John Minadeo Elementary School opened in the fall of 1957. For all of us living in the community it was a major event. Up until then everyone went to Roosevelt Elementary which meant a long, steep descent down what we called “Lilac Street” hill. We were only five years old, going to kindergarten in this huge place full of screaming kids and twisting staircases. Fortunately, after that year, John Minadeo opened.
I can still remember the smell of new paint, new desks and other furniture, sharpened pencils. Our mothers walked with us to school on that first day but fortunately I already had my two wonderful friends from Shady Ave. Extension, Arlene Stein and Naomi Nudelman. Besides them I made friends with a group of girls who remained my friends until the end of school.
The teachers were all “old” except for a few. In third grade we had Mrs. Newman for our home room. Every child adored her and she adored us. I remember no anxiety connected with that year; she was like a mother to us and some of us, myself included, would slip up and call her “Mom.”
Almost everybody in my family went to Taylor Allderdice. My mother didn’t–her family was still living in Woods Run during her high school years–and my grandfather did not either. The Goldings lived in the Hill District before the “exodus” of the Jewish population to Squirrel Hill. The Fifth Avenue High School is still standing.
I always loved school and I loved learning. That has never changed. However, some of the teachers at Allderdice had a part in shaping me. When I was in either 7th or 8th grade we had a history teacher called Dr. Quatrocchi. She was the chair person for history. When I told my parents this my father was made quite happy–she was a young teacher, just starting out, when he was in her class.
Of course, and I’ve written about this probably too much, but in my two main interests, English and music, I had excellent teachers. I adored Mrs. Lewis, also Mr. Welling and Mr. Summerfeld, although Mr. Summerfeld scared me half to death. I sat in the back row and rarely raised my hand. He could be quite brutal at times and I’ve never figured out why.
Interestingly, when I went to college at Pitt I was very, very disappointed. Lectures given in huge auditoriums, little contact with the professors, such an immense place, surging with thousands of students–and no place to park!! But I had a few young English professors who made things personal, in their way. When I look back at the situation I have to be honest with myself; yes, like a lot of very young women I was there to get my “Mrs.” degree. However–once I did meet Mark Hoffman, my first husband, this settled my anxieties and I was able to calm down and study more. Also, we took a lot of the same classes, together. He was a philosophy student and I attended lectures with him, not understanding a word that was said. It was all part of the show, in the very late sixties and early seventies, when lots of professors gave “blanket A’s” to reduce competition and anxiety.
lgmwriting 