Monday, June 05, 2006

PEOPLE FROM THE PAST

For whatever reason, the last week or so I've been thinking about people from my past (just as the title says). Maybe other people go through this little ritual. Normally I do not, but when I do, it comes out of nowhere or for no apparent reason.

As previously posted here - I've never sought out anyone from high school. I've never been back, never attended a reunion and never intend to. Now and again I get mailings from said school - usually addressed to my parents, but coming to my address. Just another indication that even though it's been 25 years since graduation, a faction of my past does not consider a grown-up.

But something the other day triggered a thought of one of my teachers: Clem Caraboolad. Mr Caraboolad was one of those people who pass through ones life, but makes a significant impact. He taught Geometry and Eastern Religions. He was cool. Too cool to pay any attention to some dorky freshman. Yet when in his room, he wouldn't treat the seemingly social outcasts (read: me) any different than the popular kids.

His room was strung w/xmas lights - and no overhead lights were ever on. His classroom had no desks. The chairs were ripped out car seats, recliners, bean bags and the like. The first and last five minutes of class he played rock music (of his choosing). The room had a dart board too. Students would congregate there after school while waiting for their bus.

It was during these times my first year (at that time, one took Geometry sophomore year) that he would subtly encourage me to play darts or be part of a discussion. He treated every student the same - popular kids fared no better in his eyes. To someone who always felt different (and probably every teenager did - but I'm all about me!) this was a huge thing. He showed potential of what a just world could be. This is no small thing - even if another 4 billion people didn't live up to this ideal.

Do not get me wrong. He did not single me out or spend any significant time w/me. But for the time in his class (for work or play) he made me feel included. In high school, that is probably the best one can ask for.

Mr. Caraboolad was young - less than 20 years older than myself....but he was old/wise enough to know how to psychologically incorporate equality in student development and young enough to understand where we were coming from and be able to relate where we would trust him.

The seemingly unruly environment of his class worked to his advantage - and to mine. After the opening 5 minutes - it was down to work. I would get As. IN MATH. That never happened to me - before or again. He'd teach w/fun. How better than to learn Geometry than to put it to practical use - how to play pool? Personally, I think it was equal parts his teaching style along w/a teacher one liked and respected, so students rose to the occasion to do good work. It makes all the difference.

We'd have other days of fun. Very Tiny Car Races. Basically, Hot Wheels track set up all through the class. Or Rock and Roll day. We go to vote on the best music (and worst) and he'd play some of it - educating us on music too.

A few years after I graduated, I understand he actually left to teach at another school....so he could coach football. Hearing this years later kind of floored me. This was a man who seemingly cared nothing for sports. He did nothing w/any organized sport at my school. One almost felt betrayed that he ended up trading his career to hang w/the jocks. Did popularity win out......again?

He died in 1988 at the age of 43, whic is just a little older than I am now (ok ok....two months older.....off my back!), and though this post doesn't adequately convey exactly how he impacted me, he could be confident that he did.

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

That was really interesting, Blob. I'd be happy to hear tha I'd impacted someone's life as he did yours.

Anonymous said...

Clem's decision to coach at HOban wasn't one to "hang w/ the jocks". He had a deep love for football and often used his same teaching strategies from the classroom to the field. I know as I played for him for 2 yrs. until his untimely death. His passion for the game, teaching it, and the love of competing, istilled in me a desire to push myself to be the best I could.

Very nice comments about a great man. Thanks for the memories..

Anonymous said...

Every year about this time when the new award winner is announced, I feel the need to put down my thoughts about Clem Caraboolad. I never played football for Mr. Caraboolad. In fact I never played any High School sports. But as anyone who knew him would tell you, that didn’t matter. I did, however, have Mr. Caraboolad as a geometry teacher and home room moderator during the 1974-75 school year at Walsh Jesuit.
You see, geometry was a course most guys at Walsh took sophomore year. As freshmen you heard stories about Mr. Caraboolad and maybe peered into the classroom that was tucked into the back corner of the building and came away scratching your head. In that room, the first semester passed just like every other class in the building. But come the second semester all bets were off. Mr. Caraboolad would allow his students to “decorate” the room. There were very few rules and when you give a group sixteen year old boys free rein…well I’ll tell you for a time there was an old canoe with a hole in the bottom sitting in the front of the class. Christmas lights, dart boards, posters, various pieces of carpet, and the general flotsam and jetsam of everyday life that could be acquired (legally or otherwise) along the highways and byways of Summit County wound up on the walls, floor or dangling from the ceiling of that room.

Hot wheels races, current events discussions and the ever popular wadball were weekly occurrences in his class. You had to…hmmmm? What? What is wadball you ask? Wadball was a quasi-volleyball game played inside the classroom. A net was run down the center of the room and the ball consisted of a wad of masking and duct tape (hence the name). One side of the class played against the other and the games were always very spirited. Mr. Caraboolad would act as scorekeeper and referee, complete with the striped shirt. There was really only one rule that could be broken, coming out of your seat to get the ball would get you whistled (yeah he had a whistle) for “buns up.”

Based on all of this you might get the impression that Mr. Caraboolad was popular because it was a fun and easy class. Au contraire. Everyone had to complete their work before any fun and games commenced. He was passionate about geometry, often mixing in stories about Euclid or Archimedes while discussing proofs and theorems. One day each spring would find the sophomore class strolling the halls with a plastic semi-circle dangling from their necks by a piece of yarn. Freshman would look at you strangely but wouldn’t laugh because, well, because they were freshman. Upperclassmen would just nod and grin knowingly because they knew it was Mr. Caraboolad’s annual protractor appreciation day. He also taught a class on Eastern Religions that was open every year to seniors only. It was well known that this was no cake class but it would fill up almost immediately.

Mr. Caraboolad also had an air of mystery about him. He dressed like a biker and it was generally acknowledge that he had been in a gang as a young man in Cleveland. Rumors even went around that he had done a stretch in jail. He was cool but it wasn’t like he was trying…..he just was, like James Dean or a young Brando. As a speaker he had no peer. Chapel was a voluntary activity and in general was sparsely attended. When word went out the Mr. Caraboolad was going to speak at the Martin Luther King Jr. remembrance, the place was sold out. I believe there were several speakers but when Mr. Caraboolad strode up to speak he was carrying a shotgun. A shotgun! As he began to speak about Dr. King, a subject obviously very dear to him, you almost forgot he had the gun in his hand as he walked around the altar. That is until he spoke of that night in Memphis when James Earl Ray raised his gun, took aim and BAM. He shot the damn gun off in the chapel! HOLY CRAP. Granted it had blanks but anyone who was there will never forget the stirring speech and the dramatic special effect that Mr. Caraboolad used to drive home the loss the world had suffered that day in 1968. Although I graduated in 1977 my younger brother was in the class of 1978 and they were to have their commencement ceremony at E J Thomas Hall. I could think of a few hundred places I would rather be that night than at my brother’s graduation. That is until I heard that Mr. Caraboolad was to be the featured speaker. I had to see this and he did not disappoint. When the time came for his address he strode to the microphone dressed as a baby. Yup, giant nightshirt, bonnet and rattle, the whole enchilada. He then proceeded to keep the auditorium spellbound as he spoke of the journey from child to adult.

I could go on for pages but the thing I remember most about Mr. Caraboolad is his sincerity. Somehow he knew how to relate to teenagers without being condescending, preachy, authoritative, sarcastic or nauseatingly understanding. He treated you like a human being and to a man no one in that school tried to pull anything on him. We just had too much respect for the man. On the last day of class he wrote his home phone number on the chalkboard and asked that we all copy it down. He told us that in the coming years things would come up from time to time where we would need help or have questions. His number could be used at any time twenty four hours a day seven days a week. This wasn’t the first time we had heard this from a teacher but there was just no doubt that if you ever made that call, he’d be there.

I apologize to those who long to see them but there are no sports anecdotes here. I was just your average face in the crowd at Walsh but Mr. Caraboolad had a way of making everyone feel like they mattered. I’ve heard many rumors about the politics and turf wars that led to Mr. Caraboolad leaving Walsh Jesuit. No matter the circumstances, the day he left, Walsh lost a big part of itself. However, that pales in comparison to what the world lost the day he died.

Anonymous said...

Clem taught at Walsh from '65 to '82; the same year Bill Ricco retired and Gerry mysteriously became HC. Not hard to do the numbers, put 2 & 2 together and figure out why Clem left for Hoban. Hope is was worth it Walsh! 31 years later and only 1 State Championship: a Divison II one no less and you still allow the 3 stooges to try and impress naïve teenagers. Kids! Kind of ironic too that Mr. "Gs" class and style mirrors Caboolad's and that he received the award. When Gerry is gone, do you think they will weep like they did for Bill and Clem??