Texts:2011 Flâneurs of the Fields (2011): Difference between revisions
mNo edit summary |
mNo edit summary |
||
| Line 7: | Line 7: | ||
<h4>Robbie McClintock </h4> | <h4>Robbie McClintock </h4> | ||
</div><div class="nums"> | </div><div class="nums"></div> | ||
<p>In mid-June, 1958, I boarded a chartered TWA Constellation, along with a plane full of kids, most of them four or five years younger than my 18, bound for Zurich, | <p>In mid-June, 1958, I boarded a chartered TWA Constellation, along with a plane full of kids, most of them four or five years younger than my 18, bound for Zurich, Switzerland. This was the start of a wonderful summer job that I would have through 1961 — a counselor, eventually program director, at the summer program of the American School in Switzerland. The school had started a year or two before, located in Locarno, overlooking the upper part of Lago Maggiore. Given the recent popularity of the film, Roman Holiday with Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn, the program was naturally called "Swiss Holiday," and the name fit.</p> | ||
<p>My interview for the job, such as it was, as 90% of getting the job consisted of an inside track, centered on two questions — Was I comfortable driving a stick shift? And, Did I know anything about summertime sports? My answer to the first was that I loved to drive and the only cars worth driving had stick shifts. To the second, I confessed that I couldn't play tennis and hated golf, but I swam well and loved to water ski. Those answers seemed to suffice. I got the job, and 12 or so hours after getting on the June flight, we landed in Zurich, having stopped to refuel in Iceland. A couple school officials met us and whisked our herd of 50-plus kids, each trundling a duffel, through customs to a nearby parking lot.</p> | <p>My interview for the job, such as it was, as 90% of getting the job consisted of an inside track, centered on two questions — Was I comfortable driving a stick shift? And, Did I know anything about summertime sports? My answer to the first was that I loved to drive and the only cars worth driving had stick shifts. To the second, I confessed that I couldn't play tennis and hated golf, but I swam well and loved to water ski. Those answers seemed to suffice. I got the job, and 12 or so hours after getting on the June flight, we landed in Zurich, having stopped to refuel in Iceland. A couple school officials met us and whisked our herd of 50-plus kids, each trundling a duffel, through customs to a nearby parking lot.</p> | ||
| Line 19: | Line 19: | ||
<p>For one, the seeds of my theory of education, privileging study over instruction, were planted during the recreational periods at the school. Soon after we arrived in Locarno I understood the reason for the second of my interview questions and the good fortune in my answer. Since I had volunteered competence at water skiing, I discovered that I was designated a program water ski instructor when I wasn't out on a trip. And water skiing was the really popular "Swiss Holiday" sport. The next morning I went down to inspect. The boat was a little under-powered, but I figured that that mattered only with over-weight novices. The setting was spectacular — the upper end of a long finger lake, an area about 2 miles by 2 miles, framed by the southern edge of the Alps, which channeled the winds away from the water, leaving the lake surface almost always glassy. We were astonished to see the lake edged with palm trees. Could this be Switzerland? Now, with wealthy masses teaming, all sorts of boats crowd Lago Maggiore; but then ours was one of just a handful there. We would slalom to exhaustion in the sunset, a single undulating plume tracing its way back and forth across the lake.</p> | <p>For one, the seeds of my theory of education, privileging study over instruction, were planted during the recreational periods at the school. Soon after we arrived in Locarno I understood the reason for the second of my interview questions and the good fortune in my answer. Since I had volunteered competence at water skiing, I discovered that I was designated a program water ski instructor when I wasn't out on a trip. And water skiing was the really popular "Swiss Holiday" sport. The next morning I went down to inspect. The boat was a little under-powered, but I figured that that mattered only with over-weight novices. The setting was spectacular — the upper end of a long finger lake, an area about 2 miles by 2 miles, framed by the southern edge of the Alps, which channeled the winds away from the water, leaving the lake surface almost always glassy. We were astonished to see the lake edged with palm trees. Could this be Switzerland? Now, with wealthy masses teaming, all sorts of boats crowd Lago Maggiore; but then ours was one of just a handful there. We would slalom to exhaustion in the sunset, a single undulating plume tracing its way back and forth across the lake.</p> | ||
<div | <div> [[File:Locarno_Lago_Maggiore.png|450px|center]] | ||
<p class="cent">Locarno, looking at where the school was</p> | <p class="cent">Locarno, looking at where the school was</p> | ||
</div> | </div> | ||
<p>Maps of Lago Maggiori and the school location</p> | |||
<p>Of course, I had never taught water skiing before, and of my own learning, I vaguely remembered that years before I had just sort of taken to it, getting up on my first try, barely managing to control skis that were a bit too large for my nine-year-old scale. But no matter. I was now working with another guy my age and we would trade off, one driving the boat and the other treading water, trying to coach each kid as the boat pulled them up. The natural athletes got the knack quickly. A few — over-weight, sedentary, endowed with a weak grip — we tried to interest in other activities. Others we patiently coached — try to keep the skis in front of you, slanting upwards with the rope between them;— just now, as you rose up out of the water, you were pulled forward in a belly-flop, so keep the skis in front and try to push more of the force on your arms down through your pelvis to your feet;— you're getting it, but this time you pulled up too quickly and then sagged backward, so let the boat raise you up and try to keep your arms bent a little, crouching some so you can respond to the play of forces. Sound advice, but by itself, not enough. We would have to encourage these kids to keep trying, and with patience, theirs and ours, generally, sooner or later, something would click — You did it! — and the kid would have the hang of it thereafter. It was clear to us that the kids were not really applying our advice, but rather working it out for themselves, sometimes using something we said as a helpful hint in trying to control their own bodies through a turbulent transition.</p> | <p>Of course, I had never taught water skiing before, and of my own learning, I vaguely remembered that years before I had just sort of taken to it, getting up on my first try, barely managing to control skis that were a bit too large for my nine-year-old scale. But no matter. I was now working with another guy my age and we would trade off, one driving the boat and the other treading water, trying to coach each kid as the boat pulled them up. The natural athletes got the knack quickly. A few — over-weight, sedentary, endowed with a weak grip — we tried to interest in other activities. Others we patiently coached — try to keep the skis in front of you, slanting upwards with the rope between them;— just now, as you rose up out of the water, you were pulled forward in a belly-flop, so keep the skis in front and try to push more of the force on your arms down through your pelvis to your feet;— you're getting it, but this time you pulled up too quickly and then sagged backward, so let the boat raise you up and try to keep your arms bent a little, crouching some so you can respond to the play of forces. Sound advice, but by itself, not enough. We would have to encourage these kids to keep trying, and with patience, theirs and ours, generally, sooner or later, something would click — You did it! — and the kid would have the hang of it thereafter. It was clear to us that the kids were not really applying our advice, but rather working it out for themselves, sometimes using something we said as a helpful hint in trying to control their own bodies through a turbulent transition.</p> | ||
| Line 41: | Line 43: | ||
<p>Next morning a surprised but good natured caretaker awoke us. How did we get here? — Well, up the little road as you can see. Then in our turn: But where are we? — Ah! You do not know! Esta Soave! El Castello di Soave! You have found a most beautiful place. Come! I will show you." So, still in our clothes from the day before, as a prelude to breakfast, we were ushered all over the Castle of Soave, a small, then rather dilapidated, yet extraordinary castle on top of a high hill overlooking the town of Soave. The castle had stood since the 1300s, ramparts and vineyards sloping down to the outer fortifications at the foot of the hill. It had an outer courtyard where we had slept, a small inner courtyard all encircled by well-preserved walls and battlements. Our animated guide eagerly showed us all the secrets of the place. One could still easily see the power structure of the whole area, intact over centuries, with its economy there ripening before our eyes. Legend had it that none other than Dante Alighieri had named the place Soave, on tasting its smooth, suave wine. Twenty-five years later in an American restaurant a friend ordered a good Italian white. I glanced at the label and there unmistakably was pictured the castle atop the hill, vineyards and ramparts sloping down towards the town below — and memories of that night in the Castello di Soave rushed back to mind.</p> | <p>Next morning a surprised but good natured caretaker awoke us. How did we get here? — Well, up the little road as you can see. Then in our turn: But where are we? — Ah! You do not know! Esta Soave! El Castello di Soave! You have found a most beautiful place. Come! I will show you." So, still in our clothes from the day before, as a prelude to breakfast, we were ushered all over the Castle of Soave, a small, then rather dilapidated, yet extraordinary castle on top of a high hill overlooking the town of Soave. The castle had stood since the 1300s, ramparts and vineyards sloping down to the outer fortifications at the foot of the hill. It had an outer courtyard where we had slept, a small inner courtyard all encircled by well-preserved walls and battlements. Our animated guide eagerly showed us all the secrets of the place. One could still easily see the power structure of the whole area, intact over centuries, with its economy there ripening before our eyes. Legend had it that none other than Dante Alighieri had named the place Soave, on tasting its smooth, suave wine. Twenty-five years later in an American restaurant a friend ordered a good Italian white. I glanced at the label and there unmistakably was pictured the castle atop the hill, vineyards and ramparts sloping down towards the town below — and memories of that night in the Castello di Soave rushed back to mind.</p> | ||
<div | <div> [[File:Castello-di-Soave-1.png|450px|center]] | ||
<p class="cent">Aerial view of the Castello di Soave </p> | <p class="cent">Aerial view of the Castello di Soave </p> | ||
</div> | </div> | ||