Behind Success: A Memoir from the School of Hard Knocks

By Gil Francisco

Behind Success - "A Memoir from the School of Hard Knocks" is a novella recounting how the author's youth shaped him as a teacher, coach and administrator. As an urban high school principal, the author is driven to "affectionate nostalgia" after three conferences recall sorrows and triumphs of his early youth.
Based on true experiences, the central theme focuses on his reminiscences living on the tough streets of New York City during the 1950's and 1960's, a life that was filled with dangers, excitement, temptations and lessons. The lessons became the blueprint for his problem-solving and decision making.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781514407516

Gil Francisco

Gil Francisco" Suarez was born in Manhattan's West Side in a neighborhood near the northern end of Central Park once known as Manhattan Valley. A graduate of Cardinal Hayes High School in The Bronx, Gil pursued his undergraduate and graduate degrees in Kansas. His post graduate studies and certifications were received at Columbia University Teacher's College and New York University.

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Copyright © 2015 by Gil Francisco.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 11/05/2015

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CONTENTS

Chapter I: Tough Love

Chapter II: The Three Conferences

Chapter III: The Stickball Game

Chapter IV: Introduction to Racism

Chapter V: Busted

Chapter VI: The Belly of the Beast

Chapter VII: The Soap Box

Chapter VIII: The Wall of Fame

Epilogue

CHAPTER I

Tough Love

The appointment came within hours of her death, no time for mourning. The five years of watching her battle the dreaded disease that stole her keen intellect and precious memories rendered my eyes bone dry; there wasn’t a tear left to shed. Alzheimer’s disease ravaged Mom’s brain to the point that she didn’t remember how to swallow. Despite her advanced age, memory loss, and excruciating pain, her demise was a goodbye that arrived much too soon. It was around midnight, when the family was fast asleep, that I felt like an orphan.

Too young to remember his goodbye, my father’s parting left no tears or sighs. Not there to guide me at the start, all he left was a rock in my heart, the rock that would eventually become the source of my strength and tenacity. There was no understanding or reasons for his departure; it was never explained and never discussed. Nonetheless, it was Mom’s maternal instinct, guidance, and strength that instilled knock once, knock hard, the adage that let me know opportunity for a first impression comes once, that courage is better than cowardice, and that, when tested, come strong.

She would have said, No time to eulogize. Just do it. To this day her words, in Spanish, resonate loud and strong. Por esto naciste macho; this is why you were born a man. It was her favorite dictum in such situations.

All aspects of our youthful routines can best be described as no nonsense. To my grandmother’s chagrin, Mom’s philosophy was, If you’re in a dog fight, hit first and hit hard. I remember a bully named Tyler who was older, stronger, and enjoyed shoving my middle brother, Carlos, around. The bully had my sibling pinned against a ’61 Chevy. Carlos glanced up at our fifth floor window, and there was Mom staring down and waiting. Suddenly, there was a left hook to the side of Tyler’s head. Tyler never bothered Carlos again. There certainly was a method to her madness.

Filling the roles of mother and father left no room for the tenderness she displayed later in life with her grandchildren. The kids had her wrapped around their fingers as she caved to their every whim. Bedtime at Grandma’s was never an issue. My children would hop in her bed in their pajamas at 6 pm so they could have "dibs on who would get to sleep with Grandma.

One Christmas I remember my son Jeremy yelling, Grandma gave me fifty dollars!

For what? I asked.

Candy!

A thought raced through my mind: Where the in the world was this woman when I was growing up?

My youngest brother’s death, the event that not only set Mom’s Alzheimer’s disease in gear but tested our family core and fabric, was one of two events that saw her eyes well with tears. It was early in the morning on September 11, 1995, when we received a knock on the door. My brother Carlos was the bearer of news he couldn’t coherently express. However, his bloodshot eyes and mournful expression were not illegible; they suggested something was terribly amiss.

Ernesto… has been hurt, he said, taking long pauses between his words. He is in a hospital in The Bronx… We have to claim his body.

My entire being was deflated upon hearing those words. The trip to The Bronx seemed an eternity. After identifying and claiming Ernie’s body, we finally arrived at Mom’s home at 5 am. She looked at us, her instinct at its keenest, and there was no need to explain. Mom keeled over and wept uncontrollably. Her baby was gone. Ernie had suffered a bullet through the heart as he intervened in a barroom brawl.

Watching me leave home to pursue a college education in Kansas was the only other time I witnessed my mother cry, but those were tears of joy. Her eldest was going away to college, the first to reach that pinnacle on our side of the family. Teaching and coaching was the logical path for me to follow. So many educators and coaches had influenced my life and were behind my success. It was a decision I’ve never regretted.

"When teaching beckons, follow her.

Teaching is the art of creating thoughts and experiences.

Experiences inspire, motivate and guide,

as you awaken wisdom deep inside.

Experiences give faith through leadership,

as one directs students through the threshold of their own minds.

Intuition, curiosity, empathy and creativity are all there,

instilling a balance between reason and passion as one seeks a truth.

Teaching is to give unconditionally to the task at hand.

When teaching beckons, follow her."

Leaving Manhattan’s West Side in 1967 and going to what many of my friends called The Land of Oz was culture shock. However, it was just the type of social trauma I needed. Kansas was truly an experience. The words Toto, there is a feeling we’re not in Manhattan anymore kept running through my mind. Those were the years I looked inside and found myself. I have my college coach and the People of the South Wind, with their strong will, embracing warmth, and sharp wit, to thank for that discovery.

New Yorkers, for the most part, are cold and accept outsiders only on their own terms. But if there is a crisis, our true grit and compassion jump to the forefront. Just reflect back to 9/11 and how New Yorkers responded: there were so many unsung heroes on that day. On the other hand, a smile and hello from a stranger on the street means you should check your pockets.

Given this, Kansas felt like a different world. In Kansas, greetings from total strangers were frequent and heartfelt. Not reciprocating was considered unfittin’. It was in the Midwest where I learned the common sense social graces that later in life labeled me a people person. Studying at a Methodist college and playing for a tough as nails coach, an inductee in five different Halls of Fame, tempered the natural aggressiveness and boldness that come with being a native New Yorker. No excuses; this is how we’re packaged.

Upon my return from the Midwest, good fortune waited. I was told, You will teach special education and coach cross country and basketball.

My eyes opened wide as I said, Cross country? Basketball? But I played baseball in college.

Mr. Klein, the athletic director, blew off my concern in