“You’re going to boarding
school,” my father proclaimed. It was December 1954. I was thirteen, in ninth
grade and not really ready for this dramatic announcement. I was not, however,
completely surprised. My father didn’t like me; that had been amply
demonstrated the summer before. I could not forgive his rages and my multiple
humiliations. From everything he said, it was obvious he could not remember any
of those horrible episodes. Any references to the summer’s events met a look of
incomprehension.
So, we set about the task of
finding the right boarding school. My father, with his seething anger held in
only minimal abeyance, wanted me to go to a military school. My mother, with
her characteristic preoccupation with her own interest and comfort, wanted me
to go to a school near Providence, where my brother would be starting college
the next fall; he had received early admission to Brown. That way, she
explained, it would be easier for them to see us both.
My own anger on low simmer, I
wanted a school that would be the antithesis of my family. If I didn’t belong
in their home, I was going to be something better than they. Coming from a
middleclass Jewish home, I picked something historical, New England,
traditional, and very Boston Brahmin.
Now called Governor’s Academy but
at the time named Governor Dummer Academy, GDA met my passive aggressive
standards. It was an old school, in fact the oldest boarding school in the
country. Forty-five miles north of Boston, it was in the opposite direction
from Providence. Most importantly, it was a bastion of traditional Back Bay
values.
Foremost among those values was
the religious nature of the school. It was well rooted in the myth of “the
shining city on the hill,” with a heavy emphasis on what were Unitarian and
Congregationalist values. While Catholic students were allowed to go to mass
and Episcopalians – even if they were Tories – were allowed to go to Anglican
services, Jews were expected to go to either Unitarian services in the nearby
city of Newburyport or to join the Sunday morning hike to a nearby Baptist
church. Those early Sunday hikes were part of the character building that was
the cornerstone of GDA as were the Sunday evening assemblies with their talks
on ethical values and singing.
To understand the disconnect in
time between the school’s life and the outside world, one need only know that
one of the songs often sung at those assemblies, or vespers as they were
called, was Aura Lee. The tune of Aura Lee was used for that wonderful Elvis
Presley song Love Me Tender. At GDA, Elvis was not to be mentioned, but
tradition abounded.
The headmaster of this very
traditional “New England” preparatory school was Ted Eames, and he had the
lean, chiseled, unbending look of a true New Englander. I was immediately
impressed by the way Ted Eames looked down on us. Evidently, he was impressed
by my test scores.
The next fall my father took me
shopping for the clothes required by the school. They were very explicit, and
he – as was his style – ignored those specifications. My charcoal gray suit
was, while quite attractive, very different from the one sold by Brooks
Brothers. Other clothes from Filenes certainly set me apart the moment I
arrived on campus, and my leather jacket would soon be a source of ridicule.
Proper gentlemen did not wear leather.
Within hours of settling into my
room in Perkin’s Hall, I was suffering from culture shock. Only forty-five
miles from my childhood home, I had been thrown into a world I did not
understand, the world of the Back Bay Bostonian. It was an offshoot of the
world of that cute poetic comment:
I come from the
town of Boston,
the land of the
bean and the cod
where the
Cabots speak only to Lowells
and the Lowells
speak only to God.
Over the next three years I
learned more of that world. I learned that one never admitted to discomfort or
made requests of a personal nature. I learned that responsibility included
those events over which one had no control. I learned that education was about
attitude. I learned that sports had an important place in education but art was
irrelevant. Most importantly, I learned that the appearance of good manners and
breeding were the most important standard by which people were and should be
judged.
And, yes, I learned what the
proper charcoal gray suit would be.
Of course, I did not just go
along with the values of GDA. I had my own little rebellions. For one, I
continued to by the worst ties off the racks at Filenes’ Basement. But I knew
better than to wear those ties to church or vespers; there are limits.
Years later, with an Ivy League
degree and a Ph.D. in psychology, I returned to GDA. My wife had become an
established painter, having shown in such places as Paris, New York, and
Arlington, Virginia. The fundraisers from GDA told me the school was very proud
of the new arts center – now that was a major change. I suggested that my wife
would love to have an exhibit at this new center and that we would donate part
of any sales to the school. She also offered, with my urging, to give a
portrait of Ted Eames to the school, which did not have one. With the school’s
agreement, the show was to take place on a reunions weekend. A second artist, a
sculptor who lived near the school, would also be represented. The plan sounded
good to us.
When we arrived, we learned that
the school had scheduled the reception only for the sculptor so nobody from the
surrounding community would be coming to see my wife’s work. Nobody from the
school administration showed up for the opening. Nor was it listed in the
reunion weekend events. Nor was there any plan to accept the portrait;
ordinarily one would expect at least some minimal ceremony.
After we returned to our home in
New York, I wrote to GDA and remonstrated with them about their lack of manners.
I received a response saying that the fundraiser who had made the arrangements
was no longer at the school. The note did not even include the words “sorry” or
“apologize.”
When I subsequently said there
would no longer be contributions from me to the school and explained why, I
received a letter from a classmate saying that the school had clearly
apologized for what had happened and that I should forgive. I sent him back a
copy of the letter I had received and did not hear anything further.
So what has this to do with
Massachusetts? Everything and perhaps nothing. For me, a state is not just a
place but also a way of life. In rejecting my father’s values – albeit with
good reason – I had hoped to find a new set consistent with traditions that
claimed to be of a higher order. Sadly, those values were anachronistic.
Perhaps Ted Eames and I were the last people to believe in them.
I remember the last night before
graduation from GDA. We seniors were welcomed into the headmaster’s home. We
were given old-fashioned but lovely ceramic pipes to smoke and glasses of
sherry. We were being welcomed into a world that was already disappearing. Yes,
there was once a Bay State that was a different world and I glimpsed it. But
that world has slipped away.
Kenneth Weene offers up a free copy of Memoirs and one of Tales from the Dew Drop Inn. Print copies for US and Canada winners and Kindle for winners from elsewhere. Leave your email with your comment for easy connection and good luck!
More about Kenneth Weene here, http://www.kennethweene.com He has a great selection of varied work for every reading taste.
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We may not have learned much about the state itself, but we certainly learned about manners or the lack of them. It is a very refreshing article that I enjoyed, for it shows the human side of mankind, be it withn your state or not.
ReplyDeleteKen Weene has been a good friend of mine for several years now, but it's not because of our friendship that I consider his Memoirs novel high on the list of "books I loved reading." He is an excellent author. I am proud to be a fellow brother of the pen with him. While the Smith Brothers could do much for a cough, my pen brother Ken's books elevate the spirit and entertain us all!
ReplyDeleteI love Boston, my younger son went to college there, so I spent many a weekend exploring the history. Your experience at school must have been a shock, but I commend you for sticking it out and graduating. (And sticking it to your father, too, but I won't go there.) My son's wife's family were Mayflower Pilgrims on both sides, but they are very circumspect about their family history, and they aren't even among the Boston Brahmins. I can imagine the intimidating existence of your four years in boarding school. You rebel, you.
ReplyDeleteThis is a very well written demonstration that life has a funny way of taking us in directions not expected. Persistence though can carry us through to unimagined success.
ReplyDeleteGreat story. Describes the experience that life often takes directions not intended. Persistence though can often lead to success despite difficulties.
ReplyDeleteSomething different from the usual state contributions. But well done. Enjoyed reading it, Ken.
ReplyDeleteThanks for all the supportive comments. jrlindermuth is certainly correct; I don't do the usual, perhaps I still want to wear those ties from Filene's.
ReplyDeleteKen, this is a wonderful short memoir or slice of life. It seems like everyone in our era had problems of one sort or another. I like to think it strengthened us with a tenacity lacking in today's youth. I enjoyed this very much and yes, I sang Aura Lee to my children and grandchildren and to myself." As the blackbird sits and sings, neath the willow tree . . ..
ReplyDeleteI love this article. I agree it's a wonderful memoir. I'm glad the way of life GDA offered is pretty much gone.
ReplyDeletecarolyn4books@aol.com
I lived in Cambridge, Massachusetts for 2 or 3 years when I was very young. I don't remember much about it, except that it seemed steeped in history and tradition. There were friendly people, but overall, it seemed somewhat austere. Perhaps that's just my perception looking back on it. I was barely 5 when we moved.
ReplyDelete