September 11, 1942

September 11, 1942. For much of my life, birthdays were happy occasions. As was life in general. Fortunate and lucky-two words which adequately describe my 84 years of existence.

I was fortunate to have grown up in a stable, comfortable environment. Loving parents who rarely argued, worked hard to provide for my sister Diane and me, instilled in us proper values and saw that they were reinforced by weekly visits to First Baptist in the Falls. I was indeed fortunate to have as a Sunday School teacher Mary Thorn, pastor Fred’s wife, who taught us the importance of giving, of devoting part of our lives to help improve the quality of life of those less fortunate. Her lessons continue to resonate and account why I’ve spent a significant part of my life serving others.

I was lucky to have grown up in the “Gut,” Furnace and surrounding streets in the county’s only city, Little Falls. Birthdays in the 1950’s were shared occasions with the gang (in the good sense). Playing ball, horseshoes, tag and pitch took place in that sliver of a park which was the focal point of our weekly existence. I continue to relish memories of Gabby, Bruddy, Alan K., the Urich and Balderston brothers, Bobby S. and the others. They help keep at bay the inexorable depression which is a staple of the aging process. Try as one might, the reminders that the end is just around the corner are inescapable.

Birthdays back then and life in general were mostly happy-filled with face-to-face conversations, endless banter and laughter, devoid of cuss words and personal attacks. Highlights included the daily trip to Frederica’s store for a cream soda or root beer popsicle or penny candies. Can still taste the black licorice, caramel creams and vanilla taffy. A nickel went a long way.

Most of us were blessed with parents who rarely intruded in our daily lives. We all walked to school by ourselves, and during summers, after being reminded to be home for lunch, dinner and when the street lights came on, we were sent on our merry ways. Oh yeah, forgot about the occasional “Jimmy, it’s bath time.” No showers save for those provided by Mother Nature.

I was  lucky to be blessed with a modicum of musical and athletic talent which made my junior and senior high school years bearable. Nothing like applause and favorable newspaper write-ups. The good fortune to have Dolgeville’s Don Musella, a trumpet man himself, as band director and for private lessons resulted in my being good enough to make it to his alma mater, Fredonia State. Birthdays during that period were comparatively mundane. Mom’s fried haddock dinner and a dessert consisting of her frosting slathered “boo-day” cake, ice cream on the side, were all a kid my age could want. Good Lord I loved the fifties.

My birthdays in the 1960’s occurred during some very high and very low times. The highs-college days at Freddy St. where Michelob, double deck pinochle, pretty coeds and a penchant for sleeping late almost cost me my future. Regrets? Are you kidding. September 11^th meant the boys-Jimmy Mack, the Leper, Loucksie (fellow Rock City kid), Johnny Blackburn (renowned for lighting his gas that passed), Cryder and Gowah-bought.

Other than such minor activities like ping pong and pool, the only sport I was good at was baseball. A twelve to six curveball put me in the record books-tied Jimmy Mangano for most strikeouts in a game (15 against Buff State.) But alas, throwing 150 pitches a game cost me bigtime-parts of two seasons and all of my senior year. All told, I made some great friendships with fellow Blue Devils Bobby Staffin (catcher), Georgie Mastrangelo, Tommy Stelmach and Guy Powell. Loved the hell out of college.

Birthdays from 1966 through the 70’s were extremely traumatic, running the gamut from getting hired at Herkimer County Community College to an extraneous involvement in the Vietnam War. Regarding the former, my 30 years at Harvard on the Hill couldn’t have been happier-loved every day in the classroom. The experience began in the old Remington Arms building in Ilion-across from the bowling alley and next to Ralph’s Greasy Spoon. I became the first chair of the Social Science Division at 26 and my colleagues were all younger than I was. Lady Fortune smiled on me as the “Kiddie Corps” proved to be great people and teachers. They included the late, great Gary Ruff who became my best friend, Bill “Willy” Pelz, Freddy Lieber, and Rich Zapf. I held meetings either at the alleys or Winslow’s and the first order of business was “who’s buying?”

I also was blessed with great students who busted their keisters to meet my classroom demands and accepted my challenges regarding the 10% of their grade dependent on community involvement. They formed two organizations, Students for a Better World and Kris Cagwin Volunteers, which raised the money to purchase a monument in Herkimer honoring its sons who died in Vietnam and two in Little Falls recognizing combat nurses and Korean veterans. They also raised thousands for other charities and formed the Adopt-A-Child Program which morphed into today’s Gram Lorraine Children’s Christmas Program. All told an estimated 20,000 area deserving children have had a memorable Christmas morning. Among the students who led the way were Michelle Ahearn, Mike Carroll, Kevin Derbin, Joanne Teti, Jack Sroka, Phyllis Branck, John Friers, Pat Hogan and Pepe Aragon to name a few. Friendships I made with several faculty, staff and administrators made my years there beyond worthwhile.

The dark days I experienced on 9/11 during this period came as a result of the Vietnam War, one of the most tragic foreign policy faux pas in American history. As an historian, I realized the folly of it all and early on became a vocal and written critic of the war, but never the men fighting it. After the war, the Ruffer, myself and several of my students joined forces with area ‘Nam vets to fight another war-this one against the government for its profound neglect to address the issues of Agent Orange and disability claims. The effects of the former continue to debilitate many of our forgotten warriors and their children. During the struggle I became fast friends with the late Airman Eddie Juteau, Jr., combat medics Dennis Thorp and Ron Schoonmaker (both of whom continue to serve their country in various capacities), Joe Maline and John Frazier among others.

From that period until 2001 birthdays were low key, family affairs highlighted by handmade cards created by my wonderful daughters Carrie and Jennifer and gourmet dinners prepared by the love of my life, my wife Kay. Or, if the occasion arose (i.e. the 11^th fell on golf league day), pale ales compliments of the boys.

After 2001, my birthday would not be a day of celebration but one of mournful remembrance. Nine-one-one would never be just another day. And I’m reminded of that fact every time I’m asked to state my date of birth, recently more than ever given my increasing trips to the doctor(s). Over the years since 2001, my birthday has become a personal ritual. I say a prayer in the memory of the 2977 souls who perished that day, and another for the well-being of friends and family. Lastly, I thank the man upstairs for the good luck and fortune which has blessed me for the past 84 years.