To clear up some confusion, the Notebook passages posted on Throwback Thursday were written by my father and found by me after he passed away. They were his attempt to tell the family history. He was in his late 80s or early 90s when he wrote them. Today's chapter:
Graduation was approaching and time to apply to which high school we wanted to go to. For some reason my father decided that I should go to an all boy school. Boston English. [ed: Dad, think it might have been because Grandpa was tired of Mrs. Sullivan calling him to say you were constantly bothering and flirting with Miss Lavonia? Yeah, I see that wry smile of yours.] That was fine, but we were still in the Depression which was getting worse.
Anyway I applied and was accepted. In the Fall. September as was the custom. The Summer time was over and it was back to school. The Summer was good and I was not happy to give it up. I played a lot of baseball, played on a team, played outfield. Hit pretty good and wasn't good as a pitcher. I had the wrong stance at the pitcher's mound.
School opened and I entered Boston English. All boys. 3300 of us. The classes were large. It was not unusual to have classes of 50 and up. The teachers were all men. Boston English was at the time the only integrated school in the country.
We also had to have uniforms for we held the City of Boston's Cadets. All the high schools participated. 17,000 strong. Boys marching downtown Boston. It was a big day. At different sections of the march area there would be men who would grade each school. I was lucky and I inherited someone's uniform and it fit. We could not afford the one.
Nor could I participate in sports they were not conducted in our school yard. We didn't have one. So it meant going to Roxbury which meant another car fare and getting home late for supper and then doing your homework. There were not many boys from East Boston. In fact, it was a mistake , my going there [ed: Boston English High School]
While my marks were good getting the car fare in and out of Boston got hard. I began to feel taht I was out of my class. And I began to hate to go. It started in the Winter and I began to consider quitting school. And I pressed along into my 16 birthday. [ed: 1935] and finally with only 26 days of school left, I quit. My mother and father were upset. As they should be. Of the five children, I was the only one that showed some evidence to have a career of sorts if I wanted one.
Mario caused some problem and he definitely had no sense of wanting to be a scholar. In fact, my father decided that he would send him to reform school. And he did. Which was definitely unwarranted he didn't do anything to warrant it. He was sent to Holyoke and I am my mother went to visit him. He was happy to see us and wanted to know when he would be able to come home.
photo: The Boston High School Cadets on Tremont Street in the early 1930s. from Only in Your State: http://www.onlyinyourstate.com/massachusetts/boston/great-depression-boston/
