As a native New Yorker and an
American, I am still angered by the cowardly
attacks of 9/11. Unless we restore New York
City's skyline to its condition prior to
September 11th, 2001, the miserable scum who
attacked us will have won! Visit www.makeNYNYagain.com and
rebuild America!
Mount Saint Michael Academy opened in the
1920's as a boarding school. Below is a neat shot
of the main building (then the ONLY building) as
scanned from the 1974 Mountaineer Year book.
The color photo above was taken on 11-26-01.
In 1968 I had begun attending Mount Saint
Michael Academy, also known by disrespectful students as
“The Concentration Camp on the Hill.” This was an all-boy's junior and senior high
school well known for its sports programs.The
Mount was also considered academically superior
to many of the local parochial schools and definitely
on a higher level of excellence than the public
high schools in the area.My parents had
always been lenient with me when it came to
self-expression.If I wanted to wear green
bell bottoms and grow my hair long -- even if
they didn't approve of the style – they
would allow me to go that route and even defend
my right to be strange!By 1967 my hair was
a good bit longer than was socially acceptable
and definitely way past the Mount's nothing-on-the-collar
code.I soon realized I really couldn't
fight this; I could be going to public school
after all.My father went to bat for me
every time the Dean of Discipline would send a
letter home in an attempt to have me dress more
conservatively.The Mount had a tie and
sport jacket policy.They didn't indicate
either sizing or color -- facts I was well known
to exploit.Needless to say, I had most of
my fellow students -- the jocks -- wanting to
beat me up because I was different.To give
a glimpse into what six years at the Mount did
for me, let me tell you about my response to my
‘recent graduate’ survey.When
asked ‘What is the most important thing
Mount St. Michael’s taught you?” I
responded “Never trust a man who wears a
dress.”
But I was a seventeen year old kid full of
vinegar.The Mount was not to blame for my
knee-jerk reaction.You see, my experiences
were gleaned during those last years of the Viet
Nam War—a time when the Marist Brothers were
overrun by men who didn’t necessarily wish
to don the cloth—the camo cloth of the
United States Army, that is.They were
happy to hide behind the habit of the Marist
Brothers and avoid a trip to Canada.These
few non-dedicated individuals poisoned many a young
mind, I am certain.There were many outstanding educators
and mentors at the Mount and I’d like to
dedicate this page to them.
Left: a portion of my seventh grade class,
class 7-1 as photographed in September of 1968. I
was eleven years old and about a foot shorter
than most of my classmates. Can you say 'oft
beaten'? Knew you could. That's me seated at the right
end of the bench.
The BIG GUY (asfar as us little
squirts were concerned) was Mr. Richard Tricario,
Dean of Discipline. I liked the guy immensely. He
would sit behind his desk and gaze up at me with
the most exquisite look of pained boredom
-- covering a heck of a load of mirth-- after I'd
been sent down to his office for either my hair
or one of a multitude of sartorial peccadilloes.
The student body to a man referred to him as
'Tricky Dicky' but would have never had either
the nerve or the disrespect to call him that to
his face. I never knew him to raise his voice or
a hand, and yet he commanded total obedience and
genuine affection from most of us. I truly
believe this was due to the man's basic
honesty--you knew where you stood with him and
could, on occasion, reason your way to a
'bargain' on the hair issue. His brother also
taught at the Mount.
Joseph Tricario was cut from the same bolt of
fabric as Richard --
kind and honest, he was also a bit mellower,
probably because he wasn't the Dean of Discipline
and could get away with it. Joe Tricario (as we
all called him -- "Mr. Tricario's my
brother" he'd say) was my Driver's Ed
teacher in 1974. Joe Tricario passed away very
young, I believe before the end of the seventies.
You know they say 'Only the Good Die Young',
well, here's who they were thinking of.when the
line was spawned. I took Driver's Ed. as a summer
classd in '74 because it had booked solid during
the school year. Joe would have us drive around
the tree-lined streets of New Rochelle in a big
1974 Impala. He never used the extra brake pedal
and made you feel like you were doing well behind
the wheel. I'd been driving since I was 13, so I
probably wasn't all that bad anyway. Once he
showed us the apartment he and his wife had
rented when they were first married. It
was over a garage. That's the kind of guy he was, he'd share personal things with you and took a genuine interest in us kids as well. He was not pretentious in any way. I felt genuine loss when I'd
heard of his passing.
Brother Roch Rotunno was an older
brother who had taught Math in 1968. I had him
when in class 7-1. He was kindly and dedicated to
teaching. He had a great sense of humor as well. He
retired in the very early seventies and worked in
the Book Store with Brother Leo. Brother Leo was
one of those 'Bells of St. Mary's' type
clergymen. You just knew he had God's ear. He and
Brother Roch were a true blessing to know.
Another Math teacher who
made a difference, Mike Ciaiola. I had him for
Algebra, Geometry and Trigonometry. His hair and
sideburns were always way past the Mount's
standard for proper gentleman's grooming. That's
why we loved the guy -- we knew he was one of us!
Because of our affinity for him, we never
disrupted his classes and tried our best to do
well.
Brother Joseph Hager was
my freshman year history teacher. He was the
first person I encountered in the High School who
made me feel I could contribute anything to this
world. (I guess some must have thought it would
build character, because there were a few
teachers who would seemingly concentrate on
belittling a student. Not Brother Joe.)
Mr. Alexander Joseph, Big Al to us
little fry. His was a hard-boiled visage, hiding
a soul full of humor and a commanding
personality. He was an amazing character who
could have stepped from the pages of a Dashiell
Hammett novel. This picture doesn't capture him
accurately -- he most often wore a bow tie. He
had that rare knack of making whatever subject
matter he was teaching seem interesting.
Brother Thomas Simmons was a science
teacher in the Junior High when I arrived in. He
was the first teacher at Mount that made me feel
like I had half a brain in my head. That's a good thing when you're
a year younger than every kid in the class and
because of that something of a pariah.
Brother Daniel Andrews taught American
Historyand
could often be heard to say "Pellegrin,
Monaco, get up, get out!" Jay Monaco and I
were always doing something to pester the guy. He
did nothing to deserve it. He taught history in a
way that made you feel he was there -- and no, he
wasn't that old!
Frank Orlando was a new teacher in the
Fall of 1971 and was assigned to teach me and my
heathen buddies sophomore year religion. He was
nervous. He also needed to maintain discipline.
My favorite anecdote recounts the time one of my
classmates took an eraser to the head that had
someone else's name on it. This other guy who sat
on the front row (naturally) would start sliding
his desk towards the door a few seconds before
the bell would ring. he'd get closer and closer,
distracting everyone from whatever doctrinal
dissertation Mr. Orlando would have embarked
upon. One afternoon, the kid crept closer and
closer towards the door -- and Mr. Orlando,
about midway down the room was watching. As the
bell rang and the kid took off, Mr. Orlando wound
up and blasted the wooden eraser at the departing
miscreant. Of course, another kid about three
feet ahead of Mr. O's arm had jumped up and took
the erase point-blank to the back of the head.
You know how a scalp wound bleeds! Mr. Orlando
always considered this one of those days that
taught him how to be a teacher! No real harm was
done...
Howie Smith --the
gym teacher and football coach. Howie was a great
guy. I read a piece in a Mount publication in '94
talking about him in the past tense. I assume
that he's gone -- aside from the fact that he'd
be about a thousand years old by now! I have one
great Howie story. There was a blow-out during a
gym class -- one that I was not involved in.
Howie lined us all up and came down the row. When
he got up to me, he turned and punched me a good
one. Hey, I was a big enough jerk for him at
times, so even though I wasn't guilty of this
particular transgression, I figured I was
entitled to it anyway. Weeks later, Howie pulled
me aside and apologized. He asked me why I hadn't
told him at the time that I was not deserving. I
told him the same thing -- I was paying for my past transgressions.
He laughed and put an arm around me. I believe
from that moment on, Howie and I had an
understanding -- that he was a decent guy, and
that I could be counted on to accept
responsibility for my actions. Hey,
just some shots of me and the boys...Here's
a portion of class 3-F in our yearbook picture
taken in September of 1972. That's me in the
upper right hand corner. Anthony Pernice is front
row center. Joseph Petrone, the world's biggest Imus
in the Morning fan stands to the
left. My hair is pretty much regulation length
here, but you can't relaly see the purple paisley
shirt and maroon velvet vest in this black and
white photo. In this next photo, below, right,
you can see the paisley shirt and maroon velvet waistcoat
-- plus a ten foot long American flag tie. My
hair was not regulation length by this point in
October of 1973. Man, when I think how I
dressed -- totally Fire Island! (And I don't mean
that in a good way.)
The next picture, below left, was
taken April 23, 1974 at the first annual talent
show organized by our typing teacher Anne
Swanson. She was also hoemroom teacher for class
3-F and almost made me late for my first gig-- I
got jug that day... Following me is a nice
yearbook photo of Mrs. Swanson. I won an award at
the show. It still hangs on my wall -- it is a
high point of my High School career. Funny how I
was more or less a school outcast up until April
23, 1974 but found more friends after
my performance. You can see the knees of one of
my friends before and after, Matthew Manfredi,
straddling the music stand.
The director of our Glee Club and all
around great educator, Paul Guadagno. He let me
play bass (and Walter Murphy of 'Fifth of Beethoven' fame was on piano) for a
rendition of 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang' at a
school performance in 1969. This was my
first-ever public appearance with a stringed
instrument and I can remember every dropped note
'til this day! He worked hard with us boys and we
always managed to sing well...
I owe some of my success as an author
to the man pictured at right. William Vallar was
my junior year English teacher. I signed up for
Creative Writing for senior year, but Mr. Vallar
told me I'd never be able to write. Did you know
my novel LOW END was released 3-8-04 -- after a
long carreer writing for various publications? I
don't think he ever intented his critique to be
inspirational. Still, I guess he deserves a
left-handed 'thanks'. BUT don't construe this to mean he wasn't a good teacher and a decent enough guy. He was on both counts. It's just funny how our words can have incredible ramifications, eh?>
One educator and mentor stands head and shoulders
above the rest. Joel Occhiuto was my Spanish
teacher for two years. It was during his class
that Regents College Scholarship winners were
announced. I had won one and my classmates
decided to ride me a bit. Mr. O came to my
defense very eloquently and I'll never forget the
good tingle of vindicated self-worth I felt. Someone outside my family thought I had some value.Mr. O
is still at the Mount and this is a good thing.
Young men need this kind of influence in their
lives.
Harry
G. Pellegrin
READ THE PRESS
RELEASE!
is Published by Bedside Books, an imprint of
American Book Publishing.
young
mind, I am certain.
boredom
-- covering a heck of a load of mirth-- after I'd
been sent down to his office for either my hair
or one of a multitude of sartorial peccadilloes.
The student body to a man referred to him as
'Tricky Dicky' but would have never had either
the nerve or the disrespect to call him that to
his face. I never knew him to raise his voice or
a hand, and yet he commanded total obedience and
genuine affection from most of us. I truly
believe this was due to the man's basic
honesty--you knew where you stood with him and
could, on occasion, reason your way to a
'bargain' on the hair issue. His brother also
taught at the Mount. 
--
kind and honest, he was also a bit mellower,
probably because he wasn't the Dean of Discipline
and could get away with it. Joe Tricario (as we
all called him -- "Mr. Tricario's my
brother" he'd say) was my Driver's Ed
teacher in 1974. Joe Tricario passed away very
young, I believe before the end of the seventies.
You know they say 'Only the Good Die Young',
well, here's who they were thinking of.when the
line was spawned. I took Driver's Ed. as a summer
classd in '74 because it had booked solid during
the school year. Joe would have us drive around
the tree-lined streets of New Rochelle in a big
1974 Impala. He never used the extra brake pedal
and made you feel like you were doing well behind
the wheel. I'd been driving since I was 13, so I
probably wasn't all that bad anyway. Once he
showed us the apartment he and his wife had
rented when they were first married. 
It
was over a garage. That's the kind of guy he was, he'd share personal things with you and took a genuine interest in us kids as well. He was not pretentious in any way. I felt genuine loss when I'd
heard of his passing.
Another Math teacher who
made a difference, Mike Ciaiola. I had him for
Algebra, Geometry and Trigonometry. His hair and
sideburns were always way past the Mount's
standard for proper gentleman's grooming. That's
why we loved the guy -- we knew he was one of us!
Because of our affinity for him, we never
disrupted his classes and tried our best to do
well.
Brother Joseph Hager was
my freshman year history teacher. He was the
first person I encountered in the High School who
made me feel I could contribute anything to this
world. (I guess some must have thought it would
build character, because there were a few
teachers who would seemingly concentrate on
belittling a student. Not Brother Joe.) 
Howie Smith -- the
gym teacher and football coach. Howie was a great
guy. I read a piece in a Mount publication in '94
talking about him in the past tense. I assume
that he's gone -- aside from the fact that he'd
be about a thousand years old by now! I have one
great Howie story. There was a blow-out during a
gym class -- one that I was not involved in.
Howie lined us all up and came down the row. When
he got up to me, he turned and punched me a good
one. Hey, I was a big enough jerk for him at
times, so even though I wasn't guilty of this
particular transgression, I figured I was
entitled to it anyway. Weeks later, Howie pulled
me aside and apologized. He asked me why I hadn't
told him at the time that I was not deserving. I
told him the same thing -- I was paying for my past transgressions.
He laughed and put an arm around me. I believe
from that moment on, Howie and I had an
understanding -- that he was a decent guy, and
that I could be counted on to accept
responsibility for my actions.
Hey,
just some shots of me and the boys... Here's
a portion of class 3-F in our yearbook picture
taken in September of 1972. That's me in the
upper right hand corner. Anthony Pernice is front
row center. Joseph Petrone, the world's biggest Imus
in the Morning fan stands to the
left. My hair is pretty much regulation length
here, but you can't relaly see the purple paisley
shirt and maroon velvet vest in this black and
white photo. In this next photo, below, right,
you can see the paisley shirt and maroon velvet waistcoat
-- plus a ten foot long American flag tie. My
hair was not regulation length by this point in
October of 1973. 
Man, when I think how I
dressed -- totally Fire Island! (And I don't mean
that in a good way.)
class
3-F and almost made me late for my first gig-- I
got jug that day... Following me is a nice
yearbook photo of Mrs. Swanson. I won an award at
the show. It still hangs on my wall -- it is a
high point of my High School career. Funny how I
was more or less a school outcast up until April
23, 1974 but found more 
friends after
my performance. You can see the knees of one of
my friends before and after, Matthew Manfredi,
straddling the music stand.
One educator and mentor stands head and shoulders
above the rest. Joel Occhiuto was my Spanish
teacher for two years. It was during his class
that Regents College Scholarship winners were
announced. I had won one and my classmates
decided to ride me a bit. Mr. O came to my
defense very eloquently and I'll never forget the
good tingle of vindicated self-worth I felt. Someone outside my family thought I had some value. Mr. O
is still at the Mount and this is a good thing.
Young men need this kind of influence in their
lives.