REMINISCENCE - CLASS OF 1978 - WALTER PANAS HIGH
Celebrating 40+ Years! Email: 1978@walterpanas1978.com
You have to reach out your hand. That’s what it’s there for.
Mackinlee Barton
Zee Zay
Zee Zay back in the Day
Lips and Lori:)
Matty and KD
Colleen, Kelly and Kim
Gaynell Singer Wilson and Dan Wilson
I dunno. I think he looks happier now...
Timeline: 06:45h Tuesday July 24 2018 Following from my friend Patti Engel, yesterday. It was a most welcome message: "John, Tony Robinson and I had lunch today in Delray Beach, Florida. Both of us will be at the reunion in October. Can't wait to give you a hug! Patti"
“My mama always told me there are few things a good hug can’t cure, and those things are what bourbon’s for.”
J.T. Geissinger
“Sometimes, a hug says what words can’t.”
Akiroq Brost
“Hugs may be silent, yet they speak volumes.”
Carol ‘CC’ Miller
“Some moments can only be cured with a big squishy grandma hug.”
Dan Pearce
“You know, sometimes the world seems like a pretty mean place. That’s why animals are so soft and huggy.”
Bill Watterson
“When we got back home, Gramps dropped me off and enveloped me in a hug. Normally, he was a handshaker, maybe a back-patter on really special occasions. His hug was strong and tight, and I knew it was his way of telling me that he’d had a wonderful time.
‘Me, too, Gramps’, I whispered.”
Gayle Forman
“And if you see me, smile and maybe give me a hug. That’s important to me too.”
Jim Valvano, Arthur Ashe Courage Award Acceptance Speech, 3 March 1993
Danny, Eddie and Andy, The Whitlock, Katonah, June 15 2018
Jeff and Betsy, doing lunch in New Mexico, May 2018
Betsy P.
Instead of blaming one another for the flood, have ye thought yet about aiding one another to withstand it?
—from The Sayings of the Druid Taliesan
Tros of Samothrace by Talbot Mundy
Jerry Kolosky and Cheryl
On nous apprend à vivre quand la vie est passée.
Michel de Montaigne
Pete Rillero and Tom Tarpey, FLA, March 2018
Mark McCaffrey, Tom Tarpey, Peter Rillero @ Panas, 1978
No wise man ever wished to be younger.
Jonathan Swift
Tony Robinson and Jimmy Fleitz - July 2017. Per Jimbo: "After much pain, rehab and perseverance, Tony and I played 9 holes of golf last weekend. He did well for a guy balancing on 2 prosthesis. Plus fun was had by all."
Tony Robinson
Jimmy Fleitz
For a just man falleth seven times, and riseth up again.
Proverbs 24:16
Paul DePaoli and Casey Stengle, Hawaii July 2017
Casey and Paul - Working at Bertoline's
“I’ve had eighteen straight whiskies. I think that’s a record.”
-Dylan Thomas’s last words.
Delia Tamagna, bride Daria Trombetta, Don Farrell, Lauren Sambucci
Delia, 1978
KD and Crash October 2015. Old Pals, hitting the links:) Lookit Crash rockin' the beret!! Can you say "Devastatingly Handsome"?!
KD 1978
Crash and Kelly G. 1978
Jimmy Fleitz and Family
Jimmy c.1978
Those who are helpmates to all; those who are a sanctuary to all; those men are in the way of heaven.
Hitopadesa, i, 4.
Scott "Neck" Klarer
Scott "Neck" Klarer
Be strong, and quit yourselves like men.
1 Samuel, 4:9
Andy Hyslop
Sometimes quiet is an unquiet thing.
Latin Proverb
Gary Tepper ('77)
Gary Tepper
Ellen Boyle
Ellen Boyle
Rich Hatcher
Richie Hatcher
Casey Stengle
Sharon Payne
Sharon Payne
Tommy Simmonds
Tommy "Ze-Zay"Simmonds
Steve Elser
Steve (farthest right) Halloween 1978
Mike "Bird" Littleton, Billy Foley, Billy Haviland
Eddie Sambrana
Mike Littleton, Paul DePaoli, Billy Foley
Nina Abrevaya (...really!)
Lori and Daniel Starkman
Danny Arnold
Clay "Bony W" Welch and Danny "Bony A" Arnold
Paul Baisley ('79)
(L-R): Paul Baisley, Rich Mellone, Jimmy Fleitz
John Hintze
John Hintze
Robbyn Lang and daughters, NY Jets Game 2012.
Robbyn Lang
Mark McCaffrey and his family
Mark McCaffrey
Ann Andrews and son Zach: Malta (yes, that Malta) June 2012
Patti Engel Summer 2012
Scott "Neck" Klarer and Danny "Bony" Arnold: NYC June 2012
Scott Klarer
The Bone Man
Jerry Kolosky: June 2012
(L-R): John Hintze, Jerry Kolosky, John Gaccione, Billy Haviland
Jill Tully en famille
Mark Gagliardi and ...who IS that?!
Matty Moro and Paul DePaoli
Matty Moro
Paul DePaoli
Sue Olson and Hubby
Sue Olson
Donna Duchene and Hubby
Donna Duchene and Janet Kunkel
Lisa Donnelley and Lindsay
Cynthia Ramsey and Lisa Donnelley
Doug Percesepe and Wife
Perse
Andy and Anita Ward
Dre. Cool. Period.
John Gaccione
Mary Chauvin and John Gaccione
Lori Starkman and family
Looks exactly the same...
Front row: Billy Foley, Ralph Fasano, Kenny Dahl, Eddie Clark; Back: Doug Percesepe, Billy Haviland, Mike Littleton, Mike Scolpini, Paul DePaoli
Donna Shelley and daughter
Rose Calcutti and brothers
Cheryl Gross and family
Billy Haviland and Casey Stengle
Ann Andrews and son
Cheryl Gross and hubby
Miriam Popp and daughter
Donna Shelley and hubby
Billy Haviland
Doug Percesepe and son
Front (L-R): Ralph Fasano, Kenny Dahl, Eddie Clark. Rear (L-R): Doug Percesepe, Billy Haviland, Mike Littleton, Mike Scolpini, Paul DePaoli
Celia and Kenny Dahl and Tony Soprano
Cheryl Gross en famille
Andy Ward en famille
Patti Engel and son Gregory
Scott "Neck" Klarer
Lisa and Lindsay Donnelley
Michelle and Laryssa Gaines
Paul "Dr. No!" DePaoli
Timeline: 11:40h 23 December 2012.
I was talking to my wife this past weekend about some of the odd jobs I had in my somewhat checkered work life. She thought the following was interesting, and since this one involved some of my old high school buddies, here we go:
Mr. King, Farley’s dad, used to be a high level manager for Standard Brands Inc., formerly Fleischmann’s Company, subsequently Nabisco Foods. Fleischmann’s opened a plant in Peekskill way back in 1901 and was once a stalwart of old Peekskill’s manufacturing base along the Hudson River. In 1929, just before the stock market crashed, Fleischmann’s was merged into Standard Brands by none other than J.P Morgan.
Anyway, Fleischmann’s made (among other things) white or distilled vinegar, which is produced by a lengthy process involving the distillation of grain alcohol (more on that later). Distilled vinegar is used for medicinal, laboratory, and cleaning purposes, as well as in cooking, meat preservation, and pickling. As you can imagine, the plant where it was manufactured stank to high h*ll.
Once every twenty-five years or so these giant, free standing indoor tanks, wherein the distillation process occurred, had to be cleaned out. The tanks were about 30 feet high, and 15 feet in diameter; they were filled top to bottom with wood chips, over which the distilled alcohol alchemized its way eventually into the final product, vinegar.
The only way to clean these tanks was manually, and as it was only done once every quarter century, the plan had to be devised on the spot by the current plant manager. Us college boys, Farley’s friends, were the perfect guinea pigs (read: slave labor) for Mr. King. We were home for the month-long Christmas break, and we were always looking for temporary day jobs so we could afford to go out on the weekends and buy our beer.
Mr. King’s potential recruits had to be relatively hardy and agile souls, as it was crazy, backbreaking work. Farley lassoed Andy Ward, Paul DePaoli, Eddie Reilly, and me. We had no idea, obviously, what the work was; we were just glad to have a job.
Twenty five years is a lot of time. The wood chips inside those tanks had essentially hardened into brick-hard blocks, coated with a gooey, unidentifiable substance. It was very close quarter work. One big guy (Farley, Paul or Andy) and one small guy (Reilly or me) had to be lowered into the tank (yes, lowered). One man was armed with a pick axe, and one with a shovel. It was pitch-dark inside there (remember, those tanks were over 80 years old, and rarely saw the light of day). The atmosphere and gases inside the tank were essentially lethal (think pure grain alcohol and vinegar fumes locked up in the dark and fermenting, forever), so we had to wear full gas masks.
Mr. King brilliantly contracted with a huge water tank truck company (used to fill and empty public swimming pools), and reverse engineered their giant hose system to vacuum out the wood chips. All we had to do was loosen the chips so the vacuum could suck them up. Sure.
It was essentially akin to breaking up a 30 foot thick concrete floor with a pick axe and a shovel, inside a telephone booth, in the dark. With a gas mask on, so you couldn’t hardly breathe (the goggles of which fogged up immediately with exertion in the humid, fetid atmosphere, so you were really operating blind). If the gas mask came off, the only thing you had to worry about was that your eyes would melt and your larynx would spontaneously combust. At the end of the job our work clothes had to be thrown into a dumpster, destroyed. There was no way to communicate down there, as the giant vacuum was absolutely deafening. In effect, we were working deaf, dumb and blind. And, oh yeah, we generally all had hangovers, most working days.
No problem.
Mr. King issued us our working orders, stepped back and just smiled. (It was classic revenge for all of the dads all over the world on their doofus sons, for all time, everywhere).
Our first day, once we got in there and we realized what a grim task it was, there was nothing to do but … do it. Me and Paul were often teamed up, and Reilly got Dre or Farley. The big guy usually swung the pick-axe, as it required absolute brute strength to break up the wood, and the little guy shoveled the debris into the hose. It had to be intricately choreographed otherwise the big guy would impale the little guy, or the little guy would trip up the big guy, and we both would die. There was at least ten different ways to die down there, actually. I remember constantly cursing Paul for a clumsy oaf as that pick whooshed by my ear, and I’m sure he was cursing me for being a puny little mite always getting under his feet. Looking back on it I’m amazed we even did it. At the time it just seemed like another adventure with Farley.
Oh yeah, about the grain alcohol…
As previously mentioned in this space, Farley was the Ambassador of Good Parties, the Pied Piper of Fun, the Santa Claus of New Toys-to-Play With, and an Iron Man in the Sport of Consumption. Every once in a while he would throw a “Grain Alcohol Party”. It could only be a sporadic event as it was really, really dangerous.
The way it worked was this: he would procure a jug of the grain alcohol, let’s not worry about how, and a bathtub or very big barrel was filled with a mix of this stuff and Hi-C or strawberry Kool-Aid or similar. It required miniscule amounts of the grain alcohol, and it had to be done ever so carefully or very bad things would happen (and sometimes they did). Like a master chef, Farley was the only one who could do the final preparation. You could not taste the alcohol at all in the final product: not at all. And that is where the trouble always began. Those in the know would very carefully sip their tiny little Dixie-cups like small children at a birthday party, stand back, and watch. Invariably some Peekskill biker tough, or party animal and his cohorts would hear about free booze, show up and swill the stuff down, just guzzle it, complaining about the kiddy drinks being served. And then “BANG!” they went down, and I mean hard, one and all. They either hit the floor, literally, or stumbled around for hours mumbling nonsense to phantoms. My, oh my, what fun we had back in the day….
Dre
It matters not what you do,
Build a nation, or a shoe,
For he who does one Honest thing,
In God’s pure sight is counted a King.
Anonymous