A Kind, Gracious and Gentle People

I did not know what to expect when I walked into Mrs. Howard's kindergarten classroom in 1965.  School District 175, of which I was a new student, used meeting rooms at the Westview Baptist Church off of South 74th Street to hold its kindergarten.  Harmony, Emge and Ellis schools were all full and there was no room at any of the 3 school buildings for kindergarten.  So, the kindergarteners were bussed, driven, walked and taken to public school at the local Baptist Church.  At the time, I had no understanding of what Baptist was or that I attended public school in a Baptist Church.  This was way back when, before people thought attending public school in a church -- a place of God -- violated people's constitutional rights and established some sort of unacceptable establishment of an official religion.  Get over yourselves because, although I did not understand at the time, I was embarking on one of the best educational experiences that could have been had.  Anywhere.

Back then, we were just going to kindergarten in a room that was our classroom -- with cut-out silhouettes made by proud and smiling little 6 year olds, names scrawled in pink, for girls, and blue, for boys -- in a big building off of South 74th Street near the railroad tracks.  It was a magical time.

I was excited about kindergarten because my mom told me that going to kindergarten is how I would become "very smart -- smarter than all the other little boys and girls" and a good person.  I was ready.  I took my lessons seriously.  I wanted to beat everyone on the alphabet, on my numbers and mostly on penmanship.  Even back then, I knew my writing was good and people liked the way I wrote my letters.  Mrs. Howard always remarked how my letters were beautiful -- each letter like a little picture all by itself.

It made me proud.

There were little girls and boys in that classroom that I would forever become attached to and identified with because, back in the mid-1960's, nobody moved around and the children in your kindergarten class would be your classmates and friends -- or enemies in the case of Mike Pattinierre -- until senior year of high school.  Of course, along the way, we would be gathered into larger and larger schools -- first we would go to Harmony, then to Emge and finally, we would all end up at Belleville Township High School West.  By the time we were there, we would know each other very well.

We would know who the smart kids were, we would know who the rich kids were, we would know who the troublemakers were.  There would be no question about the Bauer twins -- they were the girls with the mahogany colored hair who ate glue at every opportunity.  Mike Pattinierre was the mean guy who was quick to anger and even beat up poor little Steven Hartland for no reason other than Steven's mom always greased back his hair and combed a part on the left side that looked like she had used a protractor.

There was Doug "Booger" Blaisdell, the smart little kid with the abnormally large cranium who picked his nose and ate the findings as often as he could, even in the classroom, even on the playground, even during gym.  No matter what was going on in the world, or in Belleville, or in class that day, I always found comfort -- and great laugh out loud delight -- in the knowledge that Booger Blaisdell had a snack with him at all times.  Everyone knew that Dwayne Waldovinter was stupid -- or if my parents were around -- slow.  He was a nice enough guy but would never get any better than a C on any homework or test or project.  My mom always said it was because his father never had a good job to make enough money to buy meat for dinner every night.  I do think that was part of the answer but, as usual, I think I only listened to the part of the explanation that was understandable to me at the time.  Still, I do wonder what grounds crew he is working on now. 

The most fun I remember in kindergarten was baby teeth falling out.  It seemed that every day at least half of the class lost a baby tooth or two.  For me, I would find one that was wiggly and I would push it back and forth with my tongue.  Then, when it got real loose, I would sneak 2 fingers into my mouth and REALLY push hard and, at the last minute, yank it out by the skinny little boy roots.  Then, I would hold it in my palm and stare at it for a while.  You see, I wanted to have more baby teeth on the Baptist window sill than anyone else.  It was a badge of honor, it was a proud moment and, to top it all off, Mrs. Howard would call my name at the end of the day to come up and get my dried up tooth from the Baptist window sill.  Then, I would slip it into a plastic bag Mrs. Howard gave as a gift -- I liked gifts back then even plastic bags -- and I would show the baby tooth off on the bus ride home.  I have never felt more important or more the center of attention than in 1965 when I was showing off my baby tooth, waving my baggie around in the bus in the faces of those around me.  It still makes me feel good just thinking about it.  For some reason, nobody ever tried to touch the bag, or steal it, or bat it out of their faces because, I think, they knew that tomorrow or the next day, the bag would be swung and proudly displayed by someone else, maybe even them.  It was a recognition that we all get our moment in the spotlight.  We were learning life lessons on the bus back then.

I also remember lying on the ground during nap time.  This was a big deal in some small part because I was never allowed to lie on the ground at home.  But here -- in Mrs. Howard's kindergarten class at the Baptist Church over off South 74th Street -- nap time was special, anticipated and always welcomed.  We all had to buy little rugs, braided out of "thrown away rags," my mom said, to lie on for nap time.  We rolled our rugs up and put them in our own little cubbies when we weren't napping.  It was exciting to me when Mrs. Howard announced it was time to go get our rugs because I knew that this was the time to whisper secretly to my friends something funny that would make them laugh -- out loud maybe -- and, if I was really lucky, I would time my pronouncement just right to make someone choke on their milk and -- oh God -- spit it through their noses.  When that happened, Mrs. Howard always got mad at them and NOT at me for making it happen.  It was perhaps the first example of quiet instigation that I knew about.  I was learning a power that would later become my favorite thing to do -- get someone else in trouble by making a joke.  Usually, of course, I would make fun of someone else in class who was not one of my friends and someone not nearby on their own little rolled up rag rugs, or, if I was particularly inspired, I would even get in a good jab at Mrs. Howard and her incredibly impressive towering inferno of a bouffant hairdo.  That almost always ensured some spitting of milk from the mouth and/or nose.  Those were delicious little moments in time for me as a 6 year old, dark Greek boy in kindergarten at the Baptist Church off of South 74th Street.

Kindergarten also was incredibly lucky for me because it introducted me to a boy would become my best friend from almost the moment I met him until we both graduated 8th grade some 8 years later.  Will Dombeck was a skinny little guy with bright anxious eyes -- his light brown hair, blond to a Greek boy, was always combed straight down toward his eyes and it actually stayed in place because his hair was absolutely positively straight, not curvy, curly, wavey and messy like mine.  He was always dressed just so -- his paisley print shirts always stayed tucked in, his pants were always the exact perfect length for his legs and his skin always looked freshly scrubbed and blemish free.  He almost always wore Chukka boots which I thought were so cool.

He was a quiet guy until you got to know him so it was almost a foregone conclusion that he and I would gravitate toward one another.  He -- quiet and perfectly groomed and coiffed -- and me -- loud talkative, always quick with slightly off-color, inappropriate jokes even at age 6.  Those jokes were usually about other unfortunate fellow students or, again if I was particularly inspired, about Mrs. Howard and her impressive bouffant hairdo, a mastery of technology, architecture and hairspray, I thought.

I was also lots different than Willy because my clothes never stayed neat and pressed all day.  You see, I was husky even way back then and my pants were always too long because they had to be to get the waist to fit.  And my mom would never let me have any Chukka boots because, even as a child, I had thick ankles and I think my mom knew that the Chukka boots that looked so cool on Willy Dombeck would only emphasize my unfortunate thick kindergarten ankles.  Bummer.

Anyway, in 1965, Willy and I were the yin and yang of Mrs. Howard's kindergarten classroom in the Westview Baptist Church over off of South 74th Street.

From kindergarten on, we were best friends.  Inseparable.  We sat next to each other in each class, we played together on the playground at recess.  Each birthday was spent at the other's house.  Saturdays he was at my house or I was at his house.  Sundays were, of course, reserved for church and family dinners -- both of us.  He was smart like me and we had a good educational rivalry going on each time a test or quiz was returned.  Lucky for me that the rivalry never got out of hand -- sometimes his grade would be higher, and sometimes my grade would be higher.  I am not even sure if he felt this tug of war over good grades but I sure know I felt it.  Other than grades, though, I never felt any rivalry with Willy, thank God.  All I felt was that I had a best friend and it made me feel good.

He was a nice guy with an easy laugh.  The best friend that little Lew Hages could ever hope for.  For the many blessings that have been bestowed upon me in life, I am very thankful for God sending me a best friend like Willy Dombeck.

His family was nice too.  His parents were way younger than my parents and I thought that was intriguing.  His father was a doctor and was skinny -- something of an anomaly in parents back then, at least to a Greek Orthodox boy who knew other adults in his world as good cooks -- men included -- and restaurant owners with bulging bellies.  Willy's beautiful mother reminded me of Jackie Kennedy with her short combed hair coming to points just on either side of her pastel painted lips.  Mrs. Dombeck -- just like her son -- had blemish free beautifully clear skin.  She was the matriarch of Belleville's own Camelot.  Most interesting of all is that she had a southern accent.  Back then, before I had been anywhere south of 74th Street, she was the most exotic creature I had ever met.  When she spoke, it was like sweet syrup slowly poured out of crystal pitcher.  I remember her as immensely cultured, kind, sweet and gentle -- when I was over at their house, she took care of me like I was her own child.  I never heard her raise her voice or speak harshly to anyone ever.  She was an affectionate and attentive parent.

Mrs. Dombeck would make Willy and me tuna salad sandwiches and wouldn't even put any sweet pickle relish in them.  She would make home-made lemonade and say that the whole pitcher was just for us.  She had me intoxicated with her southern charm and her natural beauty.  I felt so good when I was in her presence at their clean and modern house.  Also impressive was the fact that Mrs. Dombeck had a drivers license and her own car.  Back in the day when I was in elementary school and most of the adults around me were old Greek people at our church, very few of the women had drivers licenses.  Only the men drove.  The women stayed at home.  So, I loved Mrs. Dombeck because of her beauty, her charm, her southern accent and gentility but I idolized her because she had her own car.

Back then, I was a mama's boy and never wanted to be away from my mom for very long but it was okay when I was at Willy's house because Mrs. Dombeck was like a newer version of my own mom.  Rather than being afraid of being away from my own mom, I looked forward to being at Willy's house and putting together model airplanes from World War II or riding bikes and pretending that they were a Buick Riviera or a Pontiac GTO.  Mrs. Dombeck would drive over to my house -- all of 10 minutes away -- and whisk me back to the Dombeck house where I always felt welcomed and special.

Willy and I would spend hours and hours together, playing, reading, watching TV (only at night according to Mrs. Dombeck), messing around and, mostly, trying to sneak over to ShopLand to get a hamburger or french fries (we really only talked about this -- we would never have disobeyed our mothers).  We were the kind of best friends that Ron Howard makes "coming of age" movies about.  Two very different little boys who complimented each other and were intensely devoted to each other.  That was Willy Dombeck and Lew James Hages.

So, for 8 long years, he and I were fast friends and confidants.  It seemed like a lifetime together and I am quite sure, even now at age 52, that I developed much of my confidence, personal satisfaction and mental health because I was blessed with such a good friend.  There are lots of other reasons, of course, but having a best friend when you are -- well, let's just say, unique -- is a big advantage.

I did not realize it at the time, but I was heartbroken when his parents -- his beautiful Jackie O-like mother and his trim, well educated father -- decided to send Willy to Althoff Catholic High School in Belleville.  Why would they do that?  How could they break us up?  Why were they sending him to that new barren school on Main Street with the ugly red and blue shiny panels underneath the windows?  And, mostly, what was a Catholic?  I knew that they went to a Catholic church on Sundays but I really did not know that their church was different than mine -- I guess I thought that "Catholic" was just a different word for Greek Orthodox.  If only it was.

Of course, I had other great friends over the years after Willy; just like I am sure he did too.  But, I am immensely greatful for the friendship and comfort that he gave me -- that his mother and father gave me.  I have thought of Willy and his parents often with fondness, warmth and innocence.

He was a good person and his family was the best.  Even after all those years and the great distance of time, college and law school -- when my mother died in 1988 -- which was an unimaginable shock and the true end of my own innocence -- and my father died in 1993 -- another heartbreaking jolt to my world -- Willy and his parents were among the teary-eyed and loving faces at their funerals.  They had come to give their respects to my parents and to comfort me in my loss, not because we had just had dinner with them a few nights ago or had ever gone to the Ozarks with them on vacation, but in recognition of a time gone by, of a friendship that transcended the years apart and of a bond that remained strong and pure and wholesome.  It meant so much to me that they noticed the obituaries and respected our friendship by attending.  It was a testimony to these fine people and it further memorialized my affection and respect for Willy and the Dombecks.

That is why I was heartbroken to hear that Willy's younger brother John had passed away last week.  He was only 2 years younger than Willy and me but, of course, when you are 6 or 9 or 12 it seems like a lifetime of difference.  He looked alot like Willy only his hair was slightly darker -- still almost blond to a Greek boy.  He always wore Chukka boots too.  I remember him following us around, trying to do the things we were doing, riding bikes or playing elk in the backyard with big sticks that had fallen from their big trees.  He could never keep up and, to be honest, we never paid him much attention.  But, in my heart of hearts, I am sure that he was as nice as Willy was.  As nice as his great parents were and are.  I know that Dr. Dombeck passed away in November of 2008 and I am sure that his loss is still felt deeply.  I too share the pain of losing family members so close together.

I am saddened to see any young life snuffed out before it runs its natural course.  But, I also hate to think that this wonderful, warm and devout family is suffering the heartbreak of such a loss.  To be sure, death is as as much a part of life as birth and illness and joy and sadness.  But, I ache to see it like this, so close to home, so close to such fine people. 

How I wish that Willy could be as happy and carefree as he was when we first met in kindergarten in Mrs. Howard's classroom at the Westview Baptist Church over off South 74th Street -- wearing Chukka boots and somehow keeping his paisley shirt always tucked in perfectly.  How I wish that every day could be as happy and proud as the day he held his first baby tooth in a baggy, swinging it around in the back of the yellow school bus in front of my face.  How I pray that he and his mother are comforted by the faith that was such a part of their lives and that teaches us that both Dr. Dombeck and John are in a better place, where there is no pain, no suffering and no evil.  And how I hope that their family, their friends, their loved ones -- those that they have undoubtedly touched over the years -- will help to ease the pain they must now be feeling.

This is my plea for a kind, gracious and gentle people who I knew in a place long ago and far away.

Jayden is my boyfriend

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