New Neighborhood Walk

Under the City 2

Over the City

Under the City

Blank Slate

Superdawg and Chocolate Malt

Making Good Time on the Kennedy

A Disturbance in the Force

Life On a Bed of Fries

Superdawg 1

Fixing A Hole

I'm taking my time for a number of things that weren't important yesterday and I still go. I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in and stops my mind from wandering where it will go.

Lennon/McCartney

2010 Commemorative Logo

Roots and Crowns 2

I have thought a good deal about trees; I like them. They speak eloquently of the balanced dubiety which I told you was the skeptical attitude. No splendid crown without the strong root that works in the dark, drawing its nourishment among the rocks, the soil, hidden waters, and all the little burrowing things. A man is like that; his splendors and his fruits are to be seen, to win him love and admiration. But what about the root?

Have you ever seen a bulldozer clearing land? It advances upon a great tree and shoves and pushes inexorably until the tree is down and thrust out of the way, and all of that effort is accompanied by a screaming and wrenching sound from the tree as the great roots are torn from the ground. It is a particularly distressing kind of death. And when the tree is upturned, the root proves to be as big as the crown.

What is the root of man? All sorts of things that nourish his visible part, but the deepest of root of all, the tap-root, is that child he once was, of which I spoke to you when I was amusing you with the story of my life. That is the root which goes deepest because it is reaching downward toward the ancestors.

The ancestors - how grand it sounds! But the root does not go back to those old stuffed shirts with white wigs whose portraits people display so proudly, but to our unseen depths - which means the messy stuff of life from which the real creation and achievement takes its nourishment.

- Robertson Davies - The Rebel Angels

Roots and Crowns 1

Father Mascari

Fr. Mascari, O.P.
Theology Teacher at Fenwick High School

It took a long time but by my senior year I began to feel like I belonged at Fenwick.

Mascari's Theology 4 class was as engaging as Peddicord's class but he was a bit more apt to joke with us. Still, the course material was no joking matter. We pored over details the Council of Trent and Vatican One and Two and were obliged to learn all the names and stories of the major players from the last five hundred or so years of Catholic church history. From the first day of class onward Mascari called out details we would need to know for our final exam. He made explicit on a daily basis that if we were unable to pass that test we would not pass his class.

Somewhere along the way Wojtowicz and I compiled our extensive class notes into a thick study guide. The whispered anxieties of fellow Theology 4 students led us to discover that many would be willing to buy copies from us. We settled on a sale price of $10 per guide. We alphabetized the notes by subject and typed them on a typewriter at the Oak Park library. I drew up a cover with a haloed Mascari giving our study guide his stamp of approval and we invested in making the copies. We sold around thirty guides first semester.

Mascari found out about our guide but didn't know who had made it. He warned the class that it did not cover all the topics we'd find on the exam but I still think it helped a lot of us to study. We both aced that test.

Second semester we caught Sepe selling copies of our guide for $7. We called him out for leeching off us but he wouldn't stop. I was annoyed with him back then but at this point I prefer to remember him sitting through Spitznagel's class with his sock in his mouth.

With twenty years to reflect on it I'm pretty sure our time at Fenwick made us all better men.

Mr. Heldmann

Mr. Heldmann

Athletic Director, Economics & Drafting Teacher at Fenwick High School

Heldmann reminded me a lot of my grandfathers. Whenever I sat down with them to make paper airplanes, discuss Harold Washington and universal health care or listen to classical music my grandfathers were all vocal about the way they saw things. I never had to guess where they stood. I have always found that sort of honesty to be comforting whether or not I agree with it. It takes a lot of love to share your worldview with someone.

Fenwick didn't offer any art classes but I was able to take a drafting class with Heldmann. In it we practiced drawing relatively basic shapes from different views using a drawing board and T-square. The class was held in what seemed like a bomb shelter that was tucked away deep in the labyrinthine recesses of the east wing stairwell. I really enjoyed it.

I also had economics with Heldmann. He made that class interesting because he explained everything in a practical way. We read Robinson Crusoe in order to define scarcity and its effects. He would often ask us about current events to get our view and then he would share his own. This wasn't always objective but it helped to clarify our lessons. Occasionally he would get off track and offer us advice not relevant to class. He once informed us that we should always accelerate into a turn when driving to enhance and maintain traction. Whether or not this is true I still think about it every time I drive on a cloverleaf interchange.

Father Botthof

Fr. Botthof, O.P.

President-Principal at Fenwick High School

The only times I saw Bothoff were when he was speaking at an assembly or leading all school masses in the school auditorium but I could tell that he was a kindly man. He was a widower and is the only Catholic priest I've ever known to have been married. It seemed like a big deal that he had either given or received all seven sacraments.

I really blew it my junior year. Recently Wojtowicz aptly described my worst high school transgression as using my art for evil purposes. I got in big trouble. I'd prefer to leave it at that.

I wasn't entirely happy to be enrolled at Fenwick. In 1991 it was a really strict all guys school and it was a long way from home. I'd caught a lot of grief from classmates during my first few years and I still didn't feel like I fit in. All the same once I got in trouble the prospect of being expelled terrified me.

When I came clean my folks were really disappointed in me. After a family meeting my two dads(father & step father) paid a visit to Botthof to make an appeal for me to be allowed to continue my education at Fenwick. At his discretion I was given an in-school suspension and was also asked to do penance by working as an illustrator for our high school newspaper The Wick Review. When my dad dropped me off for my first day of suspension he accompanied me up the central staircase to the deans office on the fourth floor. Before he left he told me to keep my chin up.

Time marched on.

My output for The Wick tapered off before the end of that school year but I received compliments for a drawing I made of a crucifix bordering Botthof's letter to the students. It felt good to be recognized but what really counted was that I had been forgiven after doing something terrible. I was incredibly lucky to have been given another chance and I owe that to Botthof.

Mr. Egan

Mr. Egan

Counselor at Fenwick High School

The tables in the cafeteria were like very long picnic tables but none of the benches were attached. The benches all filled up quickly. I was terrified when I first entered that room. I had no idea where I was going to sit. It took me a few years to find a place at a table where I felt like I fit in and it was a major relief when it finally happened. I didn't recognize that a lot of other kids probably felt the same way.

Time marched on.

I really believe that Brad was welcomed to our table as one more member of the fringe but given that we were juniors and he was a freshman some not so gentle ribbing came to pass. Brad was one of the only kids I remember to be called by his first name. His father was the promoter for a local heavy metal band named Diamond Rexx and Brad took the time to get fan club badges made for each of us. Lubeck still has his his and recently reminded me that Brad's mom was hot.

Brad seemed awkward then but in retrospect I was as much of a Napoleon Dynamite as he was but without the dance number or the girlfriend. I had huge glasses, feathered hair and a mullet and wore a jean jacket sporting Iron Maiden and Guns 'N Roses buttons on the front and an iron-on Metallica patch on the back. Day after day on the way to school I stared out the back window of the Pace bus blasting both sides of ...And Justice for All on my walkman. Being cool was pretty lonely.

One day at lunch Wojtowicz and I decided it would be funny to knock over our bench with Brad on it. We'd seen it happen before at other tables. We simply sat on opposite sides of him and on some rudimentary cue we both stood up while tipping the bench. Brad instinctually stood up with us so when the bench fell all we really accomplished aside from inspiring some hooting and hollering from neighboring tables was to make complete fools of ourselves. We righted it and went on with our lunch.

Egan was a cafeteria monitor in addition to his counseling responsibilities and he must have put two and two together. After lunch Wojtowicz and I were sitting near one another in study hall when Egan entered our classroom. Without any announcement he quickly walked up to us, grabbed us both by the ties, pulled us up and out of our seats, dragged us down the aisle, out the classroom door, down the hall and then swung us simultaneously into the lockers. We were terrified! I don't remember exactly what he said to us after that but I do remember what the inside of his mouth looked like. He was bellowing at us from just inches away. In a nutshell, Egan demanded to know why we were picking on Brad. We didn't have much to say. He suggested that we would regret it if it ever happened again. We got the message!

Father Peddicord

Fr. Peddicord, O. P.
Theology Teacher at Fenwick High School

Peddicord had a way of defying gravity. His posture was straight but somehow his entire body was always leaning forward in a way that would have made anyone else fall down. He was tall, quick and thin and his white robe would flutter as he floated through the room. Whenever anyone horsed around in class he would lean over them glaring and in an ascending melody describe their actions as "EEEEEVILLL."

Of all my high school classes at Fenwick I learned the most in and generally most enjoyed my four years of Theology. The Dominican Brothers and Fathers shared deep insights into the history of the Catholic Church and Christianity. Their method of teaching was to give it to us whole. We weren't spared any details of the horrors of the inquisition or other church abuses like the selling of indulgences. We were given the reasons the Anglicans and the Protestants broke away from the Catholic Church. Christ's life of charity was emphasized over the more dogmatic stories from the Old Testament. Peddicord in particular afforded us a level of enthusiasm, openness and honesty that made his classes fascinating. He was probably the first teacher I noticed who spoke entirely without cynicism. He empathetically elucidated the lives of the Saints and the trials faced by those martyred. The northern wall of his classroom was lined with tall cast iron frame windows through which I'd often stare into the sky while imagining his stories.

At the end of my last year with him we were able to watch The Mission together in class. That movie very clearly defined to me the idea that while an institution may not always make the right decisions, an individual can still act in accordance with his own conscience to do the right thing. That lesson still resonates from time to time.

Magicicada Septendecim

Mr. Finnell

Mr. Finnell
Mathmatics Teacher at Fenwick High School

I can't remember which came first, "Sprockets" or the 1990 Chicagoland emergence of the 17 year periodical cicada brood but something tells me the cicadas came first.

The bases of all the trees in front of our Elmhurst home and all those along the sidewalks leading to school were buried in cicada shells. Open classroom windows let in fresh air and the afternoon distraction of droning cicada song. Spring fever led a few of us to the obvious conclusion that we should investigate recipes for cooking cicadas and dare one another to eat them. At home I gathered a few choice specimens in an empty spaghetti jar and carried them to school in my bag. I didn't bother to leave them in my locker because they were a good distraction between classes.

After lunch in Algebra class the outdoor buzzing of cicadas led my jarred specimens to join together in the song. Although the jar muffled their sound as they blended in with the others Finnell must still have sensed something because he scanned us in silence and probed at us to see what was going on. My friend Ilic sat in front of me so at some point it seemed harmless to open the jar and place a cicada on his back. Ilic had agreed to eat a live cicada after school if we gave him $20. He noticed the bug in no time and in turn put it on Netterville's back. Netterville however was not aware of the cicada and when it reached his collar and buzzed he stood up spinning and still attached to his desk, crashed into other desks and rolled around until someone took it off. Mr. Finnell correctly determined that I had something to do with this and asked me to leave the classroom even though I sat two seats behind Netterville. No one else got into trouble. On a formality he did not send me to jug or to the principles office so I recall that I hid in the restroom until the period was over and never got into trouble.

Fenwick's general dress code was dress pants, shirts and ties but there was a sweater loophole that took away the need for a tie and dress shirt if you were careful. One of my favorite outfits at this time was a charcoal sweater with a zipper on the neck. I was able to get away with no shirt and tie as long as I zipped up the sweater.

Finnell was probably the first person I knew to have mastered the comic pause when making a joke. Whether he was picking on students that were not paying attention or asking questions of students that were likely to know the answer his questions were always formatted as follows.

Question + long pause + student's last name.

example 1: "Who knows the answer?. . . . . . . . Simcoe?"
example 2: "Where is your homework?. . . . . . . . Ilic?"

This generally raised spirits and led to laughter from the rest of the class.

I can't remember the question Finnell asked me that spring but I do remember that I was wearing my charcoal sweater when he changed my last name to "Sprockets" much to the approval of the rest of the class. "Sprockets" stuck for the rest of the semester and a few classmates also adopted it for a time. He was making reference to the Mike Meyers character on Saturday Night Live.

All tomfoolery aside, I learned more about math in Finnell's classes than I ever have before or since.

Mr. Spitznagel

Mr. Spitznagel
Social Sciences Teacher at Fenwick High School.

In high school everyone was called by their last name.

One day Sepe(pronounced Seppy) came to class with a five o'clock shadow and Spitznagel pounced on him for not being clean shaven. When Sepe didn't offer a good explanation for this Spitznagel asked him to take off his shoe. Sepe refused but with a raised voice Spitznagel insisted and Sepe was obliged to comply. Spitznagel then asked him to take off his sock and put it in his mouth. Sepe became indignant and once again refused but Spitznagel got right in his face and with a booming voice insisted again. Sepe complied and then took the sock out of his mouth. Spitznagel demanded that Sepe keep it in his mouth for the rest of class or he would get jug(judgement under God - Catholic school detention) for a week. Sepe complied.

Spitznagel did not like the way I tucked in my loose fitting shirts so I generally tried to fly under the radar. I was not a good reader and was not yet mature enough to find history interesting so I never earned better than a C grade in his American History class. However, he did manage to teach me that I had a lot to learn. We got into an argument once about The Wizard of Oz. I got very annoyed when he suggested that L. Frank Baum's book offered political commentary on America. I was so sure that it was just a kids story that I scoffed back that there wasn't anything more to it than that. He offered extra credit to anyone that would research the question. Of course the very next day someone came in and proved me wrong. Mr Spitznagel didn't gloat about it, he just moved on to the next topic. I learned to respect him. Something about that day has always stuck with me and I try to avoid speaking out in public when I am not certain about something.

California Stars

Yosemite Valley

Painting Eleven