TWO CLASS OF 1960 DUDES, TOM PATURZO BAKER AND DEWAIN LANFEAR

By TOM PATURZO BAKER

Class of 1960

The photograph was taken when I was 33 years old for my promotion to Captain. Prior to that I was a Criminal Investigation Command warrant officer and special agent.

I was in the regular Army for three years and in the Army Reserve Program for 22 years. I retired in 1993 at the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. I also served as a military police officer.

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By DEWAIN LANFEAR

Class of 1960

I was back to Levittown a few years ago after being away for over 10 years. Even when I was teaching there I didn't drive through the streets, just to school and home. I was pretty clueless regarding the extensive remodeling that had taken place. I think most of the houses that were changed look great even if it is difficult to see the original peeking through. You may remember that some people in surrounding towns opposed Levittown on the grounds that it would be a slum in a few years. Wrong!

An anecdote for you. On this visit to Levittown, I went for a run and traveled down Daisy Lane, my former street. When I got to my house, a man was mowing the lawn, and I asked him if he was the owner (Levittowners now have lawn service! In our day WE were the lawn service) He said he was and I told him I had lived there 50 (OMG) years ago.

He asked if I wasn't Mr. Lanfear who taught English at DAHS and when I admitted it, he said he had been in my class. At that point I recognized him too: his name is Greg Ward. He said my initials were still in the backyard patio and they still had some "artifacts" from those days, such as the cement block that was the counter balance for the attic trap door. If that isn't a typical Levittown story, I don't know what is.

Thank you Mr. Fricke for helping to mold my development

Division Avenue High School yearbook photos of Mr. Fricke in 1960 and 1975

By Tom Paturzo Baker, 1960

I can walk the halls of Division Avenue High School in my mind. The trips from one class to the other, not simply the floor plan, but also the teachers who taught the courses emerge in my memory. Occasionally, we encounter a teacher who literally sculptures our personality. This was case of my art teacher, Mr. Harold Fricke, a gentleman and scholar.

His class was a form of emotional therapy; he influenced my appreciation for the finer things in life. More importantly, he helped me understand myself. It was in his class that I formed a clay sculpture. Life is similar to sculpturing clay, as one peels off the layers to self and strives to declare a finished product.

At times, I would inflict my frustrations on the clay and later destroy my efforts. My art teacher would ask insightfully, “How are you feeling today.” On the day before wrestling matches, he would take away my project and lock it up securely. He would comment: “Tommy, just sit, otherwise, you’re are going to destroy your art project!”

He knew me better than I knew myself. Walking away to help other students, his words still echo in my mind. His understanding and compassion is the hallmark of a great teacher. I can remember him like it was yesterday, in his tailored suit, never a wrinkle, and a shade of Cary Grant in his walk and demeanor.

His class and that human sculpture helped me find the way that semester. The project was that of a muscular man; each deliberate touch peeled away the layers of my own feelings. I painted the sculpture black and posed him in a posture of shear desperation, head and eyes facing down.

Realizing later how people failed to achieve equality around the world, I understood how the clay sculpture not only reflected my struggle to become a person, but also the struggle of humanity.

Mr. Fricke was delighted with my final clay sculpture. I failed to appreciate the results and the artistic abstraction at the time. The prism of maturity and retrospective refection allows me to fully appreciate the essence of the meaning of the sculpture. Mr. Fricke molded my development and character, as I molded the clay. I am still in the process of creating my sculpture; however, today he would have his head up and eyes to the sky.

Thank you Mr. Fricke for helping to mold my development

Long-time Division Avenue High School art teacher Harold Fricke

By Tom Paturzo Baker 1960
I can walk the halls of Division Avenue High School in my mind. The trips from one class to the other, not simply the floor plan, but also the teachers who taught the courses emerge in my memory. Occasionally, we encounter a teacher who literally sculptures our personality. This was case of my art teacher, a gentleman and scholar.

His class was a form of emotional therapy; he influenced my appreciation for the finer things in life. More importantly, he helped me understand myself. It was in his class that I formed a clay sculpture. Life is similar to sculpturing clay, as one peels off the layers to self and strives to declare a finished product.

At times, I would inflict my frustrations on the clay and later destroy my efforts. My art teacher would ask insightfully, “How are you feeling today.” On the day before wrestling matches, he would take away my project and lock it up securely. He would comment: “Tommy, just sit, otherwise, you’re are going to destroy your art project!”

He knew me better than I knew myself. Walking away to help other students, his words still echo in my mind. His understanding and compassion is the hallmark of a great teacher. I can remember him like it was yesterday, in his tailored suit, never a wrinkle, and a shade of Cary Grant in his walk and demeanor.

His class and that human sculpture helped me find the way that semester. The project was that of a muscular man; each deliberate touch peeled away the layers of my own feelings. I painted the sculpture black and posed him in a posture of shear desperation, head and eyes facing down.

Realizing later how people failed to achieve equality around the world, I understood how the clay sculpture not only reflected my struggle to become a person, but also the struggle of humanity.

Mr. Fricke was delighted with my final clay sculpture. I failed to appreciate the results and the artistic abstraction at the time. The prism of maturity and retrospective refection allows me to fully appreciate the essence of the meaning of the sculpture. Mr. Fricke molded my development and character, as I molded the clay. I am still in the process of creating my sculpture; however, today he would have his head up and eyes to the sky.