I've got a memory of Frau Slezak. What a Force. It was during the "Boycott" in the late '60's (what Mr. Wissolik seems to prefer calling, perhaps for ideological reasons 'The Strike,' but 'Boycott' it was called at the time).
The key thing was to keep as many students as possible out of class, to make it clear that the boycott was deliberate, and to make sure we maintained discipline and order to make sure the Pittsburgh media covering the thing would present the message that we wanted to get out.
Student participation was amazingly successful, and most professors went along with it. Although we chose to start on a day most classes were not taking tests, of course somebody is always giving a test, but many of those professors who had planned to give a test canceled in view of the Boycott. Not Frau Slezak.
She was not only giving a test, but if you missed the test there would be no re-tests: you would fail. I was sent to talk her out of administering the test. She was adamant, and astonishing. We stood in the doorway of her class conducting this discussion; talk about Resolution. (Although I suppose it says something that she was willing to emerge from her class to come out and talk to me in public.) She maintained that appropriate academic freedom included discipline and self-control, and it was incumbent on the student to act responsibility. I argued democracy, pointing out that academic reforms she seemed to agree with were among the 'Demands' of the Boycott that hung in the balance. By making students choose between the needs of the community and the arbitrary date of a test, she threatened the academic freedom she professed. Well, she had this inner Authority that seemed to emerge right out of the ground -- no, come to think of it, it seemed to have emerged from all the wars and ravages of Europe of the 20th Century, when conscience and self were in constant struggle. From all that Authority, she firmly informed me that philosophy and ethics required the student, the human being, to make choices throughout life, and these choices are not without consequences. To act as if a choice without consequence can be made is an illusion, and no instruction at all. The test would go on, and her students would have to make their choice !
Well, the Boycott was amazingly effective, with over 90% participation; but I made a point not to count or take the names of those who crossed the line to take their German test. I just couldn't stand against the Force of History ! It was way too humbling.
<p>Here's a glass that needs to be raised.</p> <p>To Rich Gosser, gentleman, teacher, Christian. He has worked quietly (with emphasis on the quietly, quietly in the way that true Christians do their work), for many years. He has made many trips there on behalf of the relief of poverty and the democratic process. He and his spouse continue to do so. Matthew tells us from whence their reward will come.</p> <p> </p> <p> </p>
<p>Speaking of Father Tom, all of you old timer drama people out there. Remember this one. Fr Tom directing dancers for West Side Story, 1967-68. Believe it or not, it was Father Tom's 75th show at the Mater. Pat Carney Reilly sang the lead. There has got to be more memories of that musical out there.</p> <p><img class="" height="244" width="275" alt="" src="/uploads/FR_ Tom west side story.jpg" /></p>
To get guys willing to be in the show, we told them if they could play basketball, they could dance.
Then Tom built the most incredible, raked platform for the drug store/soda fountain. It seemed impossible to stand on, much less move on. But it did look great from the audience.
I am a 1967 SVC graduate. I have been a college teacher for 39 years, retired from full-time teaching since 2001. I raise a glass to Father Roderick and offer the following essay. I can be reached at mikedjyates@msn.com.
“Vladimir and Roderick”
I have just given the first examination of the semester. The results are poor, and I am upset. I return the tests and begin my standard pep talk. I tell them that the reason their grades are low is because they made inadequate preparation. They missed too many classes; on most Fridays more people are absent than in attendance. They do not know how to take notes. Sometimes students leave their notebooks behind after class, and when I notice, I read them. I am surprised how often the notebook has no name on it. The notes themselves make for depressing reading. An entire week of complicated and well-thought out lectures has been reduced to a single page of semi-coherent jottings. The only interesting items are the messages sent by friends to one another, and even these are juvenile and poorly written. I can imagine a chronic absentee copying these notes and further reducing them to three of four sentences. Perhaps if this student lends the copied notes to another and this student to still another, my lectures will eventually be reduced to a single word. If I knew in advance what this word was, I could just shout it out at the beginning of class and end things there.
As I warm to my task, I continue to harp about the notes. Students come up after class and question my grading with the explanation that what they had written was what they had in their notes. I say that their notes are theirs, not mine, and what they have in them and what I said may be two different things. Once I was lecturing about the workings of a capitalist economy according to Karl Marx. Marx tells us that our economic system is based upon the “accumulation of capital,” the process in which employers exploit their workers to make profits, which are then plowed back into the business so that it can expand in the face of stern competition. Utilizing the story from the Old Testament in which Moses receives the stone tablets from God on which are written the commandments the Jews must obey, Marx says, that for the capitalists, “Accumulate! Accumulate! That is Moses and the prophets.” This is such a famous phrase and so well sums up the behavior of business firms that I repeated it a dozen time. As I said it, I wrote it on the blackboard. But because it is physical painful for me to write, I sometimes did not write out the word “Accumulate” and just wrote the letter “A”. On the final test of the semester, I had a list of simple “fill-in” questions. One of them, worth two points, said, “_____, _____, that is Moses and the prophets.” All that the student had to do was write the word “Accumulate” two times on the appropriate spaces. As students turned in their exams, I started to mark them. I noticed that a number of students had answered this fill-in by writing the letter “A” two times. This began to infuriate me, so when I noticed that the student who had just handed in her exam had done this, I called her back to my desk before she left the room. I pointed to the two “A”s and asked, “What is this?” She looked and without missing a beat told me, “That’s what I have in my notes.”
I rant on about preparation. Preparation must be ongoing, I say. I appeal to the athletically inclined. Can you become a good basketball player or wrestler without practicing? You learn how to learn by practicing, by reading as much as you can, by thinking about what you have read, by writing. Preparation must also be thorough; everything must be learned. Students will sometimes advise me that they are going to miss an upcoming class. Tthey ask, “Will you be covering anything important today.” Yes, today and every day. Or they will say, “Do we have to read the parts of the textbook assigned but not covered in class?” Yes, I chose the book to complement the lectures not substitute for them. Why would I come to class if I had nothing to say? Why would I pick a book I thought was unimportant?
By this time the students are getting angry with me. No one cares much for criticism, no matter how true, and especially if the critic’s voice is, perhaps unintentionally, tinged with sarcasm. So, to diffuse their hostility and to make my points less abstractly, I tell them two stories, one about Lenin and one about my old teacher, Father Roderick. Lenin is a favorite of mine, a man of iron will and determination, who once said that he could not listen to Beethoven’s Appassionata Sonata because it made you want to hug people when what you needed to do was crack them over the head. Nowadays, I have to identify the great Russian revolutionary. Even before the collapse of the Soviet Union, I had a student write on an examination in a Comparative Economics Systems class that the Bolshevik revolution took place in 1967! In any case, I told my students, Lenin had a facility for languages, which he studied during his years in exile and in prison. An admirer asked him how he approached learning a language. Lenin replied that it was simple. First, you learned all of the nouns. Then you learned all of the verbs. Finally, you learned all of the rules of grammar. Just learn everything, and you’ll have it. No tricks. No shortcuts. Just hard work.
Father Roderick gets a longer story. He was my first college history teacher. Few students liked him. Not only was he an impossibly hard grader, but he was also extraordinarily boring. College folklore had it that he had fallen asleep during one of his own lectures. I can still see him pointing with a yardstick at a map of Europe and droning out in his monotone, “By this time, Spain was a third-rate power,” a phrase he repeated at least twenty times during the term, covering a period of about three centuries. As I am talking to my class, I begin to daydream about those classes from so long ago. There was something about Father Roderick that I liked. Maybe it was because he seemed oblivious to his inadequacies as a teacher. He never seemed to notice our numbed looks, and he never reacted to the audible groans that emanated from us at least once in every class.. Perhaps it was because at a faculty-student “tea” one afternoon, he told me that Eisenhower had been a lousy president. Father Rod was a liberal, and that was alright with me. As was the fact that he was a sports fan. He had been the school’s athletic director, though not a good one, having forgotten to pay the baseball team’s tournament fee the one year the team had been invited to play in it. He used to look wistfully over the athletic fields, dressed in his monk’s robes, saying his afternoon prayers.
I explain that Father Rod’s tests were devilishly difficult. They consisted of three parts. Part One was a long matching exercise in which all of the terms were so obscure that it was not unusual for some students to recognize not a single one of them. Some of the items were drawn from textbook footnotes and picture captions. Section Two consisted of the “Threes”; we would be asked to give three reasons for this, or to name three of these, and so forth. Rod was enamored with “threes,” as I suppose all priest are. Part Three required us to write a five hundred-word essay in answer to a question breathtaking in its generality. One went something like this: “Discuss the political, social, cultural, and economic aspects of the decline of the Roman Empire.” We had fifty minutes to complete the examination. It was said that Father Rod had not given an “A” in a long time. And no wonder. You needed 90 percent for an “A”, and given that you were bound to lose at least seven to ten points on the essay, you had no chance for one. Plus, he never rounded a grade up. If you scored 89.9 percent, you got a “B”. In my first class I got a “B”, missing an “A” by a fraction of a point. I was so disgusted that I determined to get an “A” the following term. In fact, I achieved the unprecedented distinction of earning three “A”s in his classes, unprecedented, no doubt, because I am certain that no one ever took four of his classes.
I tell my class about how I succeeded. I explain that I had decided upon a Leninist strategy. I rewrote all of my lecture notes, in complete sentences and with insights gathered from the readings, before each test. The act of writing the notes helped me understand the material much better. Next, I took the notes and the textbook and made a list of every name, date, and important term in them, including those in the footnotes and picture captions. I then wrote a definition for each of these, a time-consuming task since I might have several hundred entries. But again the act of constructing the definitions greatly aided the learning. I combed through the notes and book one more time, recording every possible “three” I could find, in preparation for Father’s obsession with the “Trinity.” And last, I made a short list of possible essay questions and wrote out at least an outline answer for each one. Now I was ready.
My strategy worked. I got an “A,” something like 97 percent. As news of this spread, classmates began to ask me for help in boosting their grades. Before the next exam and for the next two semesters, students would gather in a dormitory study room and take notes while I lectured from my preparatory materials. Everyone paid attention, because I now knew what would be on Roderick’s tests, and my lectures would probably be the difference between a good and a bad grade for my listeners. No one dared interfere with my presentation lest he be shouted down by the others: “Let Mike talk. He has the key to the course.”
By the end of the class, at least the students are smiling. Perhaps a few leave the room with a new resolve. It always seems that the grades improve on the next examination. But most likely it is I who have learned the most. I have put what I learned from Lenin and Father Roderick to work in my teaching. I enter class well-prepared. I have come to know the material so fluently that I no longer need notes. I can talk for any length of time about a wide variety of subjects. I can teach in large lecture halls to two hundred students or in small seminars. I can do most of the classroom work myself or involve the students in projects of self-learning and discussion. I have had classes in my office, in my living room, in dormitory rooms, and outdoors. I can handle any question, and I can improvise on something I’ve read in the newspaper or seen on television or simply something that pops into my mind while I am talking. I have invented hundreds of examples, and I have a reservoir of dozens of stories and anecdotes to clarify and simplify the subject matter. To give myself credibility I have done work in my teaching areas. I have done economic consulting for attorneys; I have been a labor arbitrator; I have helped to organize unions; I have been a negotiator; and I have written widely on topics related to what I teach. I have taught more than twenty different courses, from Statistics to the Political Economy of Latin America.
For years, I got the biggest kick out of teaching. It seemed an ideal job, one in which I had about as much control as this economic system can tolerate. I enjoyed putting the lectures together and dramatizing them every day in front of the classes. I felt that I was performing a useful and necessary social task, educating young people about the reality of our society and hopefully giving them a more critical outlook than they had ever had. They could take what I taught them and go out and do good deeds and make the world a better place.
Over the years, however, my love affair with teaching faded and finally ended. I do not give my post-test pep talk very often, and the skilled work of preparing the lectures seems wasted effort. The theatricality of the actual teaching has become rote, something I do because I need a paycheck. I still do it better than most, but then, in my experience, most professors are pretty inept. I have tried to figure out why I have lost interest in my job. The students are a big part of it. Their past “mis-education” and total absorption in consumer culture have made most of them incapable of critical thinking. They want instant gratification and cannot be bothered with the work of learning. College, like high school, is just another hoop they have to jump through to get a job that will pay enough money to keep them in cars, houses, VCRs, cell phones, and all the trappings of middle-class living. Most of my students are products of the suburban life and do not know enough or care to learn enough to be interesting to me. I still get some kids who yearn for knowledge and some poor adults who know now that it is important to educate oneself. But these few stand out like sore thumbs, and the other students look at them when they ask and answer questions as if they were creatures from outer space. I do what I can for them, but this does not give me the satisfaction it once did.
I don’t mean to disparage the students; they are only partly responsible for being what they are, and there is no point laying all of the blame on them. But still I have to face them every day, and it is not a pleasant experience. There is no longer a mass movement on the campuses to give me hope that what I am doing has social significance. Reagan and his succesors have won as far as I can tell. They have made the universities in their own image and likeness, businesses intent on satisfying the customers. As I saw this happening—the overlap of higher education and business, the proliferation of mindless majors like business administration, the exclusion of the poor, the mendacity and self-promotion of teachers and administrators, the dumbing-down of the curriculum—I decided to put my energies elsewhere. I’m sure that there are schools where it is still possible to believe that college teaching is something special. Mine is just not one of them. Luckily for me, what I learned form Lenin and Father Roderick is useful in any work. Too bad my students cannot be made to see this.
Whenever I get despondent about work, my wife tells me that I have had an impact on hundreds of students. If I am particularly irritable, I say, “I doubt it.” Then I’ll get an email from someone thanking me for classes I taught long ago. I published a book in 1994 in which I acknowledged Father Roderick. I knew he would never see it, so one afternoon we drove to my old college to visit him. I didn’t know if he was still alive, but someone in the library said that he was retired and living in the monastery. We found him in his spare monk’s room. He didn’t remember me, but he was happy that I had remembered him. He said that he had been happiest when he was out of the college and serving as a parish priest. He missed driving a car. Not long after, he died. Maybe, in inadvertent honor of his memory, a few of my students have learned the method I learned when he was my teacher.
It seemed to me at the time, Fr. Roderick was using the same notes for his lectures that he took years before as a student.
He had a 3-ring binder about 9 or 10 inches high and nearly, it seemed, that deep. (I mean physically) Most of the action in the class was when Fr. Roderick turned the page. So carefully. Each page was ANCIENT.
However, he would take questions, and never seemed to object if a student ranted that all facts and interpretation were all wrong. And I think he never got rattled. He'd wait until the outburst would subside, look down at his notes, and continue reading.
I thought it would be a good time to go back to honoring past faculty members.
I was not a science major but like many (all) had to get my requirements in and focused on Chemistry and Biology. Well I was overwhelmed by the former with Dr. Dzombak (even his name terrified me) and don't remember much about Biology - except for the lab tests. My savior in science was Gainer in Astronomy. A rather quiet, shy man as I remember but viewing the heavens through a telescope on top of the science buildings is a lasting memory. Students from SVC and the Hill made up the class and one assignment was creating a sundial: they were some of the ugliest things but, thanks to Gainer's instruction - and patience, they were actually accurate. In addition, Gainer became someone who, in his own way, befriended us on campus. So I raise a glass to one of the less acclaimed professors who gave me an enjoyable and rewarding science class experience. No small thing for this Philosophy major. I wonder, is he still with us?
A raised glass also goes to another quiet man, Dr. Bernie Scherer (sp) who taught Greek and Roman History. Never had the flair of Mills or the Manoli laid-back intensity but I did love that class and have enjoyed reading about that period of history since Freshman year.
At SVC one was lucky to come across such men - in addition to the legends that so many of us have mentioned. And I'm rather certain that the possibility continues today.
<p>Thor and Birddog,</p> <p>Dr. Scherer taught me Renaissance and Reformation. Interesting class. I remember a student in the class (Billie Smith?) speaking in Latin with Scherer. Blew me away. Dr. Scherer later became a local judge I believe and died some years ago. Not that old though.</p> <p>As to students today experiencing the same things, I am sure it could happen. But with Towey, the likelihood will diminish. He is a dogmatist, a fanatic and fundamentally intolerant. Teachers will leave SVC because of this and others will be afraid to offer true liberal arts course. New hires will have to pass a Towey litmus test. Ask faculty if you don't believe me.</p>
<p>I raise my glass to Chuck Manoli with a quick story.</p> <p>I was going through a rough time prior to a big exam and although his class was a favorite of mine I did poorly. Hell, I tanked it. Near the end of the course I submitted a paper I had written about Nazi Germany. A couple days later Manoli saw me outside the bowling lanes and asked to talk in his office. He asked me questions about what I'd written and we had a great one on one discussion. He asked if ther had been anything bothering me a couple months back... we went through it, more man to man than teacher to pupil. He said "that explains your exam grade" and quietly raised my final grade by a letter.</p> <p>For any arrogance you may encounter along the way, it's moments like these you never forget.</p>
I had Judge Scherer. Great man. Great lecturer. He passed away while I was a student, though not while I had his course. I remember that someone put a very dignified black and white photo of him in a frame and hung it in the office that the history department tutors used--it could still be there. If I remember correctly, he was an alum of SVC (was he also of the prep school?) and he did his law education at Oxford and did some archeological digs at some point in there. I could be wrong about that, though.
I seem to remember not being able to attend his funeral on campus because I had to take the GRE exam at the exact same time, so he passed away in the late 1990s.
<p>The reflections on the lessons of the life of the late, great Bernie Scherer caused me to do a little Google ...</p> <p>From the <em>Catholic Accent</em> 05-12-05:</p> <p><strong><em>Sherer award goes to diocesan seminarian</em></strong></p> <p><em>Alan Polczynski of Lower Burrell, a seminarian for the Diocese of Greensburg, received a master of arts degree from Saint Vincent Seminary and was the recipient of the <strong>Honorable Judge Bernard F. Scherer Award</strong> at the May 6 commencement. <strong>The award is given to the student who exemplifies the qualities of the late judge's life</strong>. Criteria includes <u>breadth of learning</u>, <u>knowledge that allows the student "to integrate theology and the life of the people of God with academic areas</u>, wisdom <u>and the ability to see the interconnectedness of all life</u>, <u>the practice of corporal works of mercy</u>, <u>witness to faith</u> and <u>a hope-filled attitude</u>."</em></p> <p>He was all of that ... and more.</p> <p>Wouldn't it be nice if the college president exhibited such qualities?</p>
Bernie Scherer was perceived to have a sort of magisterial aplomb that seemed to set him above and apart from the other Professors in his Department (I believe he was Chair). However, what I really think was going on was he was consumed by politics, and wanted to be elected to Congress. I believe, after I left SVC he did run, at least twice, and almost made it once. At that particular point that particular kind of politics was probably considered too conventional by many in the school, because the Democratic Party's political machinery in Westmoreland Co. did not seem like the dance most of us wanted to do. But I think Scherer wanted to be a reformer, of the Adlai Stevenson school of politics. Some claimed the more he pursued it, the more he became part of the politics of Westmoreland Co. Knowing now what I wished I knew then, I believe Western PA needed more people like Scherer who were willing to go for political office.
In the public forum on TV tonight with Obama and McCain, Barak made a point about the need to make government honorable again, reminding me of J.F.Kennedy. Actually, I think that is what Bernie was trying to do.
<p>To R Fury:</p> <p><em><strong>"... it's moments like these you never forget."</strong></em></p> <p>Thanks for the story about Professor Manoli. It is as telling as it is simple, defining well the intangible quality that makes Saint Vincent College so special. </p> <p>Your story sparks in me memories of my own: individual moments in time just like the one you describe, rooted in a genuine love and concern for their fellows and for each other. </p> <p>Whether it be Wissolik, Stubbs, Meny, Mills, Snyder, Gosser, Bleyer, Maloney, Tranq, Sabastian, Scherer, and so many others who have given of themselves over the years, the people of Saint Vincent have made it what it is for generations of students.</p> <p>Hoist a glass for these timeless moments in all of us!</p>
<p>Let me raise a glass to my roommate, Richard Bosco (c'67), who died yesterday after a long struggle with cancer. Rich, like me, was born in Cadogan, PA, a small former mining village along a big bend in the Allegheny River, about 40 miles north of Pittsburgh. We graduated from Ford City HS in 1963 and came to SVC that Fall. We became roommates after "Rules" during our first term and remained roommates every term after that. After graduation, Rich went to Pitt Dental School, served in the Navy, and then became a dental surgeon. He practiced in Butler, PA where he raised a family. We lost contact after that, but I called him a month ago. I am glad I did.</p> <p>Rich majored in Biology, but he was a well-rounded student. He studied Russian and was a remarkably good writer. I remember our first term well. He had Ralph Hills for his first English class. Ralph ws a senior but so smart that he was assigned a class to teach. We had a friend in the dorm named Jimmy Butler. Jimmy was one of those guys who acted as if he was a good deal more brilliant than he was. But we were naive boys from the sticks so Jimmy impressed us. Rich was an avid hunter, so he wrote about being in the woods hunting in his first assigned theme. He showed it to Jimmy to get some advice. Jimmy suggsted some changes, including describing a stream with the words, "polychromatic luster." When Mr. Hills returned the themes, he picked out some to read (teachers never hesitated to read bad themes aloud in those days. Pretty embarrassing but it gave you a good incentive not to write a really bad one). He picked up Rich's and read the sentence with Jimmy's words and said to the class, "Christ, when I read those words--and he read them again with sarcastic emphasis--I had to get a double shot of whiskey." Rich (and I) learned a lesson. Rely on yourself and don't assume that everyone around was smarter than you were. Rich got an A in that class!</p> <p>When we mourn the death of a friend we mourn our own mortality too. Rich was a good guy. I wish he hadn't died so soon.</p> <p> </p> <p>Michael Yates</p>
<p>Its been a long time since I visited the site and as I was catching up on stories from some of my favorite instructors I thought I'd pass along one about Dr. Wissolik who along with Mills was one of my favorites. I attended SVC in the late 80's/early 90's and had a friend with the last name Knipple. As freshmen we went, wide-eyed and nervous, to our first Language and Rhetoric class(Freshman required English) with Dr. Wissolik. As he called attendance, Wissolik stopped short just before calling my friend's name. With a look that reflected amusement, disgust, and bewilderment, uttered the following phrase which has become legend among my friends: "In the name of God please tell me the "K" is not silent! My friend told him it was and Wissolik repeated the name three or four times as if to convince himself he heard correctly. No harm done and the event has supplied Mr. Knipple and his friends with hours of laughs.</p>
<p>Boy, GL, whoever you are, that event I do not remember, but I am glad to have been of service. I do remember Doug Knipple. Last I heard from him was a chance meeting at Barnes and Noble. After that, I sent him a manuscript of Scott McGrath's and my Dylan Dictionary.</p> <p>I see a lot of posts here and in the Remembrance thread about Roy Mills. Here's one on me that I tell the old boys as often as I can. One day I was bowling up at Hillview in Greensburg when an old student came by. I recognized the face, but couldn't remember the name. He said, "You know, I really enjoyed your class." I replied, "I'm glad you liked it. I'm sorry, I remember you from school, but I don't remember your name." "No problem," he said, "I know you taught a lot of students and can't be expected to remember every one of them."</p> <p>I went on bowling for an hour or so, then got ready to leave. Just as I got to the the door, the young man came up to me and said, <strong>"Geez, it was nice seeing you again</strong>, <strong>Mr. Mills!"</strong></p> <p> </p> <p> </p>
<p>Here's a tip of the glass to Director Of Alumni Relations, Jim Bendel. Whether serving in an official capacity or a social one Jim has been the greatest goodwill ambassador any institution could ask for. In the near half-century since he graduated he's kept his ever-present smile a familiar site on campus. Jim has served in many capacities as a proud Bearcat over the years and his loyalty to the Alma mater is truly admirable.</p>
Give me a break! Bendel is a freak! Consider his age, then look at that body. I have a Michelin waistline, and Bendel's is as flat as a western Ohio cornfield.
OK, enough nonsense. The guy is dynamite--period. My favorite Bendel story is of his treating me to dinner at Sharky's, where he proceeded to order a fish sandwich minus the bread, a small container of cole slaw, and SIX French fries. His reasoning? "If you give me seven, I'll eat seven; give me eight, and I'll eat eight." Now--if he sees this post, I am sure that, at our next meeting, or by e-mail, he will lean close and quietly inform me "Ya know, you are such an a...e." Those of us who have been blessed with that Bendel greeting cherish it.
Here's to Joe Reilly who worked for so many years with Fr. Tom, and then took over the theater following Fr. Tom's death, to provide outstanding theater productions at Saint Vincent! May he rest in peace.
<p>Right on, SVfan...</p> <p>Joe Reilly made stellar contributions to SVC, on many levels.</p> <p>Joe was probably the greatest story teller on the Campus. Listening to him tell a story was like watching a mini-play. Laughter abounded, and Joe always had a laugh to spare when he listened to someone else tell a story.</p> <p>No matter how "down" one felt on any given day, ten minutes with Joe made things a whole lot brighter.</p> <p> </p>
<p>Here here. With the passing of Fr. Tom and now Joe Reilly, St. Vincent has lost two of the most creative souls I've met in my life, and I've been around creative people my entire life. I'm sure the place will be a bit different with both of them gone, but it is also a much better place because of the contributions the two of them made. </p> <p>Just a week or two ago, a friend of mine who knows a I am a St. Vincent grad said she had read an article about the summer theatre and decided to take in a show. She commented that it was a unique and refreshing experience and well worth the trip from Pittsburgh. I said to her that the two guys most responsible for creating and nurturing the summer theatre would appreciate her choice of words. Unique. Refreshing. Godspeed Mr. Reilly. </p> <p> </p>
<p>No question about it, Bearcat30. Tom and Joe (and Joe's family) took things to high levels of success. Don't forget too that Joe taught a fairly full schedule and he organized many student events and social activities, many times doing it with Tom.</p> <p>The summer theatre was always professionally presented, but it also got off the ground with the efforts of students and alum who helped Father Tom, as actors, stage hands, and business types. Joe, of course, was right on top of things from the beginning. A large number of them were drawn from people who were already performing in the regular school performances.</p> <p>I remember the first couple year's Summer Theatre performances in the Science Center amphitheatre, and I have vivid memories of not only some of the plays, but also some of the actors. I think The Odd Couple was on the list for the first year. John Carosella played Felix and Snake Gardner was Oscar. Angelo Chiarelli played the cop. I don't remember who directed the show.</p> <p>The names that come to mind not necessarily in terms of position are: Greg Thornton, Pat Ward, Pat Carney (Reilly), Mike Waldron, Bob Devlin, among others.</p> <p>One thing that will never pass is the reputation of that Summer Theatre, what it did for the community at large and the college.</p> <p>To me, what a grand thing it is to have had Greg Thornton, one of the student pioneers and an accomplished actor, to come back this summer to perform. It is grand and sad at the same time. Grand for the great circle, and sad because this is the summer of Joe Reilly's passing.</p> <p>Ave atque vale, Joe, old friend and supporter.</p>
<p>Dick,</p> <p>It always struck me in those amphitheatre days that the summer theatre had almost a workshop type of feel to it. Very intimate and scaled down with spartan sets. I've always felt those humble beginnings are what makes it unique to this day as far as local theatre goes. It was always about the story and the actors. No devices to lean on. They had to make it go. They always looked as though they really enjoyed doing the productions and they always did a phenomenal job. I always felt it had to be because it was about the art and nothing else. They've always had a knack for choosing the right shows, too. You are so right, it is one of the many gems of St. Vincent. </p>
<p>Here is a glass of port to Dr. Meny and Al Sanfilippo:</p> <p>In high school I had Al Sanfilippo for English for two years at Greensburg Salem. He wrote a letter of recomendation for me to St. Vincent and told me to look up Jim Meny when I got to campus as he was Al's roommate their Freshman year together. On my first day of class, I talked with Meny after Philosophy 101 and told him about my time with Al; did he ever have some stories to tell. Great teachers! Funny to think of your Freshman roomate and the human connetion between them years later.</p> <p>This photograph is from the first offering of Meny's Philosophy of the Human Condition in 1984 Every week I still recall that class with fondness. Note the upturned collar; not pictued is his <em>cigarette holder<em> which held an unlit cigarette and served as a pointer throughout class. <br /> </em></em></p> <p><em><em><img width="556" height="436" alt="Dr. Meny" src="/uploads/BCS2_0010.JPG" /></em></em></p> <p><em><em> </em></em></p>
This is the section that got me interested in this site and the one that remains most relevant to me. Good memories honoring fine people that many of us shared in our past.
Meny in particular meant SVC to me. Great picture - classic Meny! He is missed.
<p>The ubiquitous Pell Mell is out of sight! I remember the days when there were ashtrays in the classrooms. How many times did Jimmy mistake his cigarette for chalk! So did I. So did Roy.</p> <p>The last several months were difficult ones at SVC. The past several years, as well, were laden with sadness. We saw the passing of Jimmy, Roy, Wil, Taubler, Joe Reilly, Monks Louis Sedlacko, Joe Bronder, Simon Toth, Roland Ripoli, and others.</p> <p>I took a walk in the cemetery yesterday and stood between the rows of regimental, iron-black crosses extending now beyond sight. When I first came here some forty years ago and made a similar walk, the ending of the rows was in plain sight. I didn't realize until yesterday that death would have undone so many. Buried in other places were some of my long-time colleagues.</p> <p>I thought of how the interred had lived their lives in quiet stillness and humility, how dedicated they had been to their vocations and professions. They counseled and rescued young men and women who had fallen through the cracks, they carried wood and venison to the poor who lived in the mountains, they soothed the lives of the incarcerated, they visited the sick, they clothed the naked, they buried the dead.</p> <p>None strutted their piety and works before others.</p> <p>Surely, these are the words they heard at the end of their journies:</p> <p><em><strong>’Come, O blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, ’Lord, when did we see thee hungry and feed thee, or thirsty and give thee drink?’ And the king will answer them, ’Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of my brethren, you did it to me.’”</strong></em> Matthew, 25:34</p> <p>Thinking of them, I recalled the last paragraph of <em>Middlemarch:</em></p> <p><strong><em>[Their] finely touched spirit [s] had still [thei] fine issues, though they were<br /> not widely visible. [Their] full nature[s], like that river of which Cyrus<br /> broke the strength, spent [themselves] in channels which had no great name on<br /> the earth. But the effect of [their] being on those around [them] was<br /> incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly<br /> dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you<br /> and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived<br /> faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.<br /> </em></strong></p> <p> </p>
<p>Dr. Wissolik --</p> <p>Do you, or does anyone else, have any pictures of Joe Reilly as a student?</p> <p> </p> <p>thanks</p> <p> </p> <p> </p>
<p>I was leafing through the newspaper the other morning when I came across Fr. Roland Ripoli's obituary. It reinforced that for those of you on campus, it has been a rough patch losing the people you mentioned, Dick. While I can't match your eloquence, I can add that Rip embodied the Benedictine spirit as well as anyone and he has earned his place in heaven and has earned his memorial among his brothers in those long rows of Benedictines. </p> <p>The next day, when I got my Quarterly in the mail, I was equally saddened to read that Shawn Gearing, who was Fr. Shawn Gearing when I was in school, had also passed away. He was a kind and gentle man and a very good teacher. While Shawn isn't buried under one of those wrought iron crosses, he too embodied the Benedictine spirit and was a positive influence on me. </p> <p>To Rip and to Shawn, I raise my glass. </p>
My great thanks to Dick Wissolik for these extraordinary and beautiful thoughts during a difficult time here at the theatre at St. Vincent. It is not without some profound coincidence, having been too long away,that I have been able to work here this summer in two productions. This place holds such a force of memory for me.It is palpable. What Fr.Tom has meant and still means to me is beyond words.Among many things, he gave me my first professional acting "gig." His guidance and his generous heart reach across some pretty amazing years and resound within some pretty amazing people. At his right,stands Joe Reilly who embodied the same spirit that drives the legacy of the SVC Theatre forward. They are missed every day here, but I can assure anyone who was touched by the work that went on on that stage,all of the stages, as well as backstage, front of house, box office, we carry them with us. Seamus Heaney, the great Irish poet, speaks of this in Clearances: "And we all knew one thing by being there. The space we stood around had been emptied Into us to keep, it penetrated Clearances that suddenly stood open. High cries were felled and a pure change happened."
When the tribute to Fr.Tom was held,I was unable to be here because of my performance schedule, but I sent my thoughts to him which included this passage from HAMLET:
"Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; " HAMLET Act I, Scene iii
May all be well with all here. Greg Thornton And to Jimmy, who posts here,I have some photos of Joe Reilly from Saint Vincent Summer Theatre, if that might be something you'd like to see.Contact me at: gregthornton@knology.net
<p>Greg:</p> <p>My thoughts reel as I read your comments - swirling clouds of memory, lightning flashes. That was some group of performers back in those days, and they are all commemorated on the WALL backstage. The photos you have deserve a posting here. I have one of Joe going over the script with Angelo Chiarelli when they did <em>Fiddler.</em> Somewhere in a box in some shelf I have a collection from <em>Camelot</em> and <em>Music Man</em> and a couple other productions. I think folks might like to see them.</p> <p>There were also the stellar one-acts, some of which emanated from the Seminary theatre group (I especially remember Miller's Judgement at Vichy), and that tour-de-force with Louie Richards and Chuck McGeever, Albee's <em>Zoo Story. </em>I split a gut when Louie delivered the line (I paraphrase) "How Eastern European., etc.... i remember Louie's grand performance in <em>The Subject was Roses (</em>Pat Carroll was the father).</p>
Greg & Dick....So nice to read your recent comments....wish I had that way with words. I was lucky enough to be able to go to Tom's tribute. Besides seeing Tom and getting to thank him in person, I was thrilled to once more go down the long hallway to the backstage door by the light board and see that 'The Wall' is still there! My senior year, after the last performance, I was honored to be able to add my name. It was a dream of mine for 4 years, and was never guaranteed. If I could figure out how to upload a picture here, you'd see lots of names that automatically bring faces, voices, and even more hidden memories. I'm open to instruction on uploading.... Dick, you mentioned Fiddler...do you also remember Tevye's house having a small fire during a performance when the Smith brothers, in their Russian boots, stepped on the pile of kitchen matches hidden on the floor inside in readiness for the next scene? Luckily, it was extinguished by the quick-thinking duo... Thanks for postings like these...they help keep the St Vincent's I knew alive!
<p>Strange you should ask, dp... if you go to the "remembering" friends thread on this forum you'll find a part of the wall posted last year around July 9. It's on page 2 or 3, but don't stop there... it's a "heavy" (as we used to say in the early 70s) thread chock full of stories and photos.</p> <p>In the meantime, Greg sent these along of Joe - Joe as Sergeant Rough (1975) Summer Theatre productions of <em>Angel Street</em>. Joe and Greg (<em>the Good Doctor</em>) with Tom Spinella and Paula Swart. Joe and cast of <em>Bedroom Farce.</em></p> <p><img class="" width="250" height="269" alt="" src="/uploads/Joe Reilly as Sgt_ Rough with Paula Swart as Mrs_ Manningham ANGEL STREET Saint Vincent Summer Theatre 1975.jpg" /><img class="" width="200" height="178" alt="" src="/uploads/Pittsburgh Press Article THE GOOD DOCTOR Saint Vincent Summer Theatre.jpg" /><img class="" width="200" height="112" alt="" src="/uploads/Cast and Director Joe Reilly BEDROOM FARCE Daint Vincent Summer Theatre.jpg" /></p>
Many of the above posts say what has to be said about two gifted artists and motivators. Fr. Tom and Joe were a part of the drama renaissance of Western Pennsylvania.Their influence on the cultural scene stretches from Johnstown and Bedford through Pittsburgh and north to Erie, and through their students and casts they are a part of the many community theatres which have arisen in the towns and schools of those areas. In the mid sixties, little was seen on the stage; maybe the Pittsburgh Companies, but certainly not the rich diversity we see today. I would like, however, to praise another theatrical maistro; Dr. Karp. Director of the civic light opera, Dr. Karp also taught music appreciation - a mob class for SVC at the time of perhaps sixty students. Not a favorite with pre-meds, the system was for friends to call out "here" as absent roommate's names were called out. One day, the good DR. after calling the roll said in his Germanic accent, "We musicians are not so bright, but one thing we can do is count; and, I count fifty-two heres and only twelve students. I think we shall have a quiz." A tip of the hat to a man who could turn a rebuke into a laugh on himself, and what a shame we did not really appreciate what he could show us.
I would like to echo the comments previously made Raising a Glass to Mr. Joe Reilly. As a 2009 graduate of SVC, I had the privilege of working with Mr. Reilly and personally cannot imagine what the theater at Saint Vincent will be like without him. He always pushed his students to go bigger and to express parts of their own experiences in their characters. He had a true love for Saint Vincent College and everything that made it a special place to learn, live, and for him teach. Not one student who took his acting class, was involved in his productions or just saw him on campus could say he ever had anything but a smile on his face. His story telling was infectious and as we all sat around that dining room table during breaks from rehearsal, we would be entranced by the stories he told of Saint Vincent and of life. He taught great life lessons without even trying. A simple statement like, "Stay in the show.", was truly profound when applied to life. Don't let the things around you bog you down, just stay focused on the life at hand and don't let anything diverge you from that. He will truly be missed by all those who had the pleasure of knowing him.
Despite the pictures on the Saint Vincent College Website, I would like to raise a glass to the 2009 Saint Vincent College Orientation Committee for another successful move-in day and weekend. Well I'm raising a glass to those approximately 100 students who actually carried their incoming freshmen classes clothes, refrigerators, TVs, and everything else inside this past Friday. They are going to work tirelessly for the next month as "Big Brothers and Big Sisters" to those freshmen and planning great events to get the Freshmen started off right in the Saint Vincent Community. Kudos to the Chairpeople and Assistant Chairpeople for their hard work this summer as well. Great Job!
I'm sure you've all guessed that President Towey doesn't actually carry any boxes inside. He carries one or two for a nice narcissistic photo op and goes back to sitting in his office. And as a side note, HJT, you may want to make the photo op more convincing try putting a t-shirt on and breaking into a little sweat before the shot is taken.
Graduate school taught many of us the benefits of a monastic college. The brilliant scholar-teachers were not restricted to a graduate school at SVC. As "Subversive" shows in the recent "Thought Crimes" individuals as Fr. Armand brought intellectual rigor to the undergraduate classroom. Many such individuals contributed to the excellence that characterizes Benedictine tradition. We in the liberal arts are yakkers, and in this forum we often speak of Philosophy, language and arts faculty, but our brothers and sisters in the sciences are rather mute. I wish to praise of the excellence of the biology faculty. I think I have spoken of the dedication of Fr.Ed who at his advanced age, after the fire, was back at recreating the destroyed slide collection of the biology department. He regularly attended lab classes advising with technical work. Then there is Fr. Max Duman. After a stint as president he returned to the classroom. Few at SVC today know how important Max was in developing genetic theory and contributing to today's biomedical science. He was a quiet, patient biologist/botinist in the days that the school was mainly dedicated to pre-med biology. At most colleges institutional memory fades with graduations, but Fr. Max's contribution in bringing knowledge of the advances in understanding DNA shortly after Crick and Watson was leading edge. He might not be a Gregor Mendel, but he was close and should be remembered. We find few such faculty at the basic level in major universities. Charlie Marr '67
Thanks for all the memories. I've enjoyed reading through this. To add my scattered memories--Jim Meny was my student prefect on 6 Aurelius in 1962. He had a calm, even handed demeanor we all respected. It wasn't difficult to recognize he was a cut above. During rules in 62 my class attended all home football games. I don't think we knew it was the end of the sport for almost 5 decades. 1962 saw the fire which significantly altered the appearance of SVC. We returned from Christmas break to find the view from our 6th floor window forever changed. My class returned to Aurelius in 63 but moved to Bonaventure upon completion. It included a tv room, table tennis,shuffleboard and vending machines. We thought it was as good it gets. A college band started in 63, maybe 64, called the Raconteurs. They played all our dances. I raise my glass to their memory. The best version of Harlem Nocturne I've ever heard. Several members of that group left school to become the back up for Tommy James. Read a history of Tommy James and the Shondells, you will see the reference. About the same time Bother Pat was forming a new fire department in response to the 62 fire. I joined that initial group and participated in several training sessions. We never got a call to service, but the training was realistic. I also did some stage cre work with Fr. Tom. He was incredible. I share in offering accolades to Joe Ryer. I don't think I enjoyed a single professor at SVC as much as I did his sessions. He was known for his one questions exams. My roommate and I speculated on what that question might be for a final and we made up one we thought we could answer. On exam day my roommate arrived early and wrote our question on the board. Dr. Ryer, entered the room, looked at the question, looked at the one he had prepared, and said he liked ours better. It was my only A that semester. I am proud to be a SVC alum. I went on to complete graduate degrees from two universities, but I think I what I learned at SVC has served me better in a career and life than any of my additional education. Thanks for offering this website as a place to share and remember.
A good decade (plus a few years) before women were formally admitted to SVC there were many women who were as much a part of St. Vincent as any guy. Such a woman was Donna Doyle – known as Dinna to her friends. She, along with her group of friends from SHC (and countless others), were always on campus: in classes, especially the philosophy classes of Meny, O’Neill and Sebastian; in the theater; in the Shack; at parties; at Halula’s; on the lawn outside the old Shack; in the dorms; on the buses or hitch-hiking back to the Hill. They were everywhere and we were better because they were at SVC. Regardless of the formal admission of women, these were among the women who were SVC and help to make it what it was: especially in that time between the later 60’s into the 70’s. Actually because of the presence of these women from SHC, many of us felt that we attended a coed college.
Dinna was a great spirit and a great character. She loved to play what we called the trust game. Simply, someone would fall backwards and yell “catch me.” This could happen anywhere, at any time and if your hands were full, you dropped everything to make the catch. She even had the guts to take it to Olympian heights: someone, usually Dinna, would jump up on a desk, yell, fall back and literally be caught mere inches from the floor. I never followed her act.
Dinna married a SVC graduate, Alan, and lived in Indiana, Pennsylvania where they raised a beautiful daughter.
Dinna Doyle died of cancer on January 28th, last week.
Dinna graduated Seton Hill in 1972.
But I raise my glass to the girl who lived and learned and attended SVC from 1968-1972.
Last summer I was fortunate enough to have a coffee with a dear friend, Fr. Sebastian Samay. He always takes decaf because of his heart medication. Every time I stop by to say hello Fr. Sebastian, he replies with the most the amusing greeting and brilliant remark!
During our last visit, it was a great joy to listen to a couple of his stories about teaching at SVC and his many years serving as Novice Master. Also Father presented me a few words of wisdom about graduate school and starting a new career.
Fr. Sebastian's contributions to SVC are many and unique. I always thanked him for his garden behind Wimmer Hall. The next time I meet him, I really would like to see these rugs that he makes. Legend has it that Father actually hand built the loom with which he weaves the rugs.
For those who meet Fr. Sebastian on campus from time to time, try mentioning his Hungarian nickname... Anton bacsi
<p>Ryan, we shared many similar coffees and discussions with Sebastian and others in Father Mark's common room when we started the Umbraculum Medievalum, right after someone wrote in the Quarerly saying that "a college without a football team is like a medieval study hall."</p> <p>So , Father Mark and I started one..the Umbraculum Medievalum, a group of students, faculty and monks that met regularly to discuss philosophy, anthropology, literature, politcs, religion, scripture, music, courses, current affairs, and many other subjects. Father Sebastian was often in attendance The coffee machine got a good workout.</p> <p>There was an occasional Pinochle game as well.</p> <p>Father Sebastian was a charter Camerata member back in the late sixties. He is also a cellist, a weaver, a gourmet, and a first class thrower of the frisbee. He was also, at one time, a expert ballroom dancer.</p> <p>He is one of the great Renaissance men of Saint Vincent College.</p> <p>This photo is from the Camerata spring show Third Floor Kennedy, 1969.</p> <p><img class="" width="104" height="150" alt="" src="/uploads/SEBASTIAN 1969 CAMERATA(1).jpg" /></p>
<p>A place that thrive's on todays campus is the Gristmill, where you can get whatever Starbuck's has to offer and then some. It's a great place to meet (I'm there three times a week). I not only get a great cup of coffee, but I have a chance to talk with some students and soon-to-be-alum. And it's got WI-Fi (free). Anyone who is visiting the campus should take the opportunity to "hit" the Gristmill... beautiful setting. As a bonus, there's the Wetlands, a great place to walk and enjoy the scenery and birds. It's SVC in a nutshell...</p>
<p>I would like to raise my glass to Colleen and Pat Reilly and the rest of the folks involved with the St. Vincent Summer Theatre, for keeping that unique torch lit in the spirit of Joe Reilly and Fr. Tom. </p>
Up here near the Great Lakes it has been a particularly good year for roses and lillies. As I inspected a couple of fragrent examples I was reminded of Fr. Melvin and his gardens. Not really enough of us got to know that gentle man. Foreign language and particularly German were no longer fashionable in the sixties, but Melvin was a patient fellow and not the sort of tyrant one sometimes encounters. Perhaps his endless review and drill was the reason I did well in the graduate language exam, but whatever I owe him for the gardening. I do not cut roses or lillies; I leave my flowers for others to enjoy. I often think he got that pleasure - the pleasure of others enjoying - from his work. This spirit is like the old saw, "When is the best time to plant a tree? Yesterday. Next best? Today." The wicked "lake effect" winters here seem to hav led to flower gardening on a wide basis. There is an associated practice: tree planting. Streets, sidewalks and parks are adorned with great Silvar Maples which were planted as substitutes for the lost Elms. The idea of planting for an effect seventy years in development is the sort of pay it forward which folks like Melvin and Edward represented. I often think as I walk sidewalks laid out before the civil war how much faith in the future such efforts express.