant upkeep.
While in
Puerto Rico, I found a part of myself, a spirit I had not experienced before,
and I am forever grateful to the people there for that experience.
At the
end of my two-month stay, I left Indiera Fria and realized that I had
changed. As we drove away, the families waved to me from their homes. “No te
vayas, Franci. Por favor, no te vayas!” (Don’t go, Franci. Please don’t go.)
Today,
though I am far from fluent in Spanish, I can speak enough to reach out and
connect to the local Hispanic community, and it brings me great joy.
I teach
English as a second language to a small group of hard-working students from
Ecuador, Spain, and Colombia. We meet once a week and we speak in English and
Spanish. The students ask me why I volunteer my time for them. I explain that
I deeply appreciate all that they do and how they make the Hamptons a better
place to live. I appreciate their skill, their warmth, and the great care
they bring to their work. I explain that our lives are deeply entwined and
will continue to be more and more, and I am grateful for that.
I say
this from my heart, partially in Spanish. I touch my heart and the students
touch theirs. There is a gentle nod, a knowing. We smile. The feelings are
mutual. We teach one another, and while learning we share the lessons of
human kindness.
If you
would like to get to know the Hispanic people of the East End better as a
volunteer, there are many services being offered. I began by apprenticing and
then teaching for a program called Ruta 27. You do not need to speak Spanish
to volunteer. This valuable program has been teaching English to adult
Spanish speakers in the Hamptons for over 10 years and has grown from 60 to
200 students.”
Fran Levy, a clinical psychotherapist and expressive-art
therapist, is the author of “Dance Movement Therapy.” She lives in East
Hampton.
Jeffrey Orling (1965) - “Art, Now is the time of the year
for memories and reflection. Unfortunately, my memories seem lost to
me... too many of them. Makes me wonder from a neuropsychological point
of view.….what makes some memories last and others disappear? What
about something that ‘jogs’ your memory and WTF..…a memory can return
almost out of nowhere. I try to remember.….but I can't. And so
reading your emails does often jog my memory in the most pleasant way.
It would be a trip to remember more from those days. Old brains
don't work well ;-)
Are
there any graduates from back then who still live in the neighborhood?
They should have some interesting recollections.
I
sometimes challenge myself to name all of our neighbors on and near Shelter
Lane. Back then I probably could name everyone in the “S”
Section. Now so few can be recalled! I wouldn't recognise a
thing, either. Season's Greetings, Jeffrey, Mount Vernon, NY”
1967 - Art Engoron and Amy Pastarnack
Hughes -
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“Twas the Night Before
Christmas”
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Christmas
Eve, 2023 - Art surrounded by Amy, Amy’s daughter, and her children.
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Christmas Day, 2023 - Art, Amy, and Amy’s son
1967 - Scott Frishman - Go Michigan, Go
Wolverines, Go Blue
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Front
Row - L-R - Scott Frishman, Granddaughter, Son
Back Row
- 110,612 People
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Front
Row - 110,612 People
Back Row
- The Final Score
1969 - William Kirchick - “Hi Art—as a shout out to Scott
Frishman (1967) in Newsletter #129, I too, am an avid Michigan Wolverines
fan, yearning for a National Championship. As Scott knows, my brother Howard
(1967) is also a Michigan alum, as was as my late brother Calvin (1964).
Maybe this year, like the wandering Boston Red Sox who took 86 years before
they won another World Series, the Maize and Blue will make it to the
promised land! Regards, bill k/”
1972. - Joel Harris - As Time Goes By - “Hi Art, I ran into a current
Binghamton University student who graduated from Wheatley in 2022.
Yikes, 50 years after me and a mere 21 years after my son, Bryan,
graduated. Best regards, Joel”
1974 (SuZanne Zenker Gilbride) -
Reminiscing About Fishing (etc.)
Writes SuZanne) - “Dear Art, I was saddened by news
of the passing of Susan Cafaro Deluca (1974). We hadn't spoken in
many years, but like every member of our small class, we all at some point
were friends, and through the years everyone spent time with each
other, e.g., classes, sports, gym, bus, smoking behind the gym, etc.
One of
the thought-provoking memories that has stayed with me over the years is
going to Susan’s father's funeral. We were young, and it was the
first funeral I ever attended; it left a strong impression. Losing
class members is very sad, and things I haven't thought
about in years bubble to the surface. I often remember
doing something with that person; and it also becomes a reminder that we
are getting older, and time is precious…..
As I was
thinking about loss, I had a memory that we lost a member of our
class in the 6th grade, I believe her name was Joy(?). I believe
that she and her father went for a boat ride in winter on Long Island sound,
and she fell overboard, and they found her a week later…. If anyone has
a better memory, please fill in the blanks; the story has always haunted
me. I remember trying to look for the story a long while ago, but I
found nothing.
On another subject,
after the review of The Lost Boys of Montauk by Amanda M.
Fairbanks I decided to read it; I never knew this story…..I
had never ever heard of or eaten Tile Fish... I found The story of Long
Island fascinating, and about Wheatley… Many things I was aware of
but hadn't thought about in years, and other’s I learned about
e.g., the fishing industry on Long Island and the activities around
fishing. I do remember a surfing group; and I knew the surnames of the
people mentioned because of younger siblings, that I did know.
Losing a family member so young is so sad.
My
father used to take us kids out on an outboard on the weekends during the
summer months. It was fun! I would usually sit in the very front
seat (like in the point), the boat bounding in the waves, with a big
life preserver on, with dangling legs that didn’t touch the floor of the
boat. I remember the fish, mostly flounder and blue, in the bottom
of the boat flipping around. I had my very own rod, favorite color
blue…..That was a great time…..until this one day we were coming
in through the choppy inlet and were sideswiped by a much
bigger boat, that never seemed to see us, we almost turned over, it freaked
my father out so much that after that he got rid of the outboard and
forever more we fished off the docks….. Hadn't thought about that
one in years….
Wishing everyone
a joyful New Year 2024!”
1975 - Kenneth Mitchell - “Great article about Robin Guadalupi.”
1977 - Robin Guadalupi - “Writes Jill
Simon Forte (1967)
- “I have recently been in touch with Robin Guadalupi (1977). Her family
lived across the street from mine when Bob (Forte, 1965) and I rented a house
in Uniondale and had our son. Then she and her family moved to East
Williston, where we kept in touch for a while 😊.”
2010 - Alex Estis - Engaged!
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1962 (Richard Glassman) - ❤️
1962 (Lois Kass Kleinberg) - ❤️
1963 (Fran Levy) - “Thank you, Art and Keith. I appreciate
and am amazed by all that you both do for the Wheatley alumni.”
1965 (Paul Barnett) - ❤️
1965 (Malcolm McNeill) - “Thanks, Art.”
1965 (Jeffrey Orling) - “Thanks for the Newsletters.”
1965 (Clifford Montgomery) - “Thanks again for the memories Art.
Regards, Cliff ‘65”
1966 (Alison Kent Bermant) - “I can’t imagine that there are any
other high school alumni in the country who have a better, more frequent
newsletter than we do. A million thanks to our indomitable editor, Art
Engoron (1967), and phenomenal webmaster, Keith Aufhauser (1963).”
1966 (Claude Levy) - ❤️
1967 (Arthur Brown) - “Keep up the good work.”
1967 (Phil Celella) - “Thanks for all you do, Arthur; keep
up the good work.”
1967 (Scott Frishman) - “Great Newsletter, as usual.”
1967 (Jill Simon Forte) - “Another walk down Memory Lane
Lane. Hearing names from long ago is fun. 🤩”
1969 (Donald Cohen) - ❤️
1969 (William Cornfield) - “Art: Keep up the great part-time work
of Wheatley Alumni Newsletter Editor.”
1969 (Paula Panzeca Foresto) - ❤️
1971 (Carolyn “Cakky” Braun-Evans) - ❤️
1971 (Larry Shiller) - ❤️
1974 (SuZanne Zenker Gilbride) - “I very much enjoy the Alumni
Newsletters.”
???? (Charles Helsel) - ❤️
???? (Debby ????) - ❤️
That’s
it for The Wheatley School Alumni Association Newsletter # 132. Please
send me your autobiography before someone else sends me your obituary.
Arthur Fredericks Engoron, Class of 1967
