I remember what a character Ted was. We ran track together in 9th grade at John Dewey. Mr Temple, the track coach, set times for us to beat and Ted asked if he would come up with a case of beer if he was successful and, of course, some of us wanted in on that wager. Although I did not quite make my time, I did win the All-City Half-Mile. Don't remember if Ted did or not, but as it turned out we did not specify the type of beer and Mr Temple offered root beer.
My vivid memories of Ted happened in John Dewey Jr. High. We were students in Miss Schoewe's English class. She sewed her own dresses from the most awful-patterned material. Ted and I had learned the meaning of irony and, with tongue pressed firmly against cheek, always complimented her good taste. She'd shyly smile saying, "Thank you boys." Ted and I were always playing up whenever Miss Schoewe had her back to us. We'd make frog noises which didn't sound like "ribbit", but which sounded like another name for what a thorn does when it sticks into your finger. Miss Schoewe turned around, scowled, and frowned so deep it collapsed her face. Then she'd shout at the entire class, "Gang-ism. It's all gang-ism!" She always knew Ted and I were the provokers and we spent many after school hours in detention together. Did detention teach us a lesson? Sure, we practiced on how to make more noises behind her back. One afternoon she had had her fill of our sneaky noisemaking. She stood up at her desk, slammed shut her book, moved rapidly to the window, and threw it open yelling, "Yee-zuss Christ and little fishes! I need oxygen. Oxygen!" Ted and I were naughty boys in 9th grade and poor ol' Miss Schoewe was the target of our misbehaviour. Vale, Ted.
I hadn't thought about this in quite awhile, but, back in Dick Milton's gym class, we were doing measurement of vertical leap. There was a board with one inch grading attached to the wall in a corner of the gym and we all would stand with our arm raised high over our head for the first measurement and then make a standing jump nand slap the board as high up as we could while coach Milton marked his chart. Ted had a habit of wearing a ring on his right hand and when it was his turn, he jumpeed and slapped the board like everyone else, but his ring caught on a protruding nail head and nearly tore his finger to the bone. What a bloody mess. After wrapping it with a towel and sending Ted off to get it properly bandaged, Coach Milton calmly went into his office , came out with a hammer and proceeded to pound the nail back in and class resumed. Fortunately for Ted, there was no permanent damage done to his hand.
Larry Donelan
I remember what a character Ted was. We ran track together in 9th grade at John Dewey. Mr Temple, the track coach, set times for us to beat and Ted asked if he would come up with a case of beer if he was successful and, of course, some of us wanted in on that wager. Although I did not quite make my time, I did win the All-City Half-Mile. Don't remember if Ted did or not, but as it turned out we did not specify the type of beer and Mr Temple offered root beer.
T-E-M-P-O, Tempo beer!
Lawrence (Larry) Klobukowski
My vivid memories of Ted happened in John Dewey Jr. High. We were students in Miss Schoewe's English class. She sewed her own dresses from the most awful-patterned material. Ted and I had learned the meaning of irony and, with tongue pressed firmly against cheek, always complimented her good taste. She'd shyly smile saying, "Thank you boys." Ted and I were always playing up whenever Miss Schoewe had her back to us. We'd make frog noises which didn't sound like "ribbit", but which sounded like another name for what a thorn does when it sticks into your finger. Miss Schoewe turned around, scowled, and frowned so deep it collapsed her face. Then she'd shout at the entire class, "Gang-ism. It's all gang-ism!" She always knew Ted and I were the provokers and we spent many after school hours in detention together. Did detention teach us a lesson? Sure, we practiced on how to make more noises behind her back. One afternoon she had had her fill of our sneaky noisemaking. She stood up at her desk, slammed shut her book, moved rapidly to the window, and threw it open yelling, "Yee-zuss Christ and little fishes! I need oxygen. Oxygen!" Ted and I were naughty boys in 9th grade and poor ol' Miss Schoewe was the target of our misbehaviour. Vale, Ted.
Paul Chmielewski
I hadn't thought about this in quite awhile, but, back in Dick Milton's gym class, we were doing measurement of vertical leap. There was a board with one inch grading attached to the wall in a corner of the gym and we all would stand with our arm raised high over our head for the first measurement and then make a standing jump nand slap the board as high up as we could while coach Milton marked his chart. Ted had a habit of wearing a ring on his right hand and when it was his turn, he jumpeed and slapped the board like everyone else, but his ring caught on a protruding nail head and nearly tore his finger to the bone. What a bloody mess. After wrapping it with a towel and sending Ted off to get it properly bandaged, Coach Milton calmly went into his office , came out with a hammer and proceeded to pound the nail back in and class resumed. Fortunately for Ted, there was no permanent damage done to his hand.