A Son’s Tribute

 

My mother is an angel.

Not in the spiritual sense but in the more important sense; she was put on this earth to help others.

She would be the last to say she is an angel. She is very humble and thinks of herself as not very bright or knowledgeable.

She is an angel.

Everyone she has ever known who has suffered through personal tragedy especially the death of a person they loved will agree. Just like an angel she arrives. When needed, her angel words bring comfort. There is no limit to her angel time. She comes to listen, to make sure you know you are not alone. She wants you to know that things will be better. She understands the loss you are feeling. She checks in on you.

My mom has courage.

She does what she believes is right, even though it is difficult for her. She is not one to tell people off, but she will eventually tell them when she believes they are wrong.

Lately her chosen method has been audiotape. In a very gentle clam voice she makes the case for doing what is right. She lets her children have it, gently, but you know she feels change is needed.

Angels stick by you forever, looking just over your shoulder, even when they are shorter than you, whispering reminders. Growing up, it was a running conversation that I can still hear  “You boys need to…” whether it was chores, working in the field, changing clothes or doing homework.

As we grew older the conversations from mom were less frequent. I think she was angeling my sisters and brothers. Sometimes on trips home from college the conversations took place on a Saturday morning. She was always moving, working cleaning. We had debates while she dusted. Today I think she kept moving because I would generate such emotional energy she had to use it or explode at me. Her beliefs were always clear whether she agreed with me or not. Most of the time we did not agree.

Sometimes I have to admit I would say things to get a rise out of her. She was quite sensitive about religon and her beliefs. She still is. Angels are like that, strong in their faith.

However angels are not zealots. They know their mission is to connect with those they guard. You can’t connect with someone if they turn you off, so she always stays connected.

I learned about the difficult world of the great depression through her eyes. The destitute circumstances and poverty of a family of 16 children (14 survived to adulthood) living in the most economicically difficult time in America. Tom Brokaw labeled them “The Greatest Generation”.  The generation accomplished much, but what makes them great in my eyes are the gifts of courage and hope given by individuals like Mom and Dad and passed on to us.

My grandparents farmed with horses and my parents walked to the country school. They lived on Grandpa James Ryan’s farm outside of Rock Falls. It was located just down Route 40  (old route 88) and south of Star Road (Rt 172). The school they attended was Banes School. The school was just east of route 40. It has been converted into a home. There were such poor crops and little income they ate left over cornbread and wore work overalls to school. About 1934, my grandparents lost the Ryan farm and the family moved to the Clark farm near the current Whiteside County airport.

During the winter of 1936 they were snowed in from January 22 through February 20. That summer, the hottest summer on record,  they slept outside at night. The crops failed, the horses died and still they managed to survive. They read by kerosene lamp, as there was no electricity in the rural areas. They all suffered, but the family was close. They all worked. My mom developed strength of character that would carry her through many more difficult times.

She left high school just before her senior year when her family moved from the Mansfield farm outside of Rock Falls.

Mom was needed at home to help her mother care for the boys who would stay home and help Grandpa Roy work the 800 acre Uttly farm in Erie. Only younger siblings would finish high school.

Mom didn’t consider herself a strong student and may have thought quitting was the best. Changing high schools was a dramatic thing in my years, and perhaps she didn’t want to start over.  I am sure her obligation to the family was the greater reason. Mom would stay at home because that was what was needed. The country was at war and her family needed her.

World War Two thundered on. Mom watched as her brothers left for the army. The youngest were not drafted. They were needed at home to provide the crops and care for the livestock needed to win the war. Such was the case with my Dad.

Dad was stubborn and in his 20’s and the clash of cultures from the old country to the new didn’t make for a warm father-son relationship. Perhaps the loss of his wife in 1943 made Grandpa Camille bitter. However, being stubborn is a Laleman family trait. A Laleman is never wrong, making life with one difficult. Dad and his sister Ann farmed the 400 acre Seaholm farm between Erie and Prophetstown.

The clash of the cultures could not last. Living with his gruff Belgian father who ruled the home with grunts and Belgian Flemish was too much for him to accept. He enlisted in the army. Two weeks before he was to report for service, his father went to the draft board and said he was needed on the farm. His older brother was serving in Europe. The draft board agreed and Dad returned to farm. He told his father he wanted his own house, regular wages,  and that he wanted to marry. His father agreed to rent him a small house and Dad agreed to run the farm alone. They were married a few weeks later.

She would be married to this young first generation Belgian American. Her older sister had waited for years to be married. Her parents could not afford two weddings and two receptions. Her sister received the church wedding and reception. She and Dad were married in a church, but the reception was at the farm. Her parents could not afford a wedding cake, so her sisters combined their money to buy one for her. The wedding photo of the couple and the cake has a barn in the background.  She was not yet 20 years old.

She was the Irish girl that never felt accepted by his Belgian father and siblings. Dad was the youngest male and obligated by tradition to stay on the family farm and help his father. He was tender and loving in contrast to his father. Working for his father was not what he wanted or what she wanted, but it was their obligation and they tried to make the best of it. By the fall, they were again in conflict with Grandpa. Uncle Frank was home from the war and interested in making up for time lost. The war ended and his brother returned to farm as well. He felt no obligation to work or be responsible after the time he spent in the war. He had served his country and now he wanted to have a good time. There were two Laleman sons working the farm with their unappeasable father.

Finally they had enough. His brother took their car and didn’t return. Dad couldn’t get to Grandpa’s to do the chores. Another augment raged.

Dad and Mom found a job as a farm hand for Gladys and Doc Cartwright in Milledgeville. They left Grandpa and Frank. Like the flight to Egypt, they left Grandpa’s home on short notice to escape to a new life. Having spent her entire life close to her family and home, my Mom moved away. As a new mother she faced uncertain times and no security. They were hired hands. While living in Milledgeville, Ron was born in Morrison in January 1946.

She was strong and prayed. Their new employers saw the quality of their character and they became life long friends.

Grandpa was left alone on the large farm. His oldest son lived away and worked in the city. His next oldest was back from the army and not willing to work. The girls had families and farms of their own. After pleading by Grandpa’s oldest son, Felix, Dad and Mom agreed to return that spring to farm with Frank. . Grandpa Laleman agreed to new terms of living. The birth of his red haired grandson brought much praise from his Belgian-speaking grandfather. He was the first-born grandson and his hair was Belgian (or Irish) red. However, Grandpa continued to rule the farm and would not tolerate a son questioning authority. His grandson’s mother was Irish and she didn’t speak the language. She was quiet and didn’t stand up to him. But like all angels she was strong.

Then the river flooded the farm.

They worked all that spring to clean up the mess. Still old culture doesn’t die and the new life returned to the old life. Perhaps the landlord had also had enough, or feared the young brothers as tenants, or wanted more profit. He rented to others. The Laleman brothers moved out to farm another place outside of Prophetstown. Grandpa would move in with his daughter and sell off what ever he owned.

My Mom was from the deeply religious family; Frank’s wife ran a bar. The brothers were both Laleman’s. The partnership was doomed from the outset. My parents moved from the large farmhouse to the small tenant house down the road. It was infested with rats and mice, and her sisters and brothers came to help clean the house for the growing family. She became my Mom in December 1947. Before the end of the decade they had moved to separate farms. For the first time Mom with two sons had her own home.

The Springhill farm was productive and the landlord wanted to sell to them. Steve was born, and they wanted to have a place of their own, but lacked the down payment. Dad returned to his father to borrow money. Probably this was one of the most difficult times in his life. He had to lower his pride and ask for help.

The help was not available. His older sister and her husband had asked first for help buying a farm. Grandpa could not or would not help both. She prayed and yet it was not to be. They had to move again as the farm was sold to others.

It would be the next place where she and Dad would raise their family. The farm was poor quality, but it was large enough for a family. The house was big and drafty and hard to heat; the sandy soil seeped through the windows carried by the constant wind. Four children would be born while they lived there. The two oldest would leave for college from there, and one would leave for the army. This was where she would teach the lessons of her life to her children. This is where respect and hard work were taught. This is where the culture of the youth of 30’s depression, which would question little, would clash with the youth of the 60’s who would question everything. This was where the next generation of willful Lalemans would fail to listen to the last generation of Lalemans. This is where the Saturday dust and debate events would occur. This was where she would be shocked by what was said to her and yet never let go of her beliefs or her composure. This was her home.

Mom and Dad welcomed everyone. The kitchen table was the favorite place for my aunts and uncles to visit. My parents were not party people and rarely left home for entertainment. What made them special was their willingness to give time to others. They would listen to others in good and difficult times. It was at these tables I learned to talk “farm” and to listen to how people expressed their feelings.

My Mom has a gift for listening. She also has a gift for gently giving advice without seeming to tell one what to do. She believes strongly, but does not preach.

Dad would discover he had a serious heart condition. In the early 60’s he almost died from a weak heart. He could lift only 5 pounds, much too weak to farm. She was scared and prayed. She had her boys to help and they did. She wanted an education for them and did not ask them to stay home. When the time for college came, she and Dad said they could not help with money. The lessons learned from hard work on the farm were put to work as my brother and I obtained off farm jobs to pay our way through college. After a time Dad got stronger, and later, we went off to college. She prayed he would survive and that God would take care of them.

As with all angels, she, on occasion, had to steer the course of a life. In each case she intervened when needed. Our changing beliefs, desire to drink and have fun and focus on rights rather than our obligations, generated “the letter”. Each of us in time was given the direction she felt we needed. Although she felt her education was inferior, she knew we needed her guidance toward a life based on values. She was right, but we didn’t know it at the time. We did, however, respect that she had told us. Some parents want to tell their children everything and never let them grow up. Some parents want their children to like them and let them enjoy life. My Mom wanted us to be good people and she told us when we needed to be told.

My Mom had the courage to make the difficult decision, which is the last step of parenting. She told us when it was time to go. Like a bird pushing a fledging from the nest, she knew when we had to leave or we could never become adults. For each of us this was difficult and we did not take it well. We thought it would be tough doing our own laundry and paying rent. Imagine how hard it was on her to push away a son. Each of us, in his own way, later on tried to thank her for that time. It was a time we needed to become adults and she had the courage to say so.

Twenty years after they moved to Geneseo the opportunity for a quality farm arrived. It would be good land with wonderful buildings and a modern house. It would be their dream, but hiding behind that dream was a nightmare. It came with a landlord who was of low character, and who so angered my Dad that he could not stand to be in his presence. An argument with this person ended with the last words spoken by my father.

It was in her 28^th year of marriage that she received her next mission in life. One wonders why misfortune happens. We often say “Why me”. She lost her husband when she was only 48 years old. She had four children still at home; the youngest was only 12. She had no education, no job and no farm to sell. They had no saving except for the equipment they used to farm. She was lost and she prayed. Even angels need to talk to God now and then. When she was alone, she talked to my deceased father and this helped calm her and decide what she was to do.

The lessons of the difficult decades of the 30’s and 40’s led her to know there was hope. Her faith provided her comfort and her courage carried her through. She found a home, a job and a life in town. She found what it takes to survive as single mother. She learned what was needed to comfort others in time of death as she sought her own comfort.

She found another husband who also suffered the loss of a spouse. The two of them started a new life that was less difficult financially, but added more children to guide. For the first time, she traveled and had a winter home, but she did not stop improving the lives of those struck by loss.

Ever since the death of my father she has fulfilled her mission in life with regularity. She visits and calls parents when they lose a child. She checks on the wives after they lose a husband. She calls and writes to husbands who lose wives.

Whether death comes as a horrific accident and sudden loss or through the gradual decline of one’s health, she is there to comfort. Angels never go off duty, and she is vigilant in her mission. Through the tragic loss of her first husband she has learned to help others. Her faith in God and her talent for listening make her perfect comfort for those lost in tragedy. The number of people she has comforted is probably staggering, but she would never pause to count them.

So an angel received her wings from heartbreak. Her wings are invisible, but they are there. As a result of her pain and difficulty in life she has found how to lift up others. She experienced deep love by two husbands and uncounted people who know her as Betty.

Often as an educator I am asked who influenced me to become a teacher; who was my most influential teacher. Mine is an angel.

AVC Hello and Goodbye Mac

My boss, Robert, had a vision for the implementation of microcomputer technology at the high school level. He could clearly see the opportunity for students and staff. For this to happen, he needed me to assist with office staff and grant applications.

Robert has successfully brought administrative computing to the Adult Education office, which he managed daily. He also initiated a number of adult education courses using microcomputer software for spreadsheets, word processing and data bases. The computers were all TRS-80's (Tandy Radio Shack). They were nicknamed Trash 80's, but they worked quite well. They did not have graphics and other cute things like the Apple I had tried in Saybrook.

 I had day-to-day management of the Area Vocational Center, which included all student and most staff issues. After my secretary’s disaster with VEDS running on an Apple II, I had to find a way to bring staff to computing for record keeping. The old record keeping was effective, but slow. Somehow I had to convince her to embrace another program. I decided the only way to support the effort was to become knowledgeable enough to trouble shoot a database program, so I took it home.

With a borrowed TRS-80 computer, I spend the week-end self-learning all the ins and outs of using a database. I made all the mistakes, but eventually learned how the software worked and why it failed. With confidence that I could assist, I asked my secretary to again put faith in using the computer to track student enrollment and attendance.

She accepted my offer for support, and began to track student data on our simple database. With success, came more interest. With my success, I realized I must take classes to bring myself into a leadership and support role.

Robert’s plan to upgrade the business courses from typing and bookkeeping to software management required funds. Our funding basically paid for staff with little extra for equipment. However, we had the opportunity to apply for funds for vocational training through a Judge School Educational Trust . This trust was established as part of settlement agreement for the use of funds remaining after all of the heirs of Judge Scott had deceased.

With the assistance of the teachers, we drafted grants for a business computing lab, computers and software for the auto mechanics lab, CNC (computerized numeric control) for the metal shop, computers for the CWT, ICE, DE (work cooperative classes), and upgrades for furniture and equipment in child care classroom.  All of these grants were funded and we were well on the way to using computers for vocational classes.

The business computing lab was to be on MS-DOS (Micro-Soft Disc Operation System) machines or as we called them "IBM clone". There were many companies selling software for Apple, Radio Shack, Digital and other systems. All of the microcomputers ran at 48 K speeds. .They  ran on Apple DOS or TRS-DOS. None of them communicated with each other. 

 Once IBM entered the market, it dominated with its micro-computers. These were later  called "PC".The most popular software for business were Lotus 1,2,3 and WordPerfect. Both of these ran on MS-DOS machines and some of the other platforms. Bill Gates stroke of genius was to licence his MS-DOS software rather than sell it to IBM. His decision lead to an explosion of IBM clones that were cheaper, but ran all the same software.. This is how Micro-soft became such a giant in the industry. Our new machines for business  were to be 128K, while the Auto shop machines weer Apple IIe.

An upgrade to the office computing involved trying out the new Macintosh. The year was 1984. Robert bought two and told me to learn how to use it. This machine was a strange little machine with its tiny black and white screen. It had  tiny slit for a hard plastic disc, which looked like a mouth and this thing called a “mouse”. It was all one piece as opposed to the multiple devices  (disc drives, CRT) connected to standard microcomputers. It was small and sat on my desk. It seemed a step back because we had already moved to color CRT for most of our new computers. (CRT stands for cathode ray tube or basically a TV screen). 

I found the mouse a little awkward and the computer seemed more like a toy. I had mastered basic commands in DOS and found the graphics slow. I did enjoy the graphics editing, but saw little practical use for it.

After a few weeks, I returned the Mac to Robert. He gave it to one of the teachers. This was to be the last time I would work with an Apple computer.

When Computers Came to School (the first of several stories)

Today they are ubiquitous.( I learned that word while learning how to complete technology grants!). Not only does every school have them in every room, everyone is carrying around a cell phone with enough capacity to send someone to the moon. In fact, they have more capacity than the computers on the moon missions.

So I witnessed it all and participated in the transformation of knowledge and research. This is the story of what I witnessed as learning became transformed.

It was 1981. The first computer arrived in my office while I was principal at Saybrook-Arrowsmith. It was an Apple II. It wasn’t the more powerful IIe and it wasn’t the white color Apple famous with the early machines. It was a black Apple.

Before the Apple store, there was no real network for the sale of Apple computers outside of big cities. There was no internet, so Apples were sold by resellers. One of the largest was Bell and Howell. Bell and Howell already had the schools as clients for their projector equipment. Apple made the black version for B&H to sell to schools.

Thus arrived the black Apple II in my principal’s office with an attached disk drive. Included was one program on a floppy disk (really they were floppy). It was “Oregon Trail”. The computer in my office was one of two the superintendent had purchased for the school district. She was from the Chicago suburbs where they had money for such frills. We were given the computer and a manual on something called Apple DOS, and instructions how to play the “learning” game.

My most vivid first memory is of my custodian Kevin’s  father, Phil, sitting in front of the computer. Phil was an old guy, worked as a carpenter, and was generally known for being able to fix anything. He had never seen anything like this Apple. I tried to show him how to make choices in the game with the keyboard. He sat way back more than an arm’s length from the machine and carefully reached out toward the keyboard. It was the same approach one might have while reaching into a cage of poisonous snakes.Phil gingerly touched a key on the computer and quickly pulled his hand back, as if it would bite. The computer played a little song as the game proceeded. He never touched it again.

One thing the computer people would often tell us is that we couldn’t break the computer. However we discovered we could easily screw it up. Often we couldn’t figure out how to solve the problem we had created. Thus began the era where the kids would be teaching the adults how the thing worked and we discovered that turning the computer off and on fixed it. Leaving it off even seemed a better idea.

We were still teaching typing and bookkeeping at SA and there were no computers in any of those classes. We were lucky to even have a few electric typewriters, so computers for business were not going to happen. The Apples were a novelty, and attempt by the superintendent to bring the district into a new era. It didn’t work.

I left SA for the Bloomington Area Vocational Center, where things were happening in computers. AVC offered courses in computer programming, but not on the small personal computers like Apple. AVC also offered work on TRS 80 computers in the business classes, but there were only a few computers in the typing labs.

One of my first assignments was to bring computer technology into the AVC office. The state of Illinois and federal government required much record keeping for vocational programs. This was because vocational programs received special funding separate from general funds. The government gave money, but wanted records to prove how it was spent. Important in these records was proof that funds being spent equitably to all sub groups of the population. 

The ultimate record of programs was called the Vocational Education Data System (VEDS). This massive record was intended to show the enrollment in vocational training by gender, race, ethnic group etc. Each program at AVC (there were over 20) had to break the student enrollment down in the report. To make it easier to complete, the State Board of Education developed a computerized version to run on an Apple II. It took hours to enter the data, it ran for hours computing the results, and after 24 hours of running continuously, crashed. It could not be restarted.

The secretary who entered all of the data almost had a nervous breakdown. It all occurred just before I arrived, but the damage was immediately apparent. Bringing computer technology into the office was going to be a combination of pushing and persuading and lots of hand holding. The problem was I knew little about computers and nothing about using computers in business. After all, my only experience was successfully completing “Oregon Trail” without dying.

Rocket Man and kids and woman

One of the extracurricular activities I began at Albany was another science spin off. I had always been interested in flying models. The problem is that flying airplanes are expensive, even if you build one. Balsa wood planes are cheaper to build, but require more patience and only use rubber bands for propulsion.

Then I discovered model rockets. These were relatively inexpensive and easy to build. There were various levels of skill needed, but all models could fly. I bought my first rocket kit and proceeded to get into the sky. We started simply and I used my car battery to ignite the rockets.

There are many lessons to learn from launching rockets. Many are safety related, like locking out the launch button until everyone is clear. Often a launch would fail, and we had to be cautious about approaching a failed launch as occasionally it was just a delayed ignition. We learned to carefully install igniters to reduce failures.

We also learned that careful construction was important. Loose fins can turn a vertical launch into a horizontal one. We had several close calls with broken rockets. Field repairs also didn’t work well, as re-gluing fins doesn’t make for safe rockets on launch day.

Many students enjoyed participating and chasing down parachute returns. This  was almost more fun than blast off. This may be because the rockets are so fast you can barely see them take off. Kids of all ages could help chase it down. The drift down is slow, unless the ‘chute doesn’t open.

We had several ‘chute failures. We learned that being careful installing the ‘chute was important and that the nose cone needed be carefully fit. Too loose, and the ‘chute wouldn’t be pushed out enough to deploy, too tight and the ‘chute would melt and not deploy. Rockets without working parachutes became fast descending projectiles and resulted in a dangerous and destroyed rocket stuck in the ground.

We also learned that higher is not better, as many rockets drifted a long ways on descent. Although the school grounds were a good place to launch, descending rockets could drift off site into trees. We lost a few to rocket eating trees.

My interest was shared with my science students and eventually we had a rocket club. I purchased launching equipment and the adventure blasted off. Students used their model rocket projects for science fair projects as well.

My personal interest continued and both my son, Scott, and daughter, Sarah became interested in flying the models. I continued to build more elaborate rockets which cost more. The bigger kits came with options like two stage rockets.

As we got more elaborate we tried bigger engines. We lost quite a few this way. We moved to more open fields, but we still had fun. We moved into two stage rockets which we so fast and high, they rarely lasted more than one launch.

I continued to build model rockets after I left teaching. Scott and Sarah always enjoyed the launches. Scott got the bug and built many models. We found a place to launch in an open lot near our home.

My last build was model of the space shuttle. It was elaborately detailed and quite heavy. Scott and I launched it several times. We landed it on the roof of the Motel 6 and I thought it was gone forever. Scott went to the hotel and got it back. I finally decided to retire from building and flying.

While I was principal at Irving, one of the teachers, Carole, became interested in building model rockets with her students. She used the rockets as a teaching tool and did annual launches.

I gave Carole my space shuttle. She told me recently she still has it, but has retired it from launches. Although she is retired, she continues to “do rockets” with kids. I am glad something that is so much fun continues to be shared.

Last winter, Scott, invited us to join him and his daughters at a park near a grocery store. He set up a rocket launch with his girls. They enjoyed chasing down descending rockets and he let Rachel launch one. Unfortunately Scott, like his father, has bigger engine-itis. The bigger engine put the drifting rocket on the roof of the grocery store. It is probably still up there.