School Story:
I came to Rockland in 1960 from Wm H. Taft HS in the Bronx.
I came to SVHS in my senior year and I played on the 1961 SV Baseball team.
Best teacher I had in SV was Dr. Benedetti. Tough lady but she taught me how to write.
As if it was only yesterday, I can remember the first time I met Leland Rickard-Meyer, principal of Spring Valley High School. I was the “city boy” from the Bronx, newly transplanted to what was then the country. In September 1960, I went, over one summer, from a secure junior, looking forward to a well-deserved senior year at William Howard Taft in the Bronx, to the new kid in a new school. My world was turned upside down.
I had a new step-dad, two stepsisters I barely knew and a house in a development off Rt. 306 replacing my small high-rise apartment just a stone’s toss from Yankee Stadium. Gone were my friends of childhood. My mom’s decision to marry Hymie Sarafan was sudden but not unexpected. She wanted to get me into school as quickly as possible and make my transition easier, as if that were possible.
On a warm September morning, I sat outside the office of my new guidance counselor, Miss Dunham. Squirming nervously in an uncomfortable seat I watched kids coming and going. They were my age, but somehow different, and in my mind, less sophisticated. My first impressions, I must admit, one hundred percent wrong at the time, was thinking I had made a mistake not taking an offer from my best friend to live with his family for my senior year at Taft.
Clear as bell, someone called me by my first name. “Good morning Howard.” Looking up I saw a distinguished white haired gentleman in a slightly rumpled gray suit and a young man about my age with a short crew cut and a dark black suit – my official welcoming committee.
The man introduced himself as the principal, but in all my confusion, I didn’t hear his name. I got a robust handshake and an invitation to stop in and see him any time the feeling hit. That certainly never happened at Taft, with its 4000 students in a building encompassing two city blocks and four stories high.
Mr. Meyer sat down in the chair next to me, began telling me how glad he was that I was to be part of the SVHS family and then proceeded to astound me. He asked about my two new stepsisters, Julie and Wilma Sarafan and my new step dad Hy. Not only did he know I was a newcomer, but who my family was. He had clearly gone the extra mile. He related a few quick tidbits about Julie and Wilma when they were his charge.
He apologized for having to go, but turning to the young man standing beside us, told me I was to be in good hands and would have the best guide to show me around after my schedule was set. As quickly as he came in he was gone.
The nice young man next to me sat down, extended a firm hand and introduced himself. “Welcome to SVHS, my name is Fred Yatto, you’re going love this school.” He was right.
Nearly every kid with his first car eventually came to Sarafan’s at the point of Route 17 and 202 outside of Suffern. In the 50’s and 60’s it was a virtual toy store for clunkers. carburetors, distributors, cam shafts, used tires, and even complete engines for the “vintage” machines were assembled and catalogued.
The establishment was owned and operated by my stepfather Hymie and his brother Willie, Sarafan. During summer vacations and weekends home from college I pumped gas and did odd jobs. The rickety old building, heated with only a pot-belly coal stove, once was a thriving gas station. It was dislocated from its original location when the Thruway made Route 17 obsolete for travelers heading to vacation in the Catskills.
On more sweltering summer days then I care to remember I sat under a huge apple tree in the backyard scrap area with my yellow crayon in one hand and my Chilton’s manual in the other. I carefully marked the precious parts, ’53 Chevy, ’56 Ford. Each was placed into a barrel waiting for a kid in desperate need so he could take his girl to the Saturday night show at the Lafayette in Suffern or the old Spring Valley Theater on Main Street or the SV Drive-in on 59 before heading off for pizza at Martio’s or fun at the Tiger’s Den.
Most Rocklanders were not aware that Sarfan’s was often a celebrity meeting place. On many a cold wintry day you could find Tuxedo residents, Fred Gwynne (Herman Munster) or Robert Duval sitting around the warm pot-belly swapping stories with Hymie and Willie. John Daly (Tyne’s Dad) and Suffern’s Pat Hingle were also frequent visitors. The coffee was always hot and a nip of whiskey kept away the chill.
For me however, the best stories came from the Ramapo Mountain folk who had trekked down from Hillburn. With old and colorful Dutch names, Van Tassels, Van Dunks, Conklins and De Groats sat alongside the glowing stove and told tales of the county when it was a wild and wooly place in the 20’ and 30’s. If only I had the good sense back then to record those colorful sagas of moonshiners, revenuers and the coming of modern Rockland.
Though I have relocated to south Florida I still long for the days when everyone’s telephone number started with EL-6 or EL-7 and our license plates began with RK. My only plate (ever) was RK39, a number that still appears on my shiny new Florida plate with an NY tagged on (RK39NY). I have been stopped by many a Rockland Retiree to ask if that is where I am from.
