So Long, Racine!

March, 21, 2018

After calling Racine home for the better part of five decades, it’s time to say So Long.

I am moving to another state.

I came to Racine to finish my degree at what was then Dominican College in 1970.  There I met my first wife, and we stayed in town.  Three apartments, a house, a condo, two kids and two grandkids later it’s time to say So Long.

In my years here I have been a security guard, store stock boy, machine operator at Packaging Corporation, battery burner at Wisco Battery, substitute teacher for Unified, part time teacher at St. Cat’s, and full time teacher at Burlington High School. Of the largest employers that were here when I arrived, only a few remain.

I could attend a movie at a theater downtown.  When the streetlights changed I could walk kitty corner from the Post Office to Monument Square. The backs of all the buildings on Main Street faced the lakefront.  Establishments suited to holding bachelor parties dotted the city.

The first poem I had published was about Richard Kinch, one of my professors at Dominican.  For three years or so I wrote a weekly column for the local paper.  Literary escapades aside, I spent most of my time in the normal activities of life.  I worked, played some golf, tried to raise good children. You know.  The important stuff.

I don’t regret a single minute spent here.

The first year I could vote, Les Aspin was Representative, Bill Proxmire was Senator, Pat Lucey was Governor.

I would probably have stayed teaching had not Scott Walker and Robin Vos screwed over teachers and unions with Act 10.  Elections do have consequences.  Well, maybe I do have one regret. I won’t be able to vote them out of office in the next election. That, and I don’t get to vote against Paul Ryan and Ron Johnson.

But it’s time to say So Long.

In 2013 that woman of my dreams passed.   She had been disabled for several years, and retiring early had given me a few more of the 40 years we had together to be with her.

There’s a saying among teachers that the kids keep you young.  I believe that.  When my wife passed, I turned to music again. I started writing and playing more, taking up again what I had left behind as life intervened.

In my 35 years of teaching, I have seen my students go on, for the most part, to graduate and lead productive lives.  I am proud of them all.  I am proud of my own kids.

In the past five years, I have met numerous young men and women, creative young minds eager to do something with their lives and their communities.  One of them recently became a county board supervisor.  Another is the new poet laureate of Racine.  Another is working on a new album to release.  Another is … well, you get the idea. If you doubt the future of Racine or Southeast Wisconsin, think again. Plenty of young whippersnappers will do a good job if you give them a chance.

Through these new encounters, I met another woman.  She is, as my daughter says, “age appropriate.”  I am lucky.  I got to marry the woman of my dreams twice.  I feel like Lou Gehrig.  But like every marriage, it helps if both people live in the same house and state.

I’ve sold my condo.  My kids are grown.  Nothing is holding me here or back.  I’m moving to another state.  It’s not that far away that I can’t come back for an open mic or a concert or the holidays.  It’s not that far away that I can’t visit the grandkids or they me.

It’s not good-bye.  It’s So Long.  So Long, Racine.  It’s been good to know ya!

Sometimes We Find Something That Works

Chicago, December 1, 1958 

It was my birthday.  It was also the day of my Confirmation.  I was selected to give a welcoming speech to the Bishop. With the help of the nuns at St. Stan’s, I wrote something. I practiced it and was ready. 

Around 2:30 that day a fire broke out in the basement of Our Lady of Angels school on the West side, just about three miles from our parish.  

92 children and three nuns died in the fire.

The news spread rapidly in the city and across the nation. It reached our parish before the Confirmation service that evening, and the nuns hurriedly had me insert something in my speech about those lost souls.  

I got confirmed, and some birthday wishes, but the pall in the Church that evening was evident.

The result of that fire was almost immediate. New fire codes, more fire alarms, new building codes. New regulations, both local and federal were enacted, without hesitation.  It was estimated that almost 70 percent of school buildings needed upgrades.  No one questioned the need for any of this. No cries of government interference or overreach.  

Among the many new regulations was a mandatory increase of fire drills.

The result cannot be denied.

Since 1958, there have been school fires, but none have involved anywhere near the horrific toll of Our Lady of Angels.  The number of school fires that have resulted in more that 10 deaths is zero.  According to the National Fire Protection Association:

From 2009-2013, US fire departments responded to an estimated average of 5,100 structure fires in educational properties, annually, which accounts for 1% of all structure fires. These fires caused an annual average of one civilian death, 79 civilian fire injuries and $88 million in direct property damage. 

Read that again: an annual average of ONE death.

When I taught and we had a fire drill, whether it was mandated or the spurious prank of some nincompoop, my high school students would diligently march to their designated exit and wait outside until the all clear was given.  Some of them complained, some didn't.

When we got back to the classroom, usually after the first such drill of the year, I made a point of telling the story of Our Lady of Angels.  I usually told them that since 1958, because of fire drills, we haven't lost anybody in school fires.  All right, I admit I exaggerated. 

We have lost people to school fires.  That's not the point.  The point is that sometimes regulations are implemented with good reason and they work.  Remember. ONE death, not 95.

I like to think that my students remember that lesson.  

The country as a whole was shocked by that school fire and worked together to come up with practical and sensible laws and regulations. Nobody bitched about it, nobody whined, nobody even hinted they had a problem.  The nation came together and accepted that enough was enough, that something needed to be done. They didn't want more images like this appearing in national publications: 

Of course, you might have guessed where I'm going with this.  

Nothing can or will prevent all school shootings or mass murderers any more that we can prevent all school fires.  

But we can attempt to staunch the bloodshed and we can limit the toll. Will everything work? How the hell do I know?  But we have to try something.  How many more have to die?