By George A. Gelish (Class of ’74)
The
once-majestic beauty of its structures now stands crumbling for all the world
to see. The towering marble staircase is warped
and cockeyed. Sections of the brick
esplanade overlooking the parade field are collapsed. The iron windows of the old mansion are rusted and eaten
through. Even the statue of the Virgin
is gone from the grotto now.
The signs of poor
fiscal health had long been visible at the old school - the little bits of
maintenance that were skipped; the corners that were cut to make ends
meet. And so it came as a shock but
hardly a surprise when La Salle Military Academy… er, La Salle Center…
announced that it was closing its doors this past February.
It was more years ago
than I care to consider, but I remember it like it was yesterday. Flash back to September, 1970. I was fourteen - disoriented and terrified;
scanning the big yellow halls in awe for the first time. I can still smell the fresh-waxed floors and
the freshly painted walls. But what I
remember most was the fear.
Most kids have a hard
enough time as high school freshmen, but we had to earn the right to be
one. As Plebes (“The lowest form of
life on Earth,” as we were reminded daily) we were required to wear combat
boots, run between buildings, make military-style pivots at corners, and sing
the school song on demand. Not to
mention “bracing,” in which the Plebe squeezes his chin against the collarbone
to compress the flesh under his neck into pleats. For better or worse, every graduate carries these experiences
with him.
I’ve
always had mixed feelings about the old school. Part of me has always loved it; another has always loved to hate
it. In my younger days it represented
the Establishment I wanted to destroy, only to find myself a part of in the
end.
La
Salle has set itself apart with the men (and women) it has sent out into the
world. This “Long Gray Line” of former
cadets ranges from the distinguished to the notorious. Former White House Chief of Staff John
Sununu, Nicaraguan dictator Anastasio Somoza, former Congressman John Murphy,
and former Suffolk County Executive Peter Cohalan come to mind offhand. Even among my own classmates I see men who
have taken their place in the world and done their share with distinction.
The school will be
holding its last commencement this weekend.
We all mourn the passing of La Salle but the saddest part is that there
will be no new graduates taking their place among its alumni, renowned and
infamous. The “Long Gray Line” has come
to an end; there will be no others to join it.
We the alumni shall
remember and revere our Alma Mater, until there are none left.