Part II: Snippets of Somers Teachers

A few more snipets of our Somers Teachers

Mr. Bickel

I think my brother had Mr. Bickel, but the luck of the draw did not do me the honors in 7th grade. I set out to get to know him nonetheless, and once again, no string of memories to draw upon. There’s just the strong impression of his sense of humor, and an appearance that was not as athletically sleek as a Mr Pellegrino or Mr. Burke. But my main memory from that time comes from the field of play.

Yes, we were shocked when ole George Bickel suited up to play the students in a full court after school basketball game with the other teachers. However, suiting up was quite the understatement. His red, white and blue shorts extended the humorous stand he gave us in the classroom, and his game had to be just as funny. That was until he hit shot after shot and gave us all a lesson in not judging a book by its cover.

He never got a chance to drop his jumper at the high school, but I remember how happy he was when a position opened to teach US History at the High School. I still had to wait three years for my chance, though.

I managed and was pretty much riveted when I got there. Each class opened with a quick look at the day’s current events, and every week, the cover of Time Magazine went up on the wall. I remember, When the Music Died in December 1980, and The Axe Falls when Reagan’s budget passed congress.

Of course, the quirkiness was still ever present. On Mondays, he’d report his take the Sunday viewings of Face the Nation and Meet the Press, and a few long standing bumper stickers on the wall went over the top. Unfortunately, Ted for Lifeguard is all that I can recall and only one story remains.

But it’s still a good one. Never one to stay on top of my wardrobe, I was grossly negligent when a hole started emerging in my sneaker. Eventually, a full blown gash had Mr. Bickel gasping. He stopped his lesson mid sentence, and orchestrated an entire production around the big toe now glaring up in his grill.

The whole classroom pretty much lost it, and I would say that I was mildly embarrassed. But I was much more attuned to the ruckus created and certainly held no ill will.

Once the dust cleared and class emptied out, I jokingly assured Mr. Bickel that I would get even. Confidently assured, he simply told me to get a new pair of sneakers.

So what do you know, a few months later, I was engaged in class, and at the soles of Bickel’s feet, “From hell's heart, I stab at thee. For hate's sake, I spit my last breath at thee.”

Of course, not to that degree Herman Melville or The Wrath of Khan but the bottom of Mr. Bickel’s shoe was falling off. Blood in the water, I will first tell you what I didn’t do - raise my hand politely and alert him to his misfortune.

No, I piped right into his presentation and boasted, “Hey, what wrong with your shoe.”

Now, I was orchestrating and the classroom exploded. I would say that Mr. Bickel was mildly embarrassed but was much more attuned to the ruckus created and certainly held no ill will.

Touché.

Mr. Manfredi

Chick was our Life Sciences teacher in 7th grade and a little bit scary. But we mostly came around to his gruff exterior and delivery. I certainly did by the time I was in college. His kids all grown, maybe he finally had time to get himself back in the shape. Mr. Manfredi now sported the slim look he once extolled next to Joe Carr when the Somers Football reigned in the 1960s.

I was impressed but had to remind him he was still pretty bald. Long schooled in wise asses like me, he didn’t miss a beat. “Don’t worry,” Ettore assured. “I look forward every morning to get up and look in the mirror, because I get better looking everyday.”

That shut me up, and he had truth on his side. As for a classroom memory, it was part of the curriculum that we discussed drugs and the dangers, and marijuana is the one I remember.

No idea what dangers he cited, but I do remember a brief description of one side effect. He did so under the umbrella of the tough guy coach and took a dig at the abundance of skinny, wimpy boys on hand like myself.

“If you smoke pot, one of the side effects is you get an overwhelming urge to eat,” Manfredi deadpanned. “The munchies, and from the looks of some of you, that might not be such a bad thing.”

No need, I’m still skinny, but either way, I get better looking everyday.

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