Seventy-five years ago each summer the epicenter of activity for us teenage boys living on “Hilltop” was the side porch of the Rothermunds’ home on Chartiers Street. Bob, Dick, and Ron were always in the midst of organizing some exciting activity.
It might be touch football or one hoop basketball on Lafayette Street, or softball in Crums’ field. One summer we were more ambitious; we organized the “Hilltop Hellcats” and trudged down to the high school to play baseball against “Wagners’ team” eaxh day. Our uniform was a black ball cap, with “HH” emblazoned on the front in chalk. If we ended up with more runs than our opponents, we declared victory. If they scored more than we did, we found an excuse and declared “This game is being played under protest!”
When the weather was bad we played board games – “Mr. Ree” (a predecessor to Clue), “Foto-Electric Football”, or our favorite, “All Star Baseball”. In the summer of 1948 eight of us modelled the American League with each of us taking a team and playing a round robin schedule. My team was the St. Louis Browns, the worst team in baseball. I crowned myself Manager of the Year when I managed to come in seventh.
Dick was my age and my best friend throughout high school. When we were in grade school he was in the other homeroom, but once we got to seventh grade we began to have classes together. Dick possessed all the skills I lacked. He was a good pianist, a fine singer, an excellent dancer, and a skillful basketball player.
When we were Juniors, sixteen years old, we had dates for the Junior Prom, access to our parents’ automobiles, and no drivers’ licenses. We began a weekly schedule of failing the drivers’ test that was terminated just a week before the Prom when I finally was able to pass.
Dick, Bob Baldwin, Leonard Styche, and I easily gravitated into a clique. By the time we were Seniors we were well in control of student activities. Bob was President of our class; I was Vice President; Dick was Social Chairman; and Leonard was President of the Student Council. Socially, culturally, and intellectually we functioned as a unit, a unit that disintegrated when we each went our separate ways off to college.
Dick studied Industrial Engineering at Pitt, graduated Summa cum Laude, and took a job with J & L Steel in Cleveland. He was drafted a few months later and ended up spending a year and a half in the Army in Japan, an experience he enjoyed more than I did my similar assignment.
After we returned from the service, our friendship was renewed. I frequently played golf with him and Ron. Their golf game was an order of magnitude better than mine, but they always were willing to put up with me.
Dick and I also shared an appreciation of jazz and occasionally would spend Saturday evenings enjoying it. The Suburban Room in Dormont was a good place to hear Harold Betters. Even better was the Point View Hotel in Brentwood where Tommy Turk and the Deuces Wild performed.
The Rothermunds had a summer cottage at Van Buren Point on Lake Erie; Dick ended up owning it in later years and moved there for the summer as soon as the weather began to warm up. In 1960 my brother and I spent a very enjoyable weekend there with the whole Rothermund family. I am sure golf was our excuse for visiting, but spending a weekend with the family was a real treat.
Dick and I drifted apart after I got married and had no time available for weekend golf or Saturday night jazz clubs. Fortunately however, after one of our high school reunions, Sam Capozzoli suggested that we local alumni of the BHS Class of 1949 get together regularly for brunch.
This was a great idea and soon our group had grown to nine, with Dick a prominent member. We met religiously on the first Wednesday of each month and had a great time reliving our youth and resolving the current problems facing society. Late in the Spring we would bid Dick goodbye as he left for his cottage, and welcome John Rosa a few weeks later when he arrived from Arizona for the summer.
The ’49ers Brunch Club has shrunk with the passing of Don Schullek, Ray Fagan, Jack McGrogan, and Dick. Fortunately a handful of other BHS alumni – Alfred Barzan, Russ Kovach, Dale DeBlander, and my brother – have been recruited to swell our ranks a little.
Fifteen years ago Ray Fagan suddenly announced “Fellows, we are now the Seventies Club”, in recognition of our advanced ages. It was an easy transition from that appellation to “the Octogenarian Brunch Club” ten years later. The day after Dick’s Memorial Service the Octogenarian Brunch Club officially celebrated his life and our memories of him.
It was indeed my privilege to be Dick’s best friend when we were in high school. My memories of him are precious; I regret that I was not a better friend to him after we became adults.