My friend Elfie called from Austria. She's not doing so well. She is facing more cancer surgery and has had 4 or 5 surgeries already since last June. Sometimes I am uncomfortable talking to her because it's hard to know what to say to someone suffering as she is. She is more emotionally invested in our friendship than I am because of this cautious barrier I put up against pain. I feel guilty about that. The year after Rich died, she was calling me every week. I think I've called her once -- maybe twice -- since she's become ill. I decided I am going to sit down and write her a letter -- a typed one.
Would you consider yourself an aggressive person? Why or why not?
I think I am assertive but I would not consider myself to be an aggressive person. There’s a big difference between being assertive and being aggressive. Anger is associated with aggression. When I am assertive, I am just sticking up for my rights and my feelings. I notice that when I hesitate to be assertive, I will end up feeling aggressive. I think that’s where the anger comes from – the resentment that burns inside when we end up doing something we don’t want to out of some obligation. When that happens, it’s easier to blow things way out of proportion. Speaking up earlier releases some of that pressure and anger. I mean, even if we end up doing something out of obligation it’s less annoying if we’ve spoken up about it first.
What are the first four things you think of when I say:
High School
cliques, friends, Mrs. Cooper, Mr. Fortunato
Mrs. Cooper was my drama teacher. I had her in my senior year. Hers was supposed to be a half year class but I had so much fun I began cutting a class to go to her class the second half. Well, eventually I got caught and changed my schedule so that I could continue to attend that class. She was a very creative teacher. I'd been bottling up a lot of my feelings and expressing them only in my journal writing. Mrs. Cooper helped me learn to tap into those feelings and use them on stage. I had a lot of fun!
Thinking about Mrs. Cooper always leads eventually to thinking about my high school principal. There have been a couple of movies about memorable principals. I had one in high school. I can’t remember any of the other principals or administrators in schools I gone to or worked in, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget Angelo Fortunato.
I went to Western High School in Baltimore. When I entered 10th grade, we went to the Annex downtown because the high school building couldn’t hold us. That’s how I learned my way around Baltimore. We were all 10th graders in that building and so we were sort of like a close knit little family. All during the year, though, we heard about the wonderful Mr. Fortunato, the principal of all the school.
At the end of the school year in 1971, all us sophomores were bussed to Western to see the seniors honored on their last day of school. I remember almost every speaker had a special message for Mr. Fortunato. I looked at him and wondered what the big deal was. He was a heavy rumpled looking man with an easy smile and a mouthful of very white teeth. One of the seniors came on stage and sang “To Sir With Love”. All the seniors, Mr. Fortunato, and many others were in tears.
I sort of felt, I don’t know, left out and envious. What he had with that class he’d never have with any other. The reason is that he transferred into a newly built Western High with the class of 1971 two or three years before. They were his “first” graduating class.
When I started going to the main building the following fall, I’d listen to the seniors cheering over Mr. Fortunato and I’d think, oh, come on, not this again! He’s just a man! What was the big deal about this guy anyway? What did he do that was so damn wonderful? I noticed other juniors (my class, 1973) cheering too and I figured they were doing it just to be like everyone else. I liked the man but I also kept my distance warily. Everyone loved him … something must be wrong.
Isn’t that a kick? That’s how my thinking and reasoning worked back then. If something seemed too good to be true, something was wrong or about to go wrong. Mr. Fortunato seemed to be a very nice man. Something would happen to make him turn evil. But he didn’t.
I got to know him better the following year, when I was a senior. I was having such a tough time in that English class. It was sometime in the morning and many of my friends were in the class. That didn’t help alleviate the stifling boredom of it all. The teacher was new to high school. She’d spent the last 20 years of her life teaching third graders. No wonder she treated us like babies!
I lost patience and I’d mouth off in class. There was a black girl named Janice in the class that happened to like the teacher and so the two of us would begin verbal sparring. The teacher, meanwhile, had totally lost control of her class and after a couple of weeks she begged Mr. Fortunato for help.
He brought a small group of us troublemakers in his office to talk about what was wrong in the class. After we went a couple of rounds, he figured out that the source of the conflict was the teacher’s method. If not for that, I’d keep my mouth shut and Janice would have no reason to get into it with me. Next he brought in the teacher and we “worked it out”.
Things got better but I was still bored. I confided to Daina that I wanted to go ask Mr. Fortunato if I could transfer to another class. Daina thought I was crazy. We were sitting next to each other, passing notes to amuse us. This class would be an ‘easy A’. What did I want to move for? I was going back and forth and then Mr. Fortunato called me to his office. I wondered what I did.
I was very surprised when he asked how I was doing and if the class was better. I was totally taken aback. He was interested in how I was doing? He cared how I felt? And he’s a principal? Unheard of! He was really sincere, though, and I found myself warming up to him. I told him that I was still very bored because the class was too slow for me. He asked if I wanted to go into a new self-paced class taught by my old 11th grade English teacher. Sure!
The nice thing about this English teacher is that we basically chose what we wanted to do. She’d have a list of works and we’d pick one and do a self-paced project. It was so cool! I could be creative and use my mind. And I didn’t have to follow an in-stone schedule of due dates. I was so grateful to Mr. Fortunato for recognizing that he had a bored bright kid, not a bratty troublemaker.
What was even better, he said that his office door was open and anytime I wanted to come in to talk I could. If he was busy, we could just schedule an appointment. Ah, I thought, that old excuse. I tested it out. Once or twice a week I would stop in during lunch or my free period. Sure enough, if he wasn’t busy in a meeting or something he would invite me in and we’d chat a few minutes. He was a totally cool guy and now I could understand why he was so loved by faculty, staff and students.
I noticed some flirty stuff between him and my drama teacher that year. He’d poke his head in the door from time to time or stroll in. My teacher always had some teasing remark and sometimes he had a come-back for her. They seemed to like each other, much more than professional colleagues … so I wasn’t too surprised to hear they married just after I graduated.
Then, sad news: I was talking to my friend Daina a few years after we graduated and she told me that Mr. Fortunato died suddenly of a heart attack. I felt so sad for his widow and for myself. I didn’t think I’d ever met anyone like him again. Luckily I was wrong, but I’d learned “the signs” of what a good man was like. Thanks, Mr. Fortunato.