June 1, 2013 - Knott's Berry Farm Banquet Hall
GOOD EVENING, GOOD EVENING, GOOD
EVENING!
MY NAME IS NOEL LAFLIN AND IT IS BOTH MY
HONOR AND PRIVILEGE TO START THINGS TONIGHT BY FIRST WELCOMING ONE AND ALL –
BOYS AND GIRLS – YOUNG AND OLD - FORMER STUDENT OR FRIEND – SPOUSE, PARENT,
CHILD, SIBLING OR SIGNIFICANT OTHER PERHAPS GENTLY BRIBED HERE TONIGHT WITH THE
PROMISE OF A CHICKEN DINNER. AND IF YOU
WERE NOT ACQUAINTED WITH THE GUEST OF HONOR BEFORE THIS EVENING – I GUARANTEE
THAT YOU WILL BE DELIGHTED TO CALL HIM FRIEND BY THE CONCLUSION OF THESE FESTIVITIES!
You know, if Motel the tailor (of
“Fiddler on the Roof” fame) had only been a student of a certain man, for whom
we pay tribute to tonight – well, there just might have been some tweaking to
one of his verses. And it might have
gone something like this:
“Wonder of wonder, miracle of
miracles!
God took a student by the hand.
Turned him around and miracle of
miracles,
Led him to Jack Schlatterland!”
Now, my own expedition into Schlatterland
happened in the following fashion:
You see, I was a scared, lanky,
twelve-year-old when I chose my desk in seventh-grade American History
class. I looked about the classroom;
signs of all sizes adorned the four walls: "When The Going Gets Tough, The
Tough Get Going!” - "The Difficult We Do Immediately. The Impossible Takes A Little Longer.”
"This is American History?" I
mused. I checked my class schedule
again.
The final bell rang and latecomers raced
for unoccupied desks as we awaited adult tutelage.
Suddenly the door burst open and a man,
slightly disheveled in appearance, bound into our midst. His thinning hair was askew, as was his
narrow tie. Black suit and white dress
shirt were each in need of a press & tuck, respectively. His boyish face radiated warmth and
confidence. Mischief flickered in his
eyes. "Welcome to Sycamore Junior
High School. My name is Jack Schlatter. Is this history or drama?"
He checked his own desk schedule, then
winked.
You see, Jack Schlatter drew people to his
side, like moths to a flame. I soon took
every class he taught; speech, drama, summer school theater workshop. I sought membership into one of the school
clubs when I learned that he was the faculty advisor. I was not alone. On any given night one could walk down our
school halls by just following the heady pipe aroma and find students, parents
or faculty lingering outside his classroom spying on drama rehearsal for
"Our Town,” "The Miracle Worker" or "Anne Frank.” If we couldn't be part of the cast we'd volunteer
for any related job, just to be around this man's energy. He was tough but giving. He was the most positive individual I had
ever met. When reverse mysteriously gave
out on the transmission of his car, he merely said it was a reminder for him to
always go forward, think ahead, never retreat, never be in a position of having
to back up. I don't think he ever fixed
the problem with that car. Because, as
he so rightly reminded all of us, it was not a problem – but rather an
opportunity. But, hey, we were only
fourteen years old so we believed him.
As Thornton Wilder’s stage manger so
famously asks in Our Town:
“Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?”
Well, if they had ever had the privilege of being taught by the likes of
you, Jack Schlatter, they probably just might have.
Before I conclude, and pass along the
proverbial baton to others, I need to first extend some kudos to a few folks
who helped put this event together.
First and foremost, as she is far too modest to make it known publicly,
we need to thank Toni Encheff, who initially approached me with the idea of
creating this tribute. Quite simply put,
without her gentle persistence we would not be here this evening. Pulled quickly into our conspiracy was
Rosalie Schooler Smith and her daughter Amy.
Also joining in the fun were Carol Blackwood This, Marjie Blevins, Mark
Till, Pamla Manzar (for the wonderful individual chocolates and place
settings), Bill Beville, Roxanne and
Dave Hill as well as Melody Encheff. We
need to thank Danelle Till who worked from afar via the Our Town Remembers Face
book page posting daily quotes for two months.
Additionally, there are a couple of young men with video cameras who
have been roaming the room capturing the antics of many tonight. Thank you, David (of Sonora High School) for
volunteering at the last minute – or should I say thank you Marjie for bringing
David to our attention. And thank you
Charles for being here at the last minute to film as well. And for all the other unsung heroes who made
the trek from afar – and that would include the Philippines, Alaska, Oregon,
Northern California, etc. - just to be here tonight – THANK YOU! THANK YOU! THANK YOU!
Thus, like some of Jack’s magic pebbles or
wonderful gifts found by the side of this road we mutually traveled just to be
here tonight, the rekindled as well as newly made friendships turned into
unexpected diamonds.
So, why, you might ask have we gathered
here this fine evening?
I think that storyteller, Ray Bradbury,
may have summed it up best when he read aloud the note that he’d written to
himself and hidden away until rediscovered some forty years later in the poem
‘Remembrance’:
“Knowing (and I quote) one day I must arrive, come, seek, return.
From the young one to the old. From the me that was small and fresh to the me
that was large and no longer new.
What did it say (this note) that made me weep?
(it
said)
I remember you.
I remember you.”
You weren't fully aware of this production,
till now, dear teacher. But here's my
belated report. Your words and teachings
still resound. The teenage boy and
middle-aged man have finally met. Drama
is reality after all. Thank you for the
unexpected gift.
