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| Joseph Sears School, Kenilworth Illinois |
Age 7, moved from Maumee OH to Evanston, IL ; attended Lincolnwood School
Age 9, moved from Evanston IL to Wilmette, IL ; attended Harper School
Age 11, moved from Wilmette, IL to Winnetka IL; attended Joseph Sears School and New Trier High School
From my first year in Evanston, I
realized that I was no longer in 'Kansas', a truth first
experienced by the differences in schools. My Maumee school, which my
father had attended, was an old building of tall dark hallways, uneven wooden floors and small desk cluttered classrooms - no room for activity centers and/or group work provided!. There was little to see on the
walls other than what was visible through the high glass windows.
Surrounded by modest homes, the schoolyard was largely blacktopped dirt. In places, a few trees reached over a tall wire fence. In contrast,
Lincolnwood was set in the middle of a large treed suburban neighborhood of old, stately homes. A
small woods-park at the far end of the block bordered one end of the school property. Built after the war, the school was single
story, red brick and, very surprising to me, had dark bark wood chips
under all the playground equipment. Inside, the classroom walls were
decorated with posters, prints and low shelves - each with an assortment
of what I can only imagine from this distance were materials for
'educational enrichment' as deemed most important by educators of the
1950's.
I thrived in and loved my North Shore
school experiences. When my father died in 1961, my mother considered
moving back to Maumee. It was my vociferous objections to replacing my
New Trier High School opportunities with those offered by Maumee High
that heavily influenced her decision to remain on the North Shore. And
yet, it was while in grade eight that I resolved to become a Russian
Language major - with the secret goal of spending my life collecting
folk songs in the Ukraine. This was my fanciful assurance that I was a
guaranteed a life far away from the suburbs of Chicago.
The experience I recall the most
vividly as sensitizing me to the inequalities of life was that of
picking my father up at the commuter train station at the end of his
work day. Watching the groups of brief case bearing white men hurry from train to cars, I
knew at the nearby bus stops black women with paper bags, 'cleaning
ladies' were heading south to 'negro housing'. However, it is likely a
plethora of smaller experiences, barely remembered now, that culminated
in my conviction that something about the set-up - wonderful as it was
for me - was not justifiable.
Even before I left the North Shore
for college, I understood the unrealistic fantasy of my proposed Russian-Adventure
career, but my desire to escape and/or be come reconciled to what I
perceived as the highly privileged, largely raciest and materialistic
nature of upper middle class/upper class life remained a large influence
on how I spent my adult formative years - and continues to shape
where I put my energy and time, with whom I build and renew
friendships, and how I view the world today. There is an obvious
dilemma in this situation that I acknowledge and on some level still
struggle to accept.
However, I have come to appreciate the following legacy of my upbringing:
I had excellent educational opportunities from grade 2 through high school.
I was surrounded by good friends with caring (even if sometimes misdirected) parents who had time for and supported outside activities and programs created just for us!
- I experienced from a young age the truth that wealth alone was a poor predictor of successful families and meaningful lives.
- At an impressionable adolescent age, I saw on a good many social occasions
the underbelly of the wealthy life. As I result, I was never impressed
with individuals simply because they were financially successful nor
intimidated by the social/political power this brought them. This has
been a freeing and useful position from which to navigate life.
* * *
My own life has been
privileged in many ways and I never take it for granted that I 'deserve
what I have'. When you are born on Third Base (or in some cases
half-way to Home Plate), how can you take credit for 'Hitting a Home
Run'. Had I been born half-way to First Base, what would my chances of
escaping that legacy have been? It is an unanswerable question, but one
that for me is always worth keeping in mind when looking at the lives of others at all socioeconomic levels. Meanwhile, I remain at heart a European-style
socialist with the acceptance that my views are unlikely to be shared
by many of those with whom I grew-up. However, it would be interesting
to hear their stories if only to ponder the possible reasons we walked
the same hallways for so many years, but came out through very different
doorways.
