Sullivan on EDUCATION
Education is life-long learning of the knowledge, skills and behavior essential to earning a living, being a productive member of society and experiencing satisfaction from a life well lived.
The true measure of being educated is found in one's behavior, and attitudes, not in how many years spent in formal schooling, or the diplomas and degrees attained.
To become educated, one must want to learn, make the effort to learn and apply that which is learned to everyday life.
The best school buildings, finest teachers and all the money in the world are for naught if those who attend formal schools have no value or respect for learning, if those students are not motivated to learn, or do not make the effort to learn.
I did not go to high school. In fact, I could not stand school. It was too confining and not relevant to my life. I suspect students of today feel the same way. However, I loved to learn and still do. After working at a variety of jobs, digging trenches, landscaping, mason's helper, carpenter's helper and laborer, at age 17 I asked my father to sign me into the U.S. Navy.
Boot camp and sea duty squared me away. I earned my high school GED and a first year college equivalency through the United States Armed Forces Institute (USAFI) while at sea. Also, attained rate of Navigating Quartermaster (QM2). My time in the Navy was a real life education which helped shape the future course of my life.
After discharge, at age 21, went to St John's University in Queens, New York to take a battery of career tests. The Counselor told me I should be a writer. I said, no dice, writers get no respect and starve. (That was the case in those days). Was number 1 on the Nassau County Police Exam. The US Border Patrol was ready to hire me, but I wanted the Canadian Border. They insisted on the Mexican Border. No Poncha villa or sidewinders for me.
One summer, I took off, with a former alter boy pal, Walter Belford.(Walter died a few years later when the fishing boat he was a crewman on, went down in a gale off Alaska). We were having a few beers in the Gaelic Bar and it occurred to me to head west in my 53 Ford. So, we did. Lived off the land, camped out and visited a numberof college and university's along the way, including the University of Wisconsin, Madison.
In Butte, Montana I met a number of relatives who had emigrated from the Beara Peninsula, West Cork, Ireland to the Rocky Mountain mining camps. I found the graves of my grandfather Michael J Sullivan and great grandfather Sean Harrington (Caobach) (A Buaile). The Caobach's an ancient West Cork tribe that predated the arrival of the O'Sullivan's from Spain to Beara about 500 BC. So, I tell my daughter that if she wants to partake of the benefits and preferences in our modern day America- she can rightfully check Hispanic on whatever application form. Of course the Celts had come to Spain from what is today Barvaria.
The western journey continued on to Idaho, Washington, Oregon, California, Nevada. Colorado, Kansas, Nebraska, thence eastward to New York. When, I arrived there at the end of the three month journey, there was a letter of acceptance from the University of Wisconsin, Madison. BS in Geography earned there.
Attended on the Korean GI Bill, earned tuition scholarships based on grade point average, and had a helping hand from US government surplus food allotments. Two eldest children Joseph and Maureen were born at the University of Wisconsin hospital. Wife, Margaret kept house and became an excellent cook and baker of homemade bread. Those were the days.
Food stamps should be scrapped. Return to surplus agricultural products: butter, dried milk, peanut butter, rice, beans, spuds. Ever calculate how many hundred weights of potatoes would be needed to buy a cadillac?
Back to the island. Wrote Suffiolk County Planning Director Lee Koppleman that sometning needed to be done to protect the island's rapidly disappearing farm lands. He wrote back "you do something about it..you are hired for the summer". So, I did the initial research that eventually led to the current farmland protection plans in Suffolk County.
Was hired for a year at Greenport Public School. Grade 5 in a K-12 school. Principal Petersen , an old Navy man, when hiring me said, " I don't need a teacher, I need a bouncer". He got one. I was young and fit and never had a formal teacher education course in my life.
The class was a rowdy blend of poor whites, southern coloreds and nyc blacks. I soon whipped them into shape after many laps around the track. Imparted discipline and respect in them. Didn't overload their minds with tons of homework. Each day in class, we concentrated on learning a few things well, with an emphasis on reading, writing and speaking. For a science project, next Spring, we cleared some land and made a garden and picnic area. No water was immediately avialable. Cut sapplings, made yokes with buckets attached. After school, a long line of poor whites, southern coloreds and nyc blacks, bearing yokes with buckets of water, could be seen slowly meandering from the school to the garden. The other teachers laughed and called the whole deal "Sullivan's Plantation". What would the NAACP say about that today? Reverend Al or the others?
I couldn't care less. But, it worked and that class was transformed into a disciplined learning unit, with the students viewing themselves and life differently.
Then, it was off to Minneaoplis, Minnesota where I earned my Master's Degree in Geography, studying under the finest: professors Hart, Mather, Borchert and Lukermann. My MA Thesis was spent in field work one open Minnesota winter: "Color As a Cultural Index: Irish Rural Settlement in the Minnnesota Valley". Got to know the oldtimers and the land in the Townships of Shieldsville, Kilkenny, Erin and St. Thomas.
O'Sullivan's and O'Connell's from Derrynane, County Kerry settled St. Thomas. They intermarried across Kenmare Bay with my Coulagh O'Sullivan ancestors of the Beara Peninsula, West Cork. So, we are all relations.
Next, off to the University of Montana to teach. geography field classes in the Bitterroot and Nevada Creek Valleys. More visits to Butte and old ghost towns like Marysville, where I found more relations, including two elderly Sullivan spinsters. The class and me rolled into town at sunset. One lonely gas pump, with an old-fashioned globe atop, stood outside what turned out to be an old saloon now serving as a small grocery store.
I dropped my Ford pick up tailgate and distributed cans of beer to the class. An old woman came out of the store to pump the gas. I offered her a beer and she accepted. The tumbleweeds rolled around he deserted street as we leaned against the truck, talked and watched the sun set behind the mountains to the West. The old woman said " you can stand here and piss and it will find its way to the Pacific Ocean, Gulf of Mexico and Hudson Bay. That was our geography lesson on the Continental Divide for the day. We retired to the store where we met her sister. They turned out to be distant relations who showed the class and me the old saloon bar and old photos of the Irish Marysville miners of days long gone. That was our history lesson for the day.
Then there were the extension courses to Libby in Nortwest Montana. I was a sort of itinerant professor. Margaret and me in the cab, with baby Tim between us. Joseph, Maureen, and three dogs in the truck bed. Wagga Wagga an Aussie, her son , Dingo whose father was a huge white Samoyed. Dingo had the looks of his father but the coloring of his mother. Last, but not least, Rover a 100 lb beast with the build of a mighty German Shepherd, but the color and temperment of an Irish Setter. The beauty of Flathead Valley and Lake, the Cabinet Mountains. The elk standing there blocking the road at night. The camp fires, rushing streams, clean crisp air, the evergreen forests and splendid isolation from the cares of the world. The grand , hospitable people in Libby. The teachers from surrounding Northwest Montana who came to take my geography courses as part of their advanced degrees and certification. Now, weren't those the days!
At the University of Montana campus in Missoula, made students climb the mountain to the big stone "M". We would begin our physical and cultural geography classes looking out over the campus and valleys below and at the Bitterroot Mountains to the Southwest.
We lived in a small student/faculty apartment, at the foot of the mountain. Rover went to live on a ranch in the Flathead Valley, but changed his residence to the Bitterroot Valley after having his left ear nicked by a 30 30 winchester round from a neighboring rancher who was angry at Rover for running his cattle herd in circles.
The university housing did not permit animals, So, I built Wagga a sod dog house on federal land next to our apartment. She would howl and her howling echoed across the valley. But, University officials could do nothing about it. That winter she had 9 pups. We smuggled them into our small apartment and kept them in a closet. Sadly, one large male died. The other 8 thrived. We would let them out the back window at night and the pups would trail off behind Wagga in search of praire dog meals. The pups were real beauties. At age 6 weeks they were quickly bought up at a reasonable $15 each, by local ranchers, who knew their real value. All except, for Dingo, who we kept. Dingo lived to be fourteen years and had a very charmed life. Dingo, Wagga and Rover were an unforgettable trio. We never had to worry about bears or coyotes around the camps at night.
My father once admonished me, saying sternly "a rolling stone gathers no moss". I replied "who wants to gather moss?". I did not understand the meaning of what he said.
Now, many years later, here in Albany, the stone has stopped rolling and has gathered considerable moss. But my love of learning has not dimmed, nor has my enthusiasm for life diminished. I have given much of myself to Albany these past 31 years, and will continue to do so as long as God lets me.
At times, Margaret laments that we should be better off financially had I been more concerned with making money. As my forebearers would say: och sure ..and haven't we had a grand go at life. And so we have.
Four years ago, my constant pal Aussie (a devoted Blue Merle) passed away..it was the day before election day..I was the Republican candidate for Mayor of Albany. I was devastated by the loss of Aussie. I miss him still. And never will forget the good times we had together. Aussie was a true one man dog.
Now, as I type this entry, Red Paddy is lying at my feet, Spotted Mick, also. They are Aussies too. Paddy a Red and White. Mick a Red Merle. Their parents came in from the Texas High Plains to a Washington County farm owned by a McCarthy. Paddy and Mick are brothers from the same litter. Paddy a 75 pounder, the coloring and look of his mother. Mick, weighing in at 66 lbs., the image and disposition of his father. Both have green eyes. Raising them from pups has been my life for these past three and a half years. Paddy is the Boss Dog who keeps Mick in line and who wakes us every morning at 6. Paddy is also known as Food Dog. They are great pals to each other and to me, also to Margaret. Mick is a bit of an imp who can pick your pocket before you know it.
I still have a little time to participate in keeping our neighborhood good and lending a hand with city issues. So, I will.
That's enough rambling for now. Time for an ale. And Paddy is sitting beside me letting me know, in no unceratin terms, time to eat!
