Our Town Remembers: Welcoming remarks for tribute to Jack Schlatter

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.