Submitted by Clifford Schorer, Greenwich
My Saturday mornings are special. I block my angst about the bizarre and disastrous events permeating our daily lives. Latte in hand, I stroll around Greenwich Avenue and avoid photographs of children starving in Gaza, the Red Carpet for a smiling Putin, the gutting of medical research, wounded Ukrainian amputees, innocent fisherman being stabbed to death in the dark waters of Korea by SEALs, hundreds being ICEd in an American Hyundai factory. Usually this is my hour of peace. Not this Saturday.
Four girls in Greenwich High School Volleyball outfits approached with a warm greeting.
“Would you like to make a donation to the GHS girls volleyball team?” I loved their enthusiasm and teased. “What are you going to use the money for a big party.”
“No, they said, it’s to buy uniforms.”
Dumbfounded I asked. “Doesn’t the school provide uniforms?”
A girl, apparently the captain stepped forward. “Well, the BET gutted the Board of Ed budget by four million dollars, so we have to raise money to have a team.”
I was startled. Isn’t this Greenwich – one of the wealthiest communities in the world?
The place many of us moved here to ensure our children a great education, one that builds character and a diversity of interests.
That afternoon my mind drifted back to 1957, my first day of high school in a poor, integrated neighborhood when they handed me a leather helmet, high top, used leather cleats and a faded shirt. But it had a number – 45 – my number The post WW II coaches lined up and gave their speech. “You are coming to school to get an education, to explore your interests, and sports will teach to be a team member, develop discipline, and take pride in what you accomplish.” We didn’t get an invoice.
I wonder if soon ICE teams may be on the corner panhandling for uniform money?
Doubt, it. Our taxes already pay for them. We need a change in philosophy and leadership in our wonderful town.
Clifford Schorer