I attended New York City\u2019s PS 163 in Flushing Heights, built in 1937, from grades three through eight, graduating in 1957, the last eighth-grade class to graduate from the school. The following year, classes would range only to the sixth grade. Middle school then furthered your education. At PS 163, each grade had five classes, and each class was packed with thirty or more kids. As you moved up through the grades, you also climbed higher in the building \u2014 until, finally, the eighth-graders reached the very top floor.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Our day always started at nine sharp, broke for lunch at noon, and wound down at three o\u2019clock. I lived one block from the school, and walked home for lunch. You stayed with the same teacher all year long, in the same classroom, in the same seat.\u00a0<\/p>\n
The desks were solid, heavy, built to last. Books slid uncomfortably into the space beneath the immovable wooden top, while the chair bolted to the desk behind you, locking everyone into tidy rows. In\u00a0the upper right corner of the desk sat a little inkwell, and capped under its metal cover sat a small glass cup that held black ink. A narrow groove carved into the wood served as a rest for pen or pencil. And if you looked closely, you could often spot names and doodles scratched into the surface \u2014 small souvenirs left by students long before you.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The author is seated on the left, in the third row on that side, wearing a bow tie and jacket. The students are fourth-graders, and the date on the blackboard is April 22, 1953.<\/p>\n
Photo courtesy Robert Wegner<\/p>\n
Along one wall, sliding closet doors hid neat rows of coat racks, each with a numbered hanger waiting for its student\u2019s jacket or sweater. Across the room, tall windows stretched nearly to the ceiling, their panes heavy with glass that could be inched open by sliding up or down. Most often it was the top sash that gave way, nudged by a long wooden pole capped with a brass hook that clicked neatly into the frame. With a push or pull, the great pane would creak into place, letting in a careful breath of outside air.<\/p>\n
In the warmer months, the upper windows stood ajar, joined by the open, window transom above the classroom\u2019s entry door. Together they coaxed a gentle draft throughout the building \u2014 an old-fashioned air circulation system that, at least for a little while at summer\u2019s start, felt almost enough to keep the heat at bay.<\/p>\n
Beginning in sixth grade, once a week the boys would file down to the first floor for woodworking, while the girls climbed to the top floor for homemaking. In the shop, one of our earliest projects was a wooden letter opener \u2014 shaped like a miniature swordfish, its slender bill sharpened just enough to slice open envelopes. The girls, meanwhile, started in the kitchen, learning to bake cakes and master the art of a flaky piecrust.\u00a0<\/p>\n
By eighth grade, the projects had grown more ambitious. The boys built an end table with a shelf sturdy enough to hold a stack of books, while the girls sewed their own graduation dresses using a pattern that was the same for everyone, but the fabric was theirs to choose. Little by little, we picked up skills meant to prepare us for a self-sufficient life.<\/p>\n
Only now do I fully appreciate the safety challenges our shop teacher, Mr. Renneman, had, being charged with stewarding 11- to 13-year-old boys holding blunt objects like hammers and sharp ones like chisels. Many classes began with a short safety lesson, in which he carefully explained the proper way to handle the tools. As we worked, he patrolled the room, watching closely for unsafe practices.\u00a0<\/p>\n
If you slipped up, he would call you out. Fail to answer his questions correctly, and he would seize a tuft of your hair or tug your earlobe, marching you to the center of the shop floor. There, in a booming voice, he replayed the safety lesson for everyone\u2019s benefit. The shop fell silent as all eyes turned to the demonstration. At the end, you were expected to repeat the correct procedure yourself.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Then, as punctuation, Mr. Renneman raised a long wood saw over your head and smacked you \u2014 lightly \u2014 with the flat of the metal blade. It didn\u2019t hurt, but the metallic twang echoed across the room, sealing the lesson in your memory. Thoroughly embarrassed and unlikely to repeat the mistake, you returned to your bench while the class got back to work.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
PS 163 sits at 159-01 59 Ave., between 159th and 160th Streets, just south of Booth Memorial Avenue and Kissena Park, in Flushing.<\/p>\n
Photo courtesy Robert Wegner<\/p>\n
Behind the school stretched a wide yard, neatly divided in two by a long fence. The half closest to the building served as our assembly ground, for our games, for our annual graduation or for our daily attendance. Whenever the weather allowed, our daily attendance ritual began as nine o\u2019clock approached. We lined up in rows according to our classrooms, waiting in the morning air. At the stroke of nine, designated monitors swung open the back doors of the building. Teachers stepped forward to collect their students, the girls in one line and the boys in another. They led us inside, and we marched up the stairs to the proper floor, where another monitor stood holding the hallway door open, ushering us in.<\/p>\n
When the class was in recess, the half of the schoolyard nearest the building came alive with all sorts of outdoor games. After school, the game I remember most was stickball. It was a variation of baseball, played with a bat fashioned from a discarded broom handle \u2014 its bristles sawed off \u2014 and a pink, high-bounce, rubber ball known as a Pennsy Pinky. The batter stood against the building wall, defending a chalk-drawn rectangle that marked the strike zone. About 15 feet away, a chalk line on the ground marked where the pitcher stood. If the pitch landed on or inside the rectangle, it counted as a strike. The batter swung to hit the ball, and how many times the ball bounced before hitting that bounding fence determined how many bases were awarded. A home run required a well-placed hit, sending the ball flying over that bounding fence. This was the most popular game during the summer.<\/p>\n
The other half of the schoolyard stretched farther from the building. Here stood basketball hoops hanging from the boundary fence, along with a standalone basketball court and a cement-walled handball court. In the far corner, enclosed by high fencing, was a Victory Garden. Neat rows of vegetables grew here, and we learned about nature and nurture. This was likely a holdover from World War II, when such gardens encouraged self-reliance. By the time of our graduation, however, the garden was no longer in use.<\/p>\n
The school building itself was heated by coal-fired furnaces. Coal was delivered by dump truck to the west side of the building. Inside the fence, a metal trapdoor in the lawn opened to the basement. When the gates were opened, the truck backed into position and extended a chute, pouring the coal directly through the open trapdoor into the basement, resulting in a massive coal pile. From there, the coal was shoveled into the furnace, where heated water travelled to room radiators. You knew when there was a delivery \u2014 small chunks of coal scattered across the sidewalk, a gritty reminder of the school\u2019s heartbeat of heat.<\/p>\n
Every so often in the later years, we practiced what was called \u201cDuck and Cover.\u201d It was supposed to prepare us for a Russian nuclear attack. The moment our teacher shouted the words, we\u2019d spring into action \u2014 diving under our desks if we were in the classroom, or dropping to our knees on the floor if we were caught in the hallway … our hands clasped tight behind our heads and our backsides facing the glass windows. The drills didn\u2019t happen often, but when they did, there was always a sudden jolt of urgency, the kind that made your heart race as you scrambled to get it right.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
New York City Police Department Patrolman Piagentini, PS 163 Class of 1956, was ambushed and murdered in 1971 along with his partner, Patrolman Waverly Jones.<\/p>\n
Photo via Officer Down Memorial Page<\/p>\n
In the front of the building, on the east side, a small ground plaque honors the memory of student Joseph Piagentini, a graduate of the Class of 1956. In 1971, New York City Police Patrolman Piagentini and his partner, Patrolman Waverly Jones, were tragically ambushed and killed while on foot patrol at the Colonial Park Houses public housing complex in Manhattan. The attack, carried out by members of the Black Liberation Army, shocked the nation. Their story made national headlines, the loss later depicted in the television film \u201cBadge of the Assassin,\u201d based on the 1979 book by the same name.<\/p>\n
I remember Joe well. We grew up together, playing for years in that schoolyard. He was an older loyal friend \u2014 always willing to share advice on how to improve your athleticism, and never afraid to stand up for us when older kids tried to take control of our schoolyard games. His presence made a difference in my life, and I shall always remember him.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Robert Wegner earned a bachelor\u2019s degree in geology from Queens College in 1967, a master\u2019s in geophysics from Lehigh University in 1972 and a Ph.D. in geophysics from Rice University in 1978. He built a career in seismic research and exploration technology, has held numerous research and teaching positions and retired from Exxon Mobil\u2019s Upstream Research Co. after 32 years. He lives in Houston and remains actively engaged in teaching and professional service.<\/p>\n
This piece was written with gratitude, having benefited from consultation with Mary Naum, Irv Steinfink and Michael Galub.\u00a0<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"I attended New York City\u2019s PS 163 in Flushing Heights, built in 1937, from grades three through eight,…\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":149782,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[37],"tags":[62707,62708,9,24,63,62705,122,124,123,62706],"class_list":["post-149781","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","category-queens","tag-1950s","tag-joseph-piagentini","tag-new-york","tag-new-york-city","tag-nyc","tag-ps-163","tag-queens","tag-queens-headlines","tag-queens-news","tag-robert-wegner"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/149781","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=149781"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/149781\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/149782"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=149781"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=149781"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=149781"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}