Blazing New Trails

“Move out of your comfort zone. You can only grow if you are willing to feel awkward and uncomfortable when you try something new.” -Brian Tracy

I’m not exactly sure why mom wanted me to go to Joliet Catholic High School after my six years at St. Rose in Wilmington. I spent only those last six years at St. Rose because it did not open until 1949. My first and second grades were at Braidwood’s East side school, on the opposite side of town from where we lived.

I am sure that mom and dad argued over the decision to bus their oldest child 20 miles north every day. Dad was a local guy hanging around, and working with, the other local guys. “Are you folks too good to have your kids go to the public schools?” “Must have lots of money!” In fact, we were relatively poor, and the transportation and tuition costs must have been a hardship. 

Mom won out, however, and her motivation may have been to get me out of Braidwood and to consider other careers besides driving a truck, going to bars, and marrying a local girl. Going to school in Braidwood would have narrowed my future, in her opinion. She also was worried about the girls in Braidwood where obviously, to her, there would be no one worthy. She probably checked them all out. 

My initiation to all-boys Catholic High was intimidating. For a long time, I stayed pretty close to the few grade school classmates from Braidwood and Wilmington who also were mostly fellow freshmen. Cousin Ronnie Van Duyne, Jim Gorman, Tom Buban, Jim Gassensmith, and Larry Hermes were friends, but we were in different classes. Rachel Riley, Lucille Ruatto, Betty Jo Nahas, Margaret Plese, Linnea Hucjak, Sissy Nelson, and Dora Heck were enrolled at the sister school, St. Francis Academy, which meant that all of us were on the bus going the 20 miles to and from Joliet. Although some of these friends lasted only one or two years at these schools, they represented a group who were linked together more closely because it seemed that the Joliet kids already had their own friends. And they probably viewed us as hicks or bumpkins.

Meanwhile, the cliques in Joliet were particularly close and exclusive. They had come from St. Ray’s, St. Pats, St. John’s, Holy Cross, Sacred Heart, and other grade schools about which we didn’t know much. Only Jim Gassensmith and Larry Hermes were familiar to them because they played basketball against some of these schools. That’s how many of them knew of one another, through sports. And I had not played basketball at St. Rose.

Almost all of my high school friends continued to be kids from Braidwood and Wilmington during my first two years at Catholic high. I had continued my studies there because mom wanted me to try it, but she assured me that at the end of those two years, I could transfer to Reed-Custer. As one of my teachers, Father Norman, responded to my plan, “It’s better to be a big fish in a little pond, then a little fish in a big pond.” I also wanted to play sports and Joliet seemed so far away for anything after school. 

But somehow, my plans were changed prior to my junior year and I returned to JCA the next year. (My parents also saw fit to get a car for me that year.  Blackmail?)

With this newfound flexibility of a car, I joined the band, the newspaper, and the yearbook staff at school. After seven years of trumpet lessons, I finally had the chance to be in a band.  I almost considered the basketball tryouts, along with a distant cousin Don “Jake” Jacklich from Carbon Hill, but it was early in the morning and the date slipped past us.

Jake and I did go out for baseball in my junior year and I became a starter at first base. Jake, at third base, and I led the team in hitting that spring.  We were showing these Joliet kids that we were pretty talented “hicks from the sticks.”  

Those last two years were fun and made me feel that I had made another “club.” I was more or less begrudgingly accepted into the circle of Joliet guys, even though I was from Braidwood. Mom and dad were proud of my involvement and accomplishments, and I was pleased that they were pleased. Interestingly, I continued to go to almost all the R-C basketball games, both home and away.  When Catholic High played Braidwood, I quietly cheered for my hometown’s win over JCA.  After all, I knew my friends like Barney, Dave French, Marty Kozlowski, and Gene Mullins much better than the Joliet guys, and hometown loyalty and pride won out. I actually felt a little taller the next day at school after we won.

Playing baseball at Catholic High also gave me the chance to have a scrimmage game at Lewis College where coach Gordie Gillespie saw some potential in me as a baseball player. During the summer after graduation, I was offered a small $300 baseball scholarship to attend Lewis. Interestingly enough, I became a member of the College basketball team and became a starter in my second year, leading the team in points per game in my final two years in addition to playing college baseball all four years. 

Had I transferred after my sophomore year to Reed-Custer, I would have played basketball and baseball. I am not sure that I would not have been challenged academically as much, and I’m not sure where, or even if, I would have gone to college. I say that knowing well that mom was intent on my going to college, to see beyond Braidwood and Wilmington, and not make a career out of driving a truck. 

As a 13-year old at Joliet Catholic, I was fearful at first, but this would be only the first iteration at being the outsider who was thrust into foreign environments. Beyond this façade of the unknown, I gradually developed the confidence that the unknown can become known, and that I was capable of surviving, learning, and growing in new circumstances. 

Having been the outsider at this formative stage of life, I became more sensitive to the fears of others arriving into closed groups.  Over the years, I have tried to empathize with, and welcome, the strangers who are seeking to belong.  I know some of their their fears. 

“Until you conquer the fear of being an outsider, an outsider you will remain.” — C.S. Lewis, “