January 13, 2006
Solid Oak View Memories
By Jim Banholzer
I attended Oak View Elementary only one year, for fourth grade, but I remember it well. It was the fall of 1969, just after Hurricane Camille ravaged the East Coast. Rabbit Run raged as a wide and fast muddy river; bringing downed oak trees to the brink of Whitefield Street in Kings Park West. The Lake in the center of the community had not yet been built.
We were a lively group of excitable students, new to the world and most of us new to the area -fresh faced kids raring to learn. I, too, had Mrs. Adams as a teacher, but was not always the apple of her eye –as they would say back then. During idle moments in class, Tim Broberg (who I still keep in touch with) and I would quietly construct elaborate mazes on notepaper, each of us trying to invent, a never thought of trap to stump our opponent. We often played a board game called Stratego in the class. I recollect that we used to have races to see who could look up a vocabulary word fastest in the dictionary, after the teacher called one out. I remember the “Pods” also. We compared the pods with something that you might find on “Star Trek” a hit TV show of the day.
We did watch a lot of films back then during class. There were no VCR’s yet. A few hobbyists may have owned one (The NFL had instant replay), but I understand that a VCR cost $100,000 then. Probably equal to a million dollars in today’s money. In Fairfax then, you only had to dial seven numbers on the phone to connect to anybody. Some people even shared “party lines” for their telephones and you could actually get an operator quite easily. Nobody had answering machines yet either. And there was no call waiting. Postal Zip codes were only a few years old too. And the Washington Senators baseball team had a winning year with Ted Williams as their manager. I still have Ted’s baseball card from 1969. I bought this at the Burke 7-11, which was the closest store at the time. A Saturday Tom Sawyer-like adventure would be riding bicycles to this lonesome 7-11 and then trying to collect frogs, tadpoles and minnows from the creek into a bucket. One Sunday morning in the mid-seventies Greg and Scott Burnette and I rode our ten-speeds up the two lane route 28 to Dulles Airport to watch airplanes. Sometimes you could see the Supersonic Concorde. My dad sold Volkswagens at the H.B. Lantzsch dealership in Fairfax and Herbie the Love Bug movies were just coming out.
At Oak View there used to be a test called the Presidential Physical Fitness test for all fourth graders. We ran various shuttle races and threw softballs for measurements to be recorded in a national database somewhere. The Olympics seemed very important for the United States back then. I remember Giselle Abernathy out-leap-frogging almost all of the boys with a six foot long standing broad jump. I remember this well; because I recall thinking that she was as athletically gifted as a gazelle. I wonder if the administration of Oak View has kept these records deep in an archive file. I recollect being taught about war over in the Middle-East back in fourth grade, but I don’t remember Indochina being talked about so much. I do remember the Vietnam struggle being brought into Family living rooms evenings in living color. Then more so than today’s combats are.
I remember the physical education teacher Jim Moyer quite well also. Apparently the circus club he founded still exists and the gymnasium is now named after Jim. The Oak View students traveling shows, demonstrated sky-high unicycles and stilt walkers -some over ten feet tall at the foot-pegs. Students directed huge medicine balls around under their own steam, along with various other interesting Rube Goldberg-type contraptions. It was almost like having a group of The Flying Wallendas in your own backyard. I think that it’s important for today’s Oak View students to gain a sense of this history, realizing how much of a positive impact this one man had on the community. Through Mr. Moyer’s encouragement, students started believing in themselves and accomplished amazing feats of gymnastics, instilling a sense of self-worth which carried over to whatever they else they did in later life. Sometimes the student’s aerial tricks performed during halftime shows would outshine main features of high school and college ball games throughout Northern Virginia and even the Capital Centre.
I remember as we attended Robinson Secondary School, several of us would journey back to Oak View and play epic basketball games on the lower baskets there. The nine foot basket was our favorite since most players could dunk on it. Our seemingly invincible bodies would crash against each other like gladiators against the boards. I can’t stress how exhilaratingly enjoyable our pickup games there were, hundreds of afternoons on Oak Views playground. We also prepared incredible trick shots in games of “Horse” on these lower baskets. I remember these courts going into disrepair around the first time that the United States did not win the Gold Medal in basketball (except for the time they got rooked by Officials back in ’72.) I wondered about the condition of basketball courts at elementary schools across the country. Soccer was started to catch on more. But video games followed soon after, sometimes making it tough for some little tykes to ever want to leave the comfort of their cyber caves. Again it’s refreshing to see that a circus club still exists at Oak View, to teach empowering core values through physical well being.
Traveling through the woods one day in my youth, I discovered poorer people living in ramshackle homes along Zion Drive. Later as a boastful adolescent I seem to remember snickering at these houses, while driving much too fast around the corner where the Greater Little Zion Baptist Church stood (stands?). Ironically, I now live in an abode even smaller and humbler than the ones I used to deride. However, living frugally so, inspires me to leave the house and enjoy the great Idaho outdoors-where I now live- more so than if I had to be tethered to running the large types of operations that McMansions require.
Looking back at it now, those of us who attended Fairfax County Public Schools grew up in an enlightened age. We were lucky to have some of the best teachers in the world. Many came from varied backgrounds, encouraged students to think critically for themselves and overall were long-lasting inspirations. I hope that the same holds true today for students and teachers.
After graduating from Flint Hill Prep in Oakton, I went on to work on dozens of blue collar backbone of America type jobs. I moved from Virginia to Idaho in January of 1993. There’s less hustle-bustle here in Idaho. Boise reminds me a lot of the up and coming Fairfax County of thirty-some odd years ago. The growing pains that Boise faces are markedly similar to those that Fairfax has gone through. Hopefully both cities can hold onto their strengths of character.
Only several years ago did I come into a job for the first time with a desk, phone and computer, becoming the circulation manager for the Idaho Mountain Express newspaper. I eventually started a monthly column that often features some of those varied past occupations. Those columns may be found via this link: (link has been airbrushed into history -as of 2007)
For another piece of writing forthcoming about Fairfax Schools, look here after March 15 for an article entitled, “Dribbling Basketballs through Math” featuring Robinson Secondary algebra teacher Mr. Kluge.
The best advice I was given in fourth grade was by my Father. He told me, “Son, I don’t care whatever it is that you choose to do in your life, as long as you always give it your best.” Another piece of advice I would have like to have listened to better back then would have been. “Some mistakes that you make will be remembered for a long time”.
Best regards to all of you Oak View students and alumni,
JB
Idaho (and now PA) Opinion Pieces, Letters of Public Interest and other aimful musings.
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Dribbling basketballs through math
ReplyDeleteBeing a wise-fool through school bounced me down some interesting paths. As a kid aged in single digits, I enjoyed math, constantly solving problems in my head while dribbling a basketball between my legs. Once, while visiting my Aunt Jane, I told her that I would count up to a million by next return. Months later as we drove up to her house, I bounced a ball outside the car window, wildly exclaiming, "999,998—999,999—One Million!"
Suddenly, I was a sophomore, more fascinated in the geometric possibilities of what a trick B-Ball shot could do for a globetrotter, rather than what any algebraic formula might bring in the way of splitting up weights for future newspaper bundles. The guys sitting symmetrically around our rhombus-shaped table were all feverish fans of the Washington Bullets professional team. Mornings after a win we would chant in whispers the names of our various stars. "Chenier! Unseld! Big E!" Our algebra teacher, Mr. Kluge, was a tall man of almost 2 meters and we wondered about what shots he had erased and prime numbers placed on the basketball scoreboard before switching over to a math chalkboard.
Once, in the middle of a lesson, Kluge turned his back for an eraser. I took it upon myself to hurrah in a cockneyed voice "Porter!" honoring point guard extraordinaire Kevin Porter, who had just contributed to a playoff-clinching win with a 17-assists effort. Mishearing my cried praise, Kluge spun about, querying, "Who's the genius that said 'Ordered pairs?' We haven't even reached that chapter yet!" My fellow fanatics pointed to my quadrant while Kluge lasered me a look with a new angle of light.
A couple years later I saw Mr. Kluge taking his son Andy out fishing on a rowboat. I imagined what type of conversations my math teacher—who I had only known in the illumination of the classroom—might have with his son on a tranquil Saturday? Did they talk about depth-sounding graphs and how radar works for fish finders? Or did Kluge point out geometrically congruent fences, which joined together at the fisherman-access gate? Maybe they pondered the mathematical improbabilities of catching genius bottom-feeders if they did not let out enough line, or the physics involved when Burke Lake froze over.
Actually, whatever they postulated over made little difference. It was refreshing enough for me to see that Mr. Kluge was a well-balanced man not suffering from "nature deficit disorder" while passing along his wonderful fishing knowledge to his son.
Back in the '70s, Kluge warned us that within a few years the metric system was going to be imbedded in our culture so much that the word "pound" would be eliminated from our language. He claimed that sayings like "A penny saved is a pound earned" would have to be changed. However, through some critical thinking—which Kluge had likely prompted us for—we figured out that these particular pounds he spoke of were actually a British term for a monetary denomination. Further confounding interest, the pound has essentially replaced the penny in England since the time of my final math examination—a test I passed largely due to obtuse questions about pounds not weighing heavily over my desk like so many medicine balls.
Kluge's mindbenders were sometimes more difficult than trying to figure out how to try to steal a basketball from Kevin Porter. With some of his timed tests you were only given 10 seconds to rebound Kluge-puzzlers out of the back court of the brain, before digging deep and giving it the best shot with what you had.
Gus Johnson, who had played at the University of Idaho, became a legendary Bullet who could pluck a $20 dollar bill off the top of the basketball backboard then quickly calculate the U.S. equivalent of a pound and leave it for change. We in the class had been concerned about re-determining in metric terms the feats of his vertical jumping ability. How impressive would "Gus leaped up a century of centimeters to stuff the ball, conducting a precision face transplant on Dave Debusschere" have sounded? Thus not having to attend basketball games with a slide rule sticking out of our back pockets allowed us to feel more footloose (meter-loose?) and fancy free.
Before my finite years intersect that final exam in the sky, I would hope to run into Mr. Kluge again. Very late in this game I would come unglued from a maple park bench, still traveling with basketballs. I might find him tuning multi-indexed fish scales with his "metric crescent wrench". There I would freely throw him two pounds of advice: "Don't portage up your ordered pairs of fish onto the abacus before they're fried." Then, from my opposite hand, I would divulge to him my secret childhood corollary, employed as a shortcut in counting up to a million, while aggressively advancing dribbles, back in Aunt Jane's driveway.
How babies do maths at 7 months
ReplyDeleteA basic grasp of maths starts early
Babies have a rudimentary grasp of maths long before they can walk or talk, according to new research.
By the age of seven months infants have an abstract sense of numbers and are able to match the number of voices they hear with the number of faces they see.
The research could be useful in devising methods for teaching basic maths skills to the very young, say researchers in the US.
The study is published in Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.
Look and listen
Adults can easily recognise the numerical equivalence between two objects they see and two sounds they hear.
Infants are smarter than we think
Dr Anna Franklin, Surrey Baby Lab
This is also the case for some animals, such as the monkey, but until now there has been conflicting evidence about the ability of very young human babies to do this.
Kerry Jordan and Elizabeth Brannon of Duke University, Durham, North Carolina, played a video of two or three adult women strangers simultaneously saying the word "look" to babies aged seven months.
The videos were displayed on two monitors positioned side by side as the babies sat on a parent's lap. Audio tracks, synchronised with both videos, were played through a hidden speaker.
On average, the infants spent a significantly greater proportion of time looking at the display that matched the number of voices they heard to the number of faces they saw.
"Our results demonstrate that by seven months of age, infants can represent the equivalence between the number of voices they hear and the number of faces they see," the scientists wrote.
"The parallel between infants' and rhesus monkeys' performance on the task is particularly striking."
Numerical abilities
The research suggests that there is a shared system between infants before they learn to talk and non-verbal animals for representing numbers.
Understanding more about this system could be useful in devising methods for teaching basic maths skills to the very young.
"The study asks important questions about numerical abilities in infancy," Dr Anna Franklin of the Surrey Baby Lab, Department of Psychology, University of Surrey, UK, told the BBC News website.
"The findings support the argument that young infants are capable of a wide range of mental operations and that infants are smarter than we think."
Thanks for this. I passed through Oak View 10 years behind you (I was born in Oak Walk the year you started school), but it's remarkable how little had changed by then. Mrs. Adams and Mr. Moyer were still going strong (the latter somewhat stronger.)
ReplyDeleteI found your blog while googling the names of some of those families you zipped past on Zion Drive. The Honesty family had a run-down (but enormous) plantation-style house right by Sideburn Rd. Sadly, those homes have all been razed and replaced with McMansions.
Jim,
ReplyDeleteAfter a Google search of PE teacher Jim Moyer, I came accross your article. I to attended Oak View and of course had Jim Moyer as my PE teacher. He was an amazing guy! After 12 years working in various cubicles, I am now teaching PE in Fairfax county. I can't help but think that Mr. Moyer had something to do with my career switch choice.
Anyway, just thought I'd shoot you an e-mail to say that I also remember the Fairfax county of 30 years ago. It was a truly magical time to be here.
Jamie Whipp