Looking Through the Album
By Robert McLaughlin
T
eaching is a profession based on the ability of trained and talented individuals to “unlearn” themselves on a daily basis. A firm purchase on the basics of their subject, combined with a genuine desire to share the learning space, to learn as they teach, to “serve” the interests and aspirations of their students, all combine to distinguish real teachers from the indifferent and unmotivated. Each day at Saint David’s they separate the salient from the spurious, the substance from the superficial. They create, correct, encourage with good grace and selfless energy. My recollections of faculties past rarely include anything of their teaching abilities, though I’m certain that the ongoing success of the school is ample proof of that. Each generation of teachers is a mixture of those who stay for a few years, and make their mark, and those who, through their longevity and dedication are really the bricks and mortar of Saint David’s. The present faculty speaks for itself. The students reap the benefits of their expertise, but are largely unaware of the sallies of wit, holiday cheer, opinions on baseball or ballot boxes, outdoor camaraderie, and avocations shared with peers through their Saint David’s years. This article will focus on a few. Recently Sheffield Bunker passed away. Sheff taught French here and brought a quiet understated wit to the faculty room from 1963 to 1964. One spring day in 1964, Sheff invited a few colleagues to golf at his father’s club, The Creek. I was used to Van Cortlandt, a Bronx public course, and was floored by the raw beauty of this “links” course adjoining Long Island Sound. Sheff, never ostentatious about his financial advantages, humbly offered to carry our bags; he didn’t play golf himself! Another golf memory involves John Thompson, our Latin teacher in the mid-sixties, a minister’s son from Glasgow. After our match, we adjourned to a local restaurant for some much needed refreshment. Above the bar was a sign reading, “Chicken Dinners, 10 cents.” This extraordinary bargain appealed to John immediately; I, in a fit of generosity, plopped down twenty cents, just for the chance to watch John’s reaction as the bartender cracked two hard-boiled eggs on a napkin! I often think of the generations of Latin students both here and abroad that have delighted in that story!
Of those who are no longer with us, the names of Richard Dryzga, Mal Cleary, and Bill Ryan come immediately to mind. My personal memories of each of these revolve around faculty and student plays and of course the annual weeklong trip to Cape Cod (which survives and thrives to this day). Dick Dryzga, our Admissions Director and Head of Middle School, dazzled us all with basso profundo renditions of “Mandalay” and “Asleep in the Deep.” Mal, our Upper School Head for so many years, was the fearless director of several melodramatic productions. In addition, Mal’s pitching record in the annual softball classic of Faculty vs. Fathers is, with one exception unrivaled. The exception occurred one year when an administrative meeting kept Mal from starting the game. It was with some reluctance that Sam Livingston, our perennial catcher, handed me the ball as we started. His lack of confidence was well founded; as Mal arrived at the last of the third inning, the score read, Fathers 9, Faculty 0. Undismayed, Mal followed with six scoreless innings as we ate away at the lead. Even though Tom Ryan’s magic probably won the day for the parents, I was in awe of Mal’s uncanny off speed pitch and admirable ERA. For Mal’s retirement I penned, in tribute, some new lyrics to an old favorite, “Thanks for the Memory.” Bill Ryan, in addition to being a teacher universally respected (and emulated) was, on the personal level, my omniscient guide to the sights and sites of New York. On pleasant summer walks, he discussed each Central Park statue and monument, provided background on churches, temples, and synagogues along the way, and always chose an excellent pizzeria when lunchtime arrived. We heard of the passing of others, after they had left the faculty. Jim Palsgrove, our Music Director for some years, owned a string of antique cars and was also something of an historian of pre-casino Atlantic City. One year I recall Jim generously footing the tuxedo bill for a rather impecunious faculty colleague. It was a good fit, Jim! Bob Ludlow taught Fourth Grade in those bygone days—a member of the original Catholic Worker Community on Christopher Street, Bob’s room at Saint David’s reflected his interest in Orthodox Catholicism, bedecked as it was with many small icon reproductions. He once opened his Chapel with the Sign of the Cross in old Slavonic!
10 • Saint David’s Magazine