CLASS OF 1963
(6th Grade, That Is)
(Last summer I was completely surprised when I inadvertently stumbled upon a web site developed in part by some kids I went to elementary school with on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Most of them I had not seen of heard from in 46 years. Re-connecting with a few made me realize the significance of that moment in time juxaposed against today's world)
JUNE 1963 -- Graduation day from P.S. 177!
We were soon to realize that this was no real graduation --merely a changing of schools from elementary to junior high, which today is known as middle school.
But we would also soon realize that our class, I.G.C. 6 (for Intellectually Gifted Children) and all our peers would come to far more shocking realizations very shortly.
You see, we were the last of the 1950s' generation -- kids born in 1950, 51 or 52. We would represent the end of the "Silent Era" and the beginning of a far more turbulent era -- the 1960s and early 1970s.
But weren't the 50s already long over by 1963, you ask?
No.
The 1950s -- culturally and politically -- did not end until two bullets smashed into the head of our beloved, youthful president, spilling blood and brain tissue unto his lovely wife's designer pink dress some six months after our sixth grade graduation
So much for Camelot and watching Caroline and John-John grow up in the White House.
Prior to that our biggest worry had been the 1962 Cuban missile crisis, where Russia and the US stared into each other's eyes unflinchingly, nuclear guns drawn. Russia finally blinked and we thought -- like the World Champion 1962 Yankees -- the US dynasty would remain undefeated and untarnished.
Its difficult to state this without sounding like one of those chain emails about "Remember When," with photos of The Mickey Mouse Show, "Leave it to Beaver," "The Lone Ranger," etc. But back then :
we watched shows on one TV with the entire family present in the living room
nothing came in the way of watching the evening news or eleven o'clock news, which was read by white men over 40; the only females present were the "weather girls" like Gloria Okon. Jeanne Paar worked her way up to some feature stuff as the first female local TV reporter in the city (wonder if she's prouder of that than the fact that her son is Chris Noth??)
a Spauldeen and a broomstick made you feel like Mickey Mantle, Willie Mays or Duke Snider
- we watched in amazement (although probably not nearly as much as our parents!) as the space race unfolded; many of us got "front row seats" in the school auditorium where the one TV set was placed in the center of the stage -- for all to see the blast-offs from Cape Canaveral
NYC had six daily newspapers (can you name them all?)
regardless of your race or ethincity, when "West Side Story" came out, we each chose to side with either the Jets or the Sharks; many of us chose the Jets because they were the "Americans"
we had only known two presidents: Ike and JFK; and one mayor, Wagner
the white shirt mandate for Assembly Day did not seem strange or unduly harsh at all
- and oh yeah -- 25 cents could buy enough candy to make you and a friend or sibling sick
Try to make a young person today understand that there were so few Blacks on television that when one was scheduled to appear it was the subject of conversation after church on Sundays:
"I heard Pearl Bailey is going to be on "Ed Sullivan tonight!"
"I like "Ed Sullivan" he has a lot of colored people on his shows."
"Did you see Sammy Davis on "Ben Casey" last week?"
JET magazine, a staple in Negro households, ran a full page every week listing the Negroes scheduled to appear on TV shows. Even those few who were regulars, like Eddie Anderson, who played Rochester on the "Jack Benny Show."
But we (Negroes that is) seemed happy that things were getting better. After all, nearly all of our parents came from the segregated South and there was no segregation here in NYC. Not that we could see, anyway.
Christmas meant the magic of 34th Street, Macy's especially. It seemed like our Christmases were the best anywhere. And my church, Mariner's Temple, every year hosted a Christmas party the Sunday before Christmas. It was for the Sunday School kids and their parents and each grade put on a play, or sang carols. Afterwards there was a reception downstairs with food and goodies -- the highlight of which was when the Sunday School kids got toys and other gifts from their Sunday School teacher, each wrapped with their name on it.
But the amazing thing was that any child who walked in got something -- a toy truck, box of cookies or Christmas candy, etc.
There were many kids who were poor and came with their parents. I remember the look on there faces when the minister or his staff lovingly gave them the gifts. I remember my dad once saying to my brother Harry and I "That's the only Christmas some of those kids will have.."
What an impact on us! This was no TV mega church like exists today. Just a neighborhood church funded almost exclusively by its members.
There was nothing on the surface of that beautiful, bright, early summer, Graduation Day in 1963, that would make most of us believe the future was anything but brighter and better. I still have my autograph book that we all bought at Haber's, which sold everything from school supplies to sports equipment. If a girl liked you she signed on the pink page -- if you liked her, you signed on the blue page.
The first big separation in our lives about to happen. We were headed in one of three directions: Junior High School 65, Junior High School 12 and -- the new kid on the block -- Junior High School 22.
Three months into 7th Grade, on a Friday afternoon, last period class, the math teacher came in and told us that President Kennedy had been shot. We were numb.
Then in rapid succession came the other stuff:
Mississippi Summer, 1964, where college students, housewives, working folks and all other types descended on Mississippi to insure that Negroes had the right to vote. They went door to door in parts of America that offered absolutely NO protection from the law. They organized in churches, in homes and in secret. A white Detroit woman, Viola Liuzzo, was run off the road and shot to death for driving a Black man home. He was critically wounded. Then the bodies of the "missing" three civil rights workers were found in a swamp. They had been brutally tortured. One of them, Mickey Schwerener, worked in Hamilton-Madison House in Smith Projects.
After a bruising presidential campaign, Lyndon Johnson trounced Barry Goldwater largely by telling Americans that Goldwater was a nut-case war monger who would dangerously expand the Vietnam War by sending in thousands more troops and bombing North Vietnam. The curtains on the polling booths had barely closed when LBJ escalated the war and did exactly that. Once the vast majority of troops had been volunteer, elite units -- Marines, Airborne and Special Forces. By fall of 1965 they were all but sending in Cub Scouts to Vietnam. Everyone with a draft card was scared shit less.
In 1965 the war at home also escalated -- with riots (or rebellions depending on who you talk to) occurred in many major cities, The scariest and bloodiest occurring in Watts, Los Angeles and Detroit. In other places the seemingly most minor of events could trigger days of police beatings and shootings, looting, and mob violence, often prompting the National Guard to respond.
- Ironically in 1965 Malcolm X, former Black Muslim leader and dynamic speaker, made his pilgrimage to Mecca and discovered that people of all races could worship together -- that the problem was not white people. He announced publicly that all people who took seriously authentic Islamic teachings could live in peace. Having said that he was gunned down in front of his wife and children and an audience who came to hear him in Washington Heights.
1966 saw more urban unrest as the civil rights agenda moved from the south to the north and decidedly away from "turn the other cheek" non-violence. Meanwhile the Generals assured LBJ that 100,000 more troops could seal the deal in Vietnam and he assured us that was the way to go. Across the country college students increasingly chose to go the other way, protesting the war and defying the draft.
1967 saw Newark, New Jersey explode in what many believe began the city's free-fall into economic disaster. Meanwhile, as casualties mounted in Vietnam, Rev. Martin Luther King took to the podium at New York's famous Riverside Church to make a landmark speech against the Vietnam War. He had broken ranks with much of the civil rights leadership doing this as many Americans (including many Blacks) gasped with dismay or were angered by his new stance outside the realm of civil rights.
- To the surprise of most, in early 1968 LBJ announced that he had had enough and would not run for re-election, leaving a wide field of Democratic hopefuls to replace him. One of them, Bobby Kennedy, brother of the slain JFK, had a message which resonated with the young, the old, Black, white, Latino, blue collar, the establishment and those anti-establishment. He too, was skeptical about the war and pledged to end it. Almost a year to the day after King's famous Vietnam War speech, King was gunned down on a balcony in Memphis preparing to lead a protest for local Sanitation workers. A stunned Bobby Kennedy made the announcement to a largely Black crowd in Indianapolis, where he was preparing to give a speech. 62 days later he would be struck by assassin's bullets and leave America not only stunned but disillusioned.
The morning after Bobby was shot I had an interview for a summer job which changed my life.
WINS 1010 Radio, in an era where companies were urged to "Give a Damn," had put its money where its mouth was. The newly formed and first successful all-news station had canvassed New York high schools for Black and Puerto Rican students (mostly those on school newspapers) to work as summer interns at the station. I think they interviewed about 15 of us and five were selected including me.
I had never thought about journalism as a career, but hey, it was a summer job!
The job gave us an opportunity to work in each of the major departments of the station including news where we got to ride along with reporters covering stories that ranged from political rallies, to press conferences, to bloody murders. I loved it!
But the grand finale was that we each went into our neighborhoods to interview other teens about their feelings and thoughts on current events, circa 1968. Then we compiled about 20 hours of tape and edited (we had to get a bypass from the union to touch the equipment which they granted) it down to a half hour and then taped another half hour panel discussion about our own thoughts, etc. A great experience that could not have happened at a better time in our history on the planet --1968. The program won a Public Service award for the station -- hey what goes around comes around!
One of the interns became a life long friend, Ralph Martin. Ralph, from Bed-Stuy and Boys High, went on to become District Attorney of Boston, Massachusetts -- the first Black ever elected to that post in the history of the state.
For me it led to a career filled with an early dabbling in journalism followed by over 20 years in Public Relations as well as 7 as a full time college professor and ten years as an adjunct.
Serendipity seemed to follow me, although the road is also filled with dreams deferred.
In 1968 I and some friends had revived a social club, the V.I.P.s that was housed in St Christopher's Church on Henry St. Most of the older V.I.P.s had been called to military service. We still had some time on the clock before turning 18 and had an eye on college. So we revamped the V.I.P.s and added a community service component. We didn't do a lot of that -- mostly we did dances. But when an African boutique shop opened on Madison St. (only the second Black-owned business in that neighborhood, the other was Johnson's Barber Shop) we agreed to do a ballroom-style dance and fashion show. The fashions would be provided by the store's owners. Great PR for both of us!
One day while going there for an impromptu meeting one of the owner's sisters was there -- Bernice. She was tall and elegant looking -- a dance student. She asked my friends and I what our college plans were. Billy and Calvin both were accepted to SUNY Binghamton. I had been rejected by Syracuse and another place or two (horrible math scores!) She told us about her college which none of us had heard of -- but she said it was a good school. We were only mildly interested, but I could hear the drumbeat of war and needed the draft deferrment so I asked a few questions. Then she said it was an all girls school!
I don't think I heard another word.
I didn't even remember the name of the school until the application package came to my house -- Sarah Lawrence College. So less than six months after hearing that name, I was matriculated there, three weeks after Woodstock.
Talk about culture shock! Although only a few miles from the city, it was located in Bronxville, one of the most exclusive, wealthiest places in the nation. The houses and shops looked like my brother's Lionel train set town. A far cry from the Lower East Side. But the campus was a among the most progressive anywhere and the students and faculty were truly smart and well- versed. Almost all were from wealthy families. Near the end of my freshmen year, at what seemed like a routine anti-war demonstration, four students were gunned down by National Guard troops at Kent State in Ohio.
The 60s/70s upheavals eventually cooled down by the mid 70s, leaving its residue of ending legalized segregation, increased equal employment opportunities, the seeds of the woman's movement and legalized abortion, among other things.
And there suddenly enough Blacks on TV so that it ceased being the subject of conversation at church. And fewer people were going to church anyway. So the younger generation has always known Black news anchors, TV hosts, Oprah, BET, and Black quarterbacks.
Women now hold news anchor positions and seats at the big table at corporations. They comprise nearly 75% of all public relations practitioners in the US. They walk beats with guns and put out fires as well. And I hear Jeanne Paar's son Chris Noth did OK too.
And though there have been attempts to outlaw them, many Little Leaguers are playing with aluminum bats. Gone is mom's old broomstick.
There is no draft anymore -- but there are two wars.
"Happy Holidays!" is replacing "Merry Christmas" as the appropriate seasonal greeting.
The Class of '63 can add an amazing ten more presidents in the 46 years since graduation.
The current one is a tall, charismatic speaker, with two adorable children and an elegant wife who wears designer clothes...
Congratulations to the Class of '63!
Hope you all are well.
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