Thursday, November 2, 1995
Personal Essay...
Thanks go
a long way
Many things come arid go in
life, like seasons, friends fade
away into lingering memories.
Nothing ever seems to ends,
there’s just another face.
Everyone who has come into
contact with me has had an
impact on my life, whether good
or bad, no matter how short a
period they stayed, no one is
trivial. Teachers are the best
example. People have many
teachers, but the teachers that
count most are the one’s that
survive memory on a good note.
I’ll never forget the day I saw
my friend Tim getting off the
bus, thumbing through his copy
of his yearbook from our high
school. I had graduated three
years before. I asked to see it, to
recall the faces from the past,
mainly old teachers. Unfortun
ately, I opened to the back page
first and saw the memorial.
George Heywood, my gym
teacher, was dead. I stood silent,
while Tim talked about
everything that was going on
with graduation. I sat on my
steps and recalled everything.
My freshman year of high
school, I was in Mr. Heywood’s
gym class with a couple of my
friends. When you’re that age
and you’re in numbers, there’s
bound to be trouble. I was
always in trouble, but Mr.
Heywood took it with a light
heart. He knew that yelling and
screaming wasn’t the way to
teach kids, it took tolerance and
patience. He even risked his job
one day so we could have a picnic
in the soccer fields. He went to a
bakery two blocks away from the
school to get a cake. The entire
class sat around on that gorgeous
day, ate cheese cake and talked.
After surviving those few
months with me, it is safe to say
that we became friends, in the
way that students and teachers
become friends. He gave me a
ride to the bus stop a few times
and I would visit him during
lunch breaks, while he was
teaching class. He would
sometimes point at the kids and
say, “Remember that. That was
you. A royal pain in the ass.”
My junior year of high school,
I attempted to run indoor track. I
ran cross country the previous
year, but I had just come back
from having mono and was
attempting to get in shape. I ran
one meet; I can’t even recall what
it was, but I was in the wrong
heat and came in last by a
minute. In embarrassment, I fell
to the floor and buried my tears
into my arms, Then I felt an arm
around my shoulder and whispers
of encouragement. Then I began
laughing. It was one of the
worst moments of my life at the
time and I was laughing. That’s
the way it was with Mr.
Heywood. He was always laid
back and went with the flow,
enjoying every moment. Now I
know why.
He was battling stomach cancer
the entire time that I knew him,
but he never let on. He
constantly fought it, but he
obviously never gave up what he
loved most, teaching. 'I saw him
my freshman year of college. I
had to stop by Northeast and fix
some bureaucratic stuff when I
saw him walking down the hall.
“George,” I yelled. He didn’t care
that I used his first name. He
waved me over and we talked
about things. I apologized for
being a pain in his class. He just
laughed and said, “You’ll make
it, Russ. You’re a good kid.”
And that was the last time I
saw him. I stared into the
xeroxed copy of his picture and
saw the man I remembered with
the smile in his eyes. He died
during Christmas break, finally
succumbing to the cancer.
There just never seemed to be
an opportunity to thank him for
what he meant to me. I think
now, as I look back from the
perspective of someone who is
graduating college and once again
moving on, I regret that I never
thanked him, not because I can’t
play basketball any better or
know the ABC’s of calisthenics,
but because George Heywood
taught me a valuable lesson; life
is a precious gift to be shared
with others. Sometimes I forget
this when getting wrapped up in
the trivialities of life, but I just
need to remember him and his
eyes and his smile and I’m
reminded.
The point of this article is to
say that teachers have a profound
affect, if even not noticed until
years later. There’s many
teachers I have now that deserve
my thanks for helping me
through college (and my thesis).
Even if I never property thank
them, they will always survive in
my memory which serves as a
memorial to those who walked
with me and helped me along.
Opinion
The forgotten
In the 1950 s the government subject thousands
of soldiers to radiation during the testing of the
atom bomb. After a nuclear bomb was exploded
in the Nevada desert soldier were ordered to march
to ground-zero to test man’s ability to withstand a
nuclear blast. Those soldiers have since suffered
frqm their exposure.
In the seventies the government declared war in
Vietnam. The army dumped Agent Orange in
combat ares to kill the forest. Army personnel
were exposed to this chemical. The chemical
caused blisters on the skin filled with fluid, that
when drained, caused tremendous pain and left
large mangled scars.
Soldiers who recently fought in Desert Storm
are ill. The syndrome associated with gulf service
has many symptoms, to include chronic fatigue,
headaches, nausea, digestive problems, crippling
birth defects, etc.
My article is about integrity, honesty, the truth,
whatever one chooses to call it. These three
instance are mired in deceit. The government
denies all of these illnesses and still refuses to
treat some of the sick soldiers. The soldiers of the
fifties are forgotten, the seventies ignored because
of recurring social protest, and the nineties
because caring for these soldier is harder then just
looking away.'
We have been raised in the myth of patriotism
that makes us, as good citizens, trust the
government We wave flags on the Fourth of
July under the sparks of the fireworks and say,
"God, what a great country we live in.” We
function on blind patriotism. Worst of all, we
ignore the signs of corruption in our government
The media has recently exposed some government
sold
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iers
-Chad Clouse
officials, to include some in Erie country.
Millions of dollars disappear, officials go to jail,
and all we do is All the positions again and go on
trusting the new individuals.
If we understand nothing about the government
we should understand the men and women that fill
the offices. Government officials are not like
most of the public they serve, they are from the
"good side of the track,” so to speak. For
example, every Kennedy that ever served in the
government is not from the neighborhood. These
men are rich, professional politicians. They never
came from the middle class; they don't know the
middle class. Should we trust them to make
decisions for the majority middle class America?
Should we trust someone with a reputation as an
alcoholic and guilty of adultery? Someone who
breaks a promise of fidelity to his wife, someone
he loves, will break his promise to the people.
He’ll smile right into your eyes and say, "I love
the people. I could never hurt them." The same
promise broken twice.
Something that effects me personally, and the
reason I started this article with examples from the
military, is the Gulf War Syndrome. I am a Gulf
War veteran facing the difficult years after the war
when my life is still fractured from the experience.
To make it worse, my health has been effected by
a disease the government denies.
If someone out there thinks the government is a
truthful body, worthy of our devotion, there is
proof to the contrary. I urge everyone to pick up
the November issue of Life Magazine. On the
cover is a photo of a child cripple by his fathers
disease, Gulf War Syndrome. Stare at that little
child and see if you could possibly deny him.
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