THE SONS OF WILKERSON



In 1978-79, I was a 10th grader fortunate enough be in a World Cultures class with many of the brightest, best people I have ever known, guided by the estimable Dr. Ron Wilkerson. As our 30th high school reunion approaches, it is time to retell the story of the Sons of Wilkerson.


There were a lot of amazing things that we did and learned in that class. My big early-year paper was a biography of Thomas More. Boy, did I put a lot of work into that thing. There was exhaustive research in the musty central stacks of Pattee Library at Penn State, riding up and down in awesome old school manual elevators. I read and dissected More's masterwork Utopia, as well as translations of one of his mentors, Erasmus. I dug through controversial biographies that emphasized More's executions of Lutherans as Lord Chancellor. A mistake-proof typed manuscript on a lousy non-electric Underwood typewriter was grindingly elusive. Shockingly to me, the final product was only good enough for a B. I had been completely overshadowed by incredible papers about the Berlin Airlift, the United Nations, and other great works from others in the class that floored me when I read them.


It was first period, and I used to collaborate with my best buddy Marc to make up goofy history-related rhymes to write on the chalkboard before class. Example: What do you call the odor emanating from WWI battlefields? Answer: French trench stench. Or: What do you call a fair-haired, easy-going early British invader? Answer relaxin' flaxen Saxon. I could go on, but I won't. I wouldn't do that to you.


The only thing I didn't like about that class was having to read and report on the Chinua Achebe novel Things Fall Apart. I still don't understand the big deal about Okonkwo and the yams. I feel extra sorry for the Official Eldest Offspring of the blog, who had to do Things Fall Apart in 9th grade and again for AP English in her senior stanza. Ouch.


Another buddy Steve and I liked to play volleyball. We'd go to Rec Hall for a pick-up game or just to hit the ball around. We used to go to the Penn State volleyball games. They were, and still are, a national powerhouse. We didn't know that varsity volleyball in high school was only a girls' sport. Our reaction to this disappointment was to get together an intramural team. And so we roped a bunch of our friends into it and called ourselves, you guessed it, the Sons of Wilkerson. We went down to the Murphy's 5 and 10 downtown and got some T shirts made with S.O.W. letters in different color combinations.


I believe this is the only picture in existence of the Sons of Wilkerson.  Blurry, regrettably. Some F-stop issue or whatever.

Back row: Jeff Edmunds, Steve Fleming, Andy Phillips, Marc Shapiro, some guy in an orange S.O.W. shirt


Front: Doc Wilkerson, Alan Weber, Lisa Dignazio. I don't remember if Lisa played on the team or not. I forgot to ask her last time I saw her.






Who's that guy in the green and orange shirt, ridiculous blue hat, and embarassing cut-offs?

Oh.






So taken was Doc Wilkerson by this turn of events that he offered us an end-of-year party at his house if we won the championship. I recall many tight games that season. We did pretty well and made it to the final. As I recall, the weather was difficult that day, but we had a full complement of players. The other team was composed of seniors who were big and good, but only two of them showed up that day. I also remember that a cheering section was there, which may have included our awesome English teacher, Carol Gentry. Doc was there for sure. There was a party riding on the outcome, after all. We fell behind early and were panicking that a two-man team could possibly beat us. However, a series of aces by impressive server Steve Fleming drew us even, and the final few points fell our way.


And so, on the last day of school, the whole class convened at Doc Wilkerson's house to celebrate the end of 10th grade and bask in each other's company one last time. It was a beautiful spring Pennsylvania day, with a full summer of possibilities ahead. Recently I turned up a few photos of that day, the first of several memorable, perfect days I have experienced in my life.


Doc loved his bike.

Leigh stole my hat and made it look way better than I ever did.

Group photo of the party brought to you by the Sons of Wilkerson:

If you are lucky, you have had teachers in your life like Doc Wilkerson. Teachers who set the bar high and provided you the knowledge and skills to clear said bar. If you are lucky, you went to high school with people as amazing and brilliant as my classmates in 10th grade World Cultures. I know that many of them have gone on to important work in various fields. I probably could have done something important, but I never got over that B on the term paper.