Discovering The Woods: The Many Lives of an Art Teacher (Vermont)

Vermont
Most of the dreams in my life, like many of us, have never been realized. Vermont was close to becoming real enough so that I was able to grasp the soil and snow in my hands for a short while. I discovered the existence of Vermont at an early age through an invitation extended by the director of a community center in the Bronx. This was my first actual place of employment while I was completing my undergraduate career. I was majoring in English and Photography and enjoying both disciplines simultaneously. My younger brother, Michael who fairly recently died from cancer, was involved in the workings of the community center well before I was. He had been asked by the director if he knew of anyone that could create a flyer for an upcoming benefit concert. Michael approached me about this and I agreed to give it a try. At the time most of my energy was directed towards making leather goods including vests and handbags, but I managed to come up with a nice design. Apparently my hand-drawn flyer was successful enough for me to be offered a position as a recreational assistant. At 70.00 dollars a week in the late 1970's, who could resist. My work at the center seemed to get off to a dubious start however as I began by watching softball games, supervising young children playing yard games, and on occasion participating in a ball game on some level. Approximately one year later, a co-worker vacated his position, I was asked if I would be interested in being a Program Worker. I agreed and began the process of coming up with ideas to involve the young people of the community located in the North Bronx. I organized several successful bicycle day and overnight trips, planned and implemented a weekly folk concert series, and for a short while "directed" a weekly variety radio program in partnership with a nearby university. Several months passed when the center's director proposed an idea for improving community morale. The proposed concept consisted of a retreat and workshop for youth. Approximately 30 young people volunteered along with several adult and youth workers. We were to spend a week together camping out, cooking, hiking, and discussing our ideas for improving the often tense relationship between rebelling young people and conservative older residents. I believe some of these issues still exist.
A few weeks later we found ourselves on a chartered bus heading north to Brattleboro, Vermont. A local Bronx artist volunteered her farm as a retreat and camping ground, and as the center of activities. While this event occurred so many years ago, I still recall the gradual transformation that affected all of us on many different levels. Green trees, fresh air, camp fires, mountains, and at night thousands of visible stars in the sky. We stayed as long as we were permitted, chatting, gossiping, complaining, cooking, and hiking. Following the retreat, visions of Vermont frequently filled my head with inspiration.
Later when I moved on to teaching reading and art at an alternative middle school in the South Bronx, things changed. Students were legally mandated to attend the school as a final opportunity for them to remain within the N.Y.C. Public School system. It was often a challenging and stressful environment. Fights among students would often occur throughout the day. I once blocked a flying chair that was unintentionally heading toward a colleague. Most of the students came from challenging home environments, single parents, mental illness, drug abusing family members, and severe financial needs.

​

Once a week usually on Fridays, I would pack my vehicle with skis, camera, film, clothing, some food, and a few other necessities. At exactly 3:15 P.M. I would begin my travels north to Wilmington, Vt. where together with a group of friends, I would stay in a seasonally rented house. 
The ski photo above was taken back in the early 1980's with my Leica fIII, a frequent companion at that time (see second photo). A unique camera, portable, well-made, lightweight, and compact enough for trekking through the woods. One unusual and sometimes frustrating aspect of the camera was that in order to change the film cassette, one had to remove the bottom plate and attempt to attach the new roll of film onto a minuscule take up spool. This was not easily accomplished, as the area housing the spool was very narrow and required either extremely thin fingers, or as I later devised, the use of a needle nose plier, which I learned to carry in my waist pack. 
Recently, I came across an interesting article about Ernst Leitz one the founders of Leica, and his efforts to save hundreds of Jews between 1933 and 1939 in Nazi Germany. https://fstoppers.com/historical/how-leica-freedom-train-saved-hundreds-jews-holocaust-50656  You might find this article to be interesting.  
After I first began working at the Alternative School, I came up with at least one fairly absurd idea that I convinced myself to follow-up on. I approached the principal and the director and asked them if they would permit me to take three of our most difficult students along sometime on one of my adventures to Vermont, for a weekend. Of course at first the reaction was to be expected. staff members thought I was crazy, and I was discouraged by many of my colleagues. Nevertheless while the principal pondered the idea, the director (his boss) consented. At first they suggested that I avoid selecting the most difficult students, but I persisted. I suggested that they select a diverse trio of students who were individually finding themselves in one form of serious difficulty or another. 
My "theory" was based in part on the experience I had during our community center retreat. Perhaps someone who was living in the South Bronx under difficult conditions deserved an opportunity to experience a radically different and hopefully positive environment. My thinking was that even one, albeit brief experience might make a difference in their future lives, and in their decision making. Perhaps by having witnessed that other options and other places exist, it might provide enough “hope” for each of them to follow the right path.  
Indeed they were a motley crew, dressed in leather, old coats, oversized boots and several layers of clothing as I suggested. One was "black" one was "hispanic" and one was "white." I use these quotation marks because in my life, and throughout my various experiences, I never understood the human distinction. My high school was full of artists and musicians, "cutting class" meant sneaking into the bathroom with a group of friends to sing acapella. College was very similar, a group of artists and writers working peacefully, gathered together in a quiet part of the campus. It is possible that some reader or other might get angry or upset about these comments, but I was raised in a humble manner. My grandmother who raised me, never seemed to care much about what an individual’s appearance was. Diversity always existed throughout my childhood as did respect and acceptance of every individual. These concepts stayed in my mind and in my heart and served as a guide to my life of teaching, mentoring, and working with young people. 
We finally 'took off' in my old Rambler, the threesome in the rear seat, their minimal baggage in the trunk, and my anxiety buried in my head.
Wondering why I was doing this, I proceeded to drive across the Bronx to the New England Thruway and began our adventure into the unpredictable. I warned my passengers several times that the journey would take at least 3 to 4 hours. Thankfully, the school principal permitted us to leave a bit earlier than the usual dismissal time, at 2:00 P.M. we were on the road. 
It was winter time and my plan was to take them skiing the following morning after breakfast. By the time we passed through Massachusetts, it was getting dark and cold. Many times I was asked the archetypical question, "How much further is it to our destination?" 
My good friend Gene, pictured in the ski photograph above, was a shareholder of the house. He had arranged for everyone to clear the weekend for my student “stay over.” At first he too rejected the idea for reasons of my temporary insanity, but he finally consented. Like myself he suffered from a soft heart. This was an extremely generous gesture on his part and I have always appreciated his support as a friend. Sadly I lost Gene just a few years ago to cancer. I was able to visit him in New Hampshire shortly before he passed away but a few days later he was gone.
When we finally arrived at the "ski house" it was approximately 7:30 P.M., the traffic had delayed us quite a bit on that Friday evening. As we unloaded the car, I recall hearing many comments about the amount of snow and the cold temperature. I explained that this was typical for Vermont, that they should not be alarmed. We entered the house as I turned on the lights. Among the first tasks to be addressed was the creation of a fire in the fire place. I was able to get the fire going quickly with the help of an already stacked pile of wood, and a little fire starting fluid. We all smiled as the room became more comfortable as it started to warm up.
One of the secretaries at our school helped a great deal, by providing us with several large cans of provisions, including canned potatoes, mixed vegetables and hamburger patties in a cooler. In addition she included many Friday leftover cartons of milk and orange juice. Just after dinner the house became quiet and peaceful. I sat in a comfortable chair near the fireplace with a book on my lap and encouraged the youngsters to do the same. As a reminder these were allegedly three of the "toughest" characters from our school. Just as I was beginning to relax and enjoy the comforting fire, one of the threesome spoke out. "We are going to go out for a while and take a walk." I knew the area well, and at night there was not much to see. Nevertheless, I consented and watched as they exited from the left side house door. As the door closed I relaxed and finally began to re-read, I believe it was an old copy of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, by Victor Hugo (not Walt Disney). I had barely read six sentences into the chapter when I heard the right side house door opening. "I thought you were heading out for a walk." "We were, but it's very dark out there, there are no lights and there is so much snow!" With a bit of laughter I encouraged them to relax and warm up, and to set up the sleeping bags. They proceeded to unpack and arrange them near the fire.
This particular house was designed with a loft area overlooking the living room and fireplace. The loft area was divided into several small narrow bedrooms with doors opening toward the fire place. At approximately 10:00 P.M. I suggested we all call it a day, I added a few logs to the fire and walked upstairs to the loft. Lights were out, the fire glowing and I quickly fell asleep after a long and stressful day of working and driving. 
Some time in the middle of the the night, I was awakened by the sound of chatter, giggles, yelling, and clinking metal. My immediate impulse was to jump out of bed and check on their status in the living room. The exact second I stepped out of my room, a bright flash of fire enveloped the entire house, for a moment I was frozen in place. Apparently the group had decided that because the fire was burning out and the room was getting chilly, they would take matters into their own hands. Rather than calling for my assistance, as I had previously instructed, they decided to pour the entire can of fire-starting fluid into the fireplace. Thankfully the “flash” disappeared within seconds, we were fortunate that the house had not burned down along with ourselves.
The remainder of the weekend was successful, the students attempted cross country skiing for the first time in their lives, we visited a few local towns and historic sights, and together learned a little more about life in Vermont. To this day I do not know if I actually made a difference in their lives, but I witnessed the laughter, the snowball fights, the many tumbles and falls, and the peaceful car ride home. We were an exhausted group but we made it safely back to the South Bronx. Perhaps these days we all need another dose of Vermont.