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Richard E. LaFond MY NEIGHBORHOOD It was a lucky shuffle of DNA sequences that landed me in Monson, first on Harrison Avenue and shortly thereafter on Pleasant Street with my supportive parents and the Monson Academy campus next door. As I grew older, the time came for me to explore beyond the confines of my backyard sandbox with its colorful and beckoning canopy. My playmates included Gene and Mary Ellen Sweeney, David and Susan Martin, Nan and Becky Young, Don Barry, John and Jim Wood, Bob and Bruce McConchie, Barbara Ann Lolas, Bob and Judy Gould, Carol, George and John Shorette, Dick, David and Janey Anable, Andy and Lee Farr, Lynn Avery and our special friend, Cal Brown. Most of us attended Helen Bradway Labelle's kindergarten with Dorothy Mason as assistant. My introduction to the Academy came during my explorations of adjacent backyards and I emerged in Mr. Morrow's garden at Morris House. If I were lucky, Mr. Morrow would be cultivating his garden. Mr. Morrow towered over me, but he was always friendly and welcoming. Our conversations centered on the variety of plants, leaf-mold and hotbeds associated with growing a flower and vegetable garden. Mr. Morrow was an expert gardener. Soon, at age five, I established a garden at 5 Pleasant Street, where I raised tomatoes, carrots, radishes and other delightful crops. Later, I expanded the small backyard "farm" to include raising chickens and rabbits. The chickens, once they acquired the beginnings of adult plumage, were sold for one dollar each to many avid customers. The rabbits remained as pets. The Monson elementary schools were a pleasant experience---the first four years at Mechanic Street School with Miss Lowe in first grade, Miss Phelps in second, Miss Marcella Crowley in third and Mr. Henry Dilhman in fourth. Then it was on to fifth grade at South Main Street School with Miss Alice Holda, and sixth grade at State Street School with Mrs. Beatrice Norcross and Mrs. Myra Moulton. All of these teachers were among the very best and provided a strong foundation from which we could spring to higher levels. As children we were always very active with softball games after school, trips around town by bicycle, hiking and camping over night in the Monson woods, fishing trips to local ponds and streams, and always participating in the fishing derbies held by the Monson Rod and Gun Club. In winter there was skating on Ellis Mills No. 1 pond and swimming contests during the summer months.Consequently, childhood obesity was rare. Moreover, our mothers would never allow us children to consume "junk food" as a dietary staple.We were the last, or nearly the last, generation to endure dental caries and every month time was spent in the dentist's chair for drill and fill. Tonsillectomies were common as was the dreaded "polio season." Our TV fare included "Howdy Doody"-"Say, kids, what time is it?", intoned Buffalo Bob Smith, "Big Brother, Bob Emery" and "Mr. Wizard." We graduated to Dick Clark's "American Bandstand" somewhat later. The local chapter of Cub Scouts, Pack 168, sponsored by the Monson Congregational Church, was still another pleasant and instructive adventure. Den Mothers, such as Mrs. Frank Sweeney, Mrs. James McConchie, and the roles performed by Mr. and Mrs.Lincoln White, Mr. Durwood Church, and Mr. George Kellough, among others, are fondly remembered. Once the telephone dial system came to Monson in 1955, together with the abolishment of the telephone operators who were located on the second floor of the Monson bank building, the loss of being able to easily trace calls opened a new opportunity for fun. A common approach was to call up someone and announce we were the local radio quiz program-"You're on the Air!". This was followed by the offer of a fifty dollar savings bond if they could correctly answer the following question: "When did Babe Ruth hit his first home run?" Still other ploys included calls to local bankers asking them to outfit us with a truss. The banker replied, "Well, Mr. McDonald, you have to realize there are several different types of trusts…" Most times we could not withold our laughter long enough to complete the conversation. A final example involved a local author who had just published her first novel. We pretended to be the book editors for Le Monde, the distinguished French newspaper,and asked her for an extensive interview for publication. She immediately hung up on us. Perhaps it was our pronunciation of French that alerted her to the illegitimacy of our call. In all cases, we never did anything that would injure others or their property, or involve the slightest possibilty of a visit from Constables Bob Chaffee or Mike Defoe. Nevertheless, we indulged ourselves in silly, adolescent pranks. It was delightful to see the adults fall into traps of our own design, especially when the offer of money was extended. I entered the Junior School of Monson Academy as a day student - dayhop - in the fall of 1954 as a seventh grader. Jackets and ties were required and most boys wore white buck shoes, all the rage at the time. Names, grades in each subject and rank in class were publicly posted every three weeks. The popular songs of this era were " Sh-Boom" by the Crew Cuts, "The Banana Boat Song" by Harry Belafonte, a derivative of the original "Day-O", "Mr. Sandman" by the Chordettes, later followed by "Lollipop" and Kitty Kallens's "In the Chapel in the Moonlight." Still later came Marty Robbins's "A White Sport Coat and a Pink Carnation." These songs could be heard in the dorms and emanated from open windows during spring and fall. Classes began at 8:00 AM and finished at 2:30-3:00 PM at which time everyone ran down to Holmes Gymnasium to prepare for athletic practice on Cushman Memorial Field in Flynt Park. Popular off-campus meeting places included Brown's Drug Store on Main Street, Coxie Moore's store on Harrison Avenue, and Skwark's Theater Shoppe also on Main Street. In the wider world, a national sensation ensued over Bridey Murphy, derived from a hypnotized Colorado housewife who conjured up her past life as an Irish milkmaid of the mid-1800s. A few of the younger faculty members declared their belief in reincarnation and the Bridey Murphy story. Later, the book titled The Search for Bridey Murphy became a national best-seller. The most momentous event of my first several months in the Junior School was, of course, Monson Academy's Sesquicentennial Celebration accompanied by the dedication of the new classroom building on High Street, Alumni Hall, that replaced the prior Academy Hall that burned down in 1953. As a member of the Glee Club (I was a tenor in those days), we participated in many of the events. On the dais at the First Church in front of us were U. S. Supreme Court Justice Tom C. Clark, President of Amherst College Charles W. Cole, our beloved Headmaster Mr.George E. Rogers, and Mr. Rufus P. Cushman,'16, Chairman of the Monson Academy Board of Trustees. Mrs. Bessie Brosnan,'07, played the church's splendid Johnson pipe organ, selecting Gounod's "Marche Romaine" as processional and Warren's "God of Our Fathers, Whose Almighty Hand" as recessional. The church's Tiffany stained-glass windows shimmered with the majesty of the music and soloist Dick Crowley's performance.As I gazed out over such an august sanctuary filled to capacity, I decided that this occasion must be one of the greatest days of my life. I still believe this conclusion was true. Further,and unknown to me at the time, was the presence of Dr. Ralph A. Beebe,'15, Monson native and trustee of Monson Academy. Dr. Beebe was then chairman of the Department of Chemistry at Amherst College. Some years later it was a great privilege for me to work in Ralph's physical chemistry laboratory and form a lifelong friendship with him and his wife, Libbie. We young boys looked up to the older boys on account of their worldliness and sophistication. They were also thoroughly knowledgeable about all aspects of human reproduction. On those special occasions, when they admitted us to their confidence, the older boys enthusiastically described such phenomena as spermatogenesis, ovulation, cell fusion, meiosis and the immunobiology of implantation and gestation. We younger boys greeted these new subjects with awe and trepidation. It wasn't until many years later when I attended a seminar at Harvard's new Laboratory of Human Reproduction and Reproductive Biology that it suddenly dawned on me that some of the information conveyed to us so many years earlier was flawed and that we might have been the recipients of commentary embellished by fevered imaginations or victims of tall tales. Perhaps the most daunting prospect for a Junior School student was the twice yearly Chapel Talk in which each student would address the entire school on a chosen topic. My first Chapel Talk was on the Empire State Building. I memorized all the engineering and architectural features of the building and rehearsed for three weeks. Each Chapel Talk lasted only three minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. Most boys dreaded the requirement; however, there was a very small minority who relished the opportunity as though in a national spotlight. One memorable talk was given by an older boy, Paul, who reported on a recent gathering of foreign ministers from Great Britain, France,Germany and Italy that was sponsored by the United Nations. Paul's talk included highly exaggerated and stereotypical accents of the various delegates who offered solutions to the world's problems. Paul droned on way beyond the three minutes alloted. Mr. Rogers stirred in his chair and began to glance at his wrist watch. Finally, after twelve minutes with no end in sight, Mr. Rogers rose and gently suggested that Paul continue his talk the next day. Paul received a thunderous ovation . Chapel Talks were not without their hazards, however. One sixth grade boy devoted his talk to celebrations in the court of Louis XIV and made the mistake of choosing a word for dance or cotillion, with reference to the Frenchmen of the time, that with only modest imagination could be construed as slightly "off-color." The moment the words escaped the boy's lips and were amplified over the public address system, one could feel the tension begin to rise in Ellis Auditorium. It built into a crescendo. Finally, an older boy in the back of the room let out a loud guffaw that served as a catalyst for the rest of us. Pandemonium erupted. Mr. Rogers jumped from his chair and the little boy's face turned a bright scarlet. Mr. Rogers then lectured us on proper deportment, a stance he undoubtedly had taken many times before in almost identical circumstances. As an introduction to the more genteel aspects of adult behavior, we young boys were asked to serve as waiters during the periodic teas at Holmbrook. The teas were an opportunity for parents to visit with faculty and staff of the Academy. The tea was contained in a large and elaborate urn and was poured into dainty teacups by faculty wives who were assisted by mothers of students. My first tea was unforgettable. After receiving my cup of tea, I immediately poured milk and one teaspoon of sugar into it. Then I noticed lemon wedges and promptly squeezed the lemon slice into the mixture, not realizing that the acid in the lemon juice would curdle the milk and thus create an unappetizing mess. Mr. Arthur Laflamme, a faculty member, was standing nearby and caught my faux pas. I was gently instructed to use either one or the other, never both together. The social art of managing a cup of tea and crumpets with both hands while standing and holding a rational conversation still eludes me. Among the many memorable teachers at Monson Academy, besides the iconic presence of Mr. Benton and Mr. Morrow,was Mr. John Roan, who would write down on the greenboard terms such as "Teapot Dome", "Manifest Destiny" and "Lend-Lease" in expectation of a fully written report as a classroom quiz. Mr. Roan was an outstanding teacher who encouraged our critical thinking about history. Mr. John Pitts, the biology teacher, introduced a novel course in physiology, including dissection of a cat and pigeon as models of associated comparative anatomy. This course was unusual for high school students at the time and was conducted at the graduate school level. The students were so pleased by Mr. Pitts's efforts that they hosted him at a "Physiology Dinner" at the Publick House in Sturbridge. Mrs. Meacham served as our advisor for this event. Mr. Robert Stevenson was hired specifically to teach English composition, always a strong forte under Mr.Rogers. We would meet at Homestead at 8:00 AM to read works of essayists, especially Joseph Wood Krutch, and to criticize our own efforts. I last saw Mr. Stevenson in the early 1980s when I had a laboratory collaboration at The State University of New York at Stony Brook, where he was professor of anthropology after receiving his Ph.D. from Columbia University. Sadly, he died several years later. Mr. S. J. Hughes introduced us to the Romantic poets, especially John Keats. It still amazes me, when visiting classmates, that they can spontaneously recite long passages from Keats. I've often wondered whether the presence of girls in the class would have made the boys more reticent about such exquisitely expressed idealism. Mr. Hugh Harrell had just arrived on the faculty from Texas and sported cowboy boots. He had a special understanding of his charges and turned out to be one of our best friends. The challenges of course work rarely surfaced in profound frustration. I well remember my unhappiness over my own performance when translating from the Latin one of Cicero's orations to the Roman senate. In the presence of my parents, I picked up their Red Lion Shop lamp and pitched it through the bow window. The remnants of the lamp and broken glass landed on the driveway outside. My parents were speechless. Mr. Leo Beaulieu was called to replace the window while I watched. Mr. Beaulieu turned to me and said, "Dickie, you should try out for the Red Sox!" Nothing like that ever happened again and my parents never mentioned the episode even many decades later. They correctly concluded that my embarrassment about my own conduct was punishment enough. Life at Monson Academy was made far easier by its capable and devoted staff. Mrs. Mabel Andrew and her kitchen helpers, including Mary Harris, Clara Lupien, the Lynches, and Ceil Lenois, among others, prepared delicious and nutritious meals at Holmbrook. The school buildings were kept in high polish by Edgar North, Leon ("Jake") Fromme, Jim McEwen and Ed Shoum, and other members of the staff. Ed later became a prominent restaurateur by operating the Monson landmark, The Iron Kettle, for many decades. The exterior maintenance was accomplished in equally fine degree by Norman ("Brownie") Brown and his assistants. The office staff consisted of Mrs. Mildred Meacham, Mrs. Elsie Reed, Mrs. Muriel Sheridan and Mrs. Leah Crampton. Mrs. Meacham served in the role of informal advisor who coached us along the way. Mrs. Meacham's advice was always on the mark. Miss Moina Wilson headed the infirmary at Cushman Hall, assisted by Mrs. Rita Braskie and Mrs.Annie Maynard as housekeepers. Dr. Benjamin Schneider was school physician. Mrs. Laura Keith served as school librarian and tutor at the Flynt- Packard Library. The Academy overcame two great disasters, the fire of 1886 caused by arsonists who were later apprehended, according to news reports at the time,and the fire of 1953, again a case of probable arson for which no culprits were ever caught or came forward. In addition, the Academy was closed for a time during the Civil War and then again in 1924-1926 as it transitioned to an all-boys boarding school "on the English house plan." However, and despite rising from the ashes in more ways than one, the Academy did not survive the perilous times confronting many private schools in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Without consulting the alumni or giving them any advanced notice, the trustees decided to close the school in 1971, abolish its charter that was granted by the state legislature in 1804, and merge with neighboring Wilbraham Academy. This ended the distinguished presence of Monson Academy in Monson after almost 170 years. I first got the news around Thanksgiving of 1970, when the closure was publicly announced. I was at home in Monson from Boston and Art Laflamme rushed in the door. Art told us, "It's all over." At first we didn't know what he meant, but he subsequently described the situation. We were shocked, to say the least. Over the ensuing years, the buildings began to deteriorate beyond reclamation. Finally, Alumni Hall was acquired by the First Church of Monson and shortly before its demolition, I and trustees of the church entered the building for the first time in decades. I automatically looked for the Academy's seal that was embedded in the floor of the entrance only to discover that it had been surgically excised and its whereabouts to this day remains a mystery. We proceeded to the stage of Ellis Auditorium, where I imitated the introduction of a Chapel Talk---"Mr. Rogers, members of the faculty and fellow students…" When I turned to the auditorium, I looked out on a disaster. The auditorium was filled with water and floating detritis. Strangely enough, the splendid wooden desks were still lined up throughout the room but submerged and rotting in five feet of water. I didn't dare go upstairs as the result of the building's advanced state of deterioration but was told by others that birds and animals had made their nests on the second floor. In fairness, the reader should know that the time of closure reflected the disappearance of many private schools, sometimes by merger with other ones. Good examples included Northfield School for Girls, Northampton School for Girls, Rosemary Hall, and our sister academy, Monson Academy, in Monson, Maine. Although Monson Academy is gone, its contribution to the lives of so many women and men, many of whom succeeded brilliantly, will be greatly cherished for generations to come. I am reminded of the words of Dr. Charles Hammond, when speaking at the Semi-Centennial Jubilee of Monson Academy in 1854. Dr. Hammond, when comparing Monson Academy with other preparatory schools, noted that "He can claim honor only, then,on the ground that our limited resources have produced good results." The record speaks for itself. Today education is a huge and lucrative consumer product industry, replete with every technique garnered from the fields of marketing and advertising, and within the non-profit tax haven-luring customers with amenities such as luxurious living quarters and gourmet dining. At this juncture, too, I recall the letter from Monson Academy to the late Clarence L. Martin, Jr., who was hired in 1937 as an instructor of English. The terms read as follows: Sept. 11, 1937 Dear Mr. Martin, This will confirm our conversation of yesterday in which I offered you a position on the faculty of Monson Academy. You are to receive board, room, laundry and a salary of $ 200.00, payable in ten equal installments beginning Oct. 15 (Signed) George E. Rogers, Headmaster Thus the current educational industry bears little or no resemblance to the many sacrifices of past generations to furnish us with a thorough preparation for our future lives and activities. Also deeply appreciated was the Academy's inculcating in each of us its high standards of performance, together with refinement of thought, emotion and expression, that were based on honesty and integrity when dealing with others. I am grateful to all of the adults of Monson, and especially those on Academy Hill, for giving us such an auspicious beginning. Monson Academy came to us at a time in our development when life was fresh, sparkled, and beckoned to us. How lucky we were! "In my
beginning is my end. |