"You Have to Talk to His Mother"

“You Have to Talk to His Mother”

“You have to talk to his mother. Explain to her that you have been having a problem with her son and it is making it hard for you to give your full attention to all your class.” 

That is what Uncle Pete told me. 

Uncle Pete  was the stern, gung-ho   Summer Camp director at Saltaire. The rest of the year, he was teacher, athletic director and football coach at Pleasantville High School in Westchester County. In World War 2 he was in charge of physical conditioning of US Army Airmen preparing them to get ready to go into air combat. Tough guy, he was.  But pretty much everybody loved him even though sometimes we thought that he ran  his day camp was run like he was still an Army drill master. 

Hearing him saying that I have to talk to this kid's mother, I was  thinking, but afraid to say it our loud: “Me? He wants me to talk to his mother? I'm fifteen years old." 

This was unbelievable. I had never said “no” to Uncle Pete before. Not years before when he had asked me to jump off the end of the dock into deep water for the first time; not when he asked me to play ball with much bigger boys; not when he asked me to lifeguard at the bay; not when he told me to “rescue” him in Junior Lifesaving.

All those things were tough, and I never said “no.” But he had never asked me to do anything like talking to a mother and telling her that her  eight year old kid was a brat. There was no way I could do that. She was old. Her husband was a Village Trustee. I was a 15 year old kid.

I was a counselor for Uncle Pete. I was doing great except for that one kid. This kid  always seemed to wander off, go into a funk, or just plain old disregard whatever we wanted him to do. He wasn’t a bad kid, just, well, difficult. At least difficult for me as a 15 year old counselor in my first summer on the job.

So I had gone to Uncle Pete and explained my difficulty, figuring that Uncle Pete would give the kid a scolding, or maybe have a talk with the parents. It never entered my mind that he would tell me to tell the kid’s mother. But that’s what Uncle Pete did. Then he let the subject drop, and I figured he would forget about the whole thing.

Next morning, Uncle Pete comes up to me at the beginning of class and he tells me: “I have arranged for a meeting today right after classes let out. She’ll be here and you can explain the problem to her.”

And Uncle Pete made it clear that this would be my meeting to conduct. He wouldn’t be there. “You just tell her what the problem is and I am sure she will listen,” he told me looking me directly in the eye. “You’ll do fine.” He looked convinced. I am terrified, but couldn’t say it.

So all morning I am contemplating quitting before the morning is out. There is no way I am going to be able to handle this.

Now all the kids were discharged and suddenly the whole field is empty. I go to the assigned meeting place, on the boardwalk directly in front of the Fire House, which was adjacent to the ball field on Broadway.

High noon. I am standing there. I see her walking down Broadway as appointed. She is walking with this little white poodle. I have never spoken to this lady in my life. No way I can come out of this alive.

She walks up. We introduce ourselves. We talk for a couple of minutes. “How do you like being a counselor?” “Isn’t it a beautiful day?” Anything but the assigned topic. 

She breaches the subject: “Have you been having trouble with my son?”

I wanted to look her right in the eye, like Uncle Pete used to, but I just couldn’t deal with eye contact. I am looking down to avoid eye contact and I noticed she was wearing woven sandals with heels. They were white as if to match the color of the poodle. I was wondering if she was going to sic her poodle on me. Then I blurt out “He is a nice kid and all that, but he causes a lot of trouble because he never listens…”

I went on for a minute or two explaining the issues. She remained silent and eventually I am looking her right in the eyes.

“I understand,” she said, looking right in my eyes and nodding. “I know he can be difficult, and I and his dad will have a talk with him. I know he enjoys coming to classes this summer, and he thinks you are a very good counselor. We’ll talk to him. Let me know if you have any more trouble” she said as she walked off towards the market, poodle walking alongside her.

I felt relief, and a sense of accomplishment, but mostly I felt luck that she was a very nice lady, after all. 

 But I still felt mad as hell at Uncle Pete for putting me through this. What if she hadn’t been so nice? What if she argued with me or threatened to get me fired? Her husband was a village trustee. Uncle Pete had no right to hang me out to dry, to act like he was a principal and I was some experienced teacher dealing with another unruly student. I was only fifteen, for goodness sake.

Just as I am thinking this, I turn to go back into the ball field. Right around the corner of the fire house, maybe 15 feet away, was Uncle Pete. It turns out that he had been within ear shot, but standing where neither of us could see him. But now he walked away, as if he didn’t want me to realize that he had been there.

So then I realized that he was there if I needed him. And that made me realize that he was right. I didn’t need him. I did fine, just like he said.

Then I started walking across the field to go home for lunch. Uncle Pete is puttering around, making believe he is picking up litter or old baseball gloves, or something, and he acts like he notices me for the first time. He says:
“Oh Jimmy, did the mom show up? How was the meeting?” as if he didn’t know.

“It went pretty well,” I said, “She was very nice and she will talk to him.”
“I knew you would do fine” Uncle Pete said, as if there was nothing to it. He added “go and have lunch. You’ve had a long morning.”

We walked off the field together.

The kid was not a problem after that meeting. Just quirky.

So whenever I run into a situation where I think I am about to get into something over my head, or dealing with difficult people, I think of when I was a fifteen year old kid getting ready to tell a  powerful mom that her kid was a brat. And I remember what Uncle Pete told me: “You’ll do fine.” That’s a lesson he taught me that I always remember in a tight spot.


Jim O’Hare

Remembering Uncle Pete

With the recent passing of Peter W. Kurachek, the last of the biggest shapers and movers of Saltaire in the 1950'- 1960's has gone.

The purpose of this blog is to not be forgotten. That is why we have posted so many Uncle Pete stories. But for space limitations, we even have more. JOH had wanted to do something for Uncle Pete for years but it never got off the ground. Then Patsy O'Shea got involved and made it happen. We collected essays from 20 people or so--- more than 10,000 words in fact-- written by people about this remarkable man that none of them have even seen for 44 years. If you want the rest of the stories, we will eventually post them when the blog changes its format. In the mean time, anyone who wants a PDF of all these U.P. stories, just e mail the request to JOHARENY@aol.com. JOH had wanted to do something for Uncle Pete for years but it somehow never got off the ground. Patsy O'Shea made it happen.

Me being an editor (for now) I get the final word in the Uncle Pete department: Here's my take and then Patsy's:

“Uncle Pete, Uncle Pete”

I have in my mind’s eye the playground in Saltaire. It is around 1960 or so. It is on towards evening, after dinnertime, when a lot of little kids would come to the playground.

There was constant activity. Kids on swings, kids climbing the monkey bars, kids running in the sand, sliding on the slides. All kinds of kids. Kids four of five years old. Kids ten and eleven years old. Boys. Girls. I could always see and hear this frenetic scene from my house, which was by the ball field and the playground.

So it just happens that Uncle Pete is walking by the playground, coming down Neptune Walk, to go home.

All of a sudden all the miscellaneous chatter becomes about 30 kids yelling out “Uncle Pete, Uncle Pete.”

They all want to see him. They all want him to wave to them. Kids are yelling from the swings. Kids hanging off the monkey bars are yelling “Uncle Pete, Uncle Pete.” They all want him to see them. Kids run up to him.

And he waves back, smiles, yells out a lot of names: “Hi Jenny,” “ Hi Pam,” “Hi Mike,” and so on.

Every kid in the village knew Uncle Pete and he knew every name.

So you thought they would have had enough of Uncle Pete that morning at class? And at swimming lessons? Forget about it. He was like a rock star to those little tykes. They couldn't get enough of him.



That’s an image I have always had in my mind, and I guess that’s how I see him now:

Wow, the kids really loved him.

Jim O’Hare
Richmond Hill, NY

From Patsy O'Shea:

Dear Kurachek Family,
I appreciated your father for the fun and challenging experiences he created for me and my friends in our athletic “classes.” Especially archery, swimming and lifesaving classes. Uncle Pete was the only serious coach I ever had. In those years before Title IX, few people took girl sports seriously and few girls got an opportunity to be rigorously trained. So I thrived with the routines that Uncle Pete demanded of me. Up and down those lanes in the Great South Bay. I spent the angst of my adolescence in that bay swimming up and down, up and down, no matter what hypersensitive hurt my teenage mind was seething with. As a result of his superb encouragement, I really became a strong swimmer and I’ve had some marvelous experiences in the sea all over this planet.

Uncle Pete’s lifeguard training was legendary. I had my check out underwater test having to “save” him, and I must admit I felt some trepidation as I approached this final test. He was really strong, a real gorilla under water, and I can still remember the feel of it. But I succeeded well and with it gained the confidence to tackle just about any situation. This arose in 1977.

I was a tourist in full clothing, except for my bare feet. I was out on a remote beach on the Hana Coast of Maui. A middle-aged woman, also a tourist, had gotten into a serious rip tide and she was drowning, quite a bit off shore. I took off like a shot, forgot about being fully dressed, forgot that my bare feet were running hard on coral and just kept my eyes fixed on where she was going up and under. It was Uncle Pete’s voice going off in my head in that raspy, militaristic voice he has. “Don’t take your eyes off your victim, no matter what!!” Another person, a man already swimming, reached the victim at exactly the same time I did, and together we saved her. Brought her to shore together, into the arms of her traumatized family. So traumatized in fact, that they just popped her into their rented car, and took off, never even thanking us. It took me years to understand this reaction. Because I was young and not very wise at the time, I thought they were trying to escape from any liability for the injury I had sustained in the rescue. But I think it was their trauma that made them drive away. I came to understand how trauma is not just an individual experience, but a familial one.

Another thing I learned from this was the efficacy of some native medicines and the medical wisdom in old traditional cultures. In this case, the native Hawaiian people who witnessed my saving this woman, came to my rescue. For in the course of running on the coral with my eyes fixed on the victim, I was unknowingly tearing up my feet. I had a large, deep gouge about 2 in. by 1½ in. in my left heel. A couple of Hawaiian men went down to the rocks, picked off some seaweed, chewed it and then stuffed it into my wound. Meantime a couple of women obtained a papaya,
sliced it and put the slices on top of the seaweed. Coral cuts in the tropics are notorious for problematic healing. Yet I developed no infection whatsoever, and gradually the whole area filled in just fine. I continued my fun in the sun with no need to travel back to civilization for medical care. More swimming in salt water hastened the healing too.

I also thank Uncle Pete for the exquisite times I’ve had snorkeling and scuba diving. Swimming between islands in the Aegean Sea, enjoying the turquoise water. Diving on the Great Barrier Reef of Australia, most especially my drift dive in Dynamite Pass and my other adventure down 125 ft. on a shark current by great gray underwater cliffs under sea. The freedom I felt swimming over miles of giant clam beds by Lizard Island. My swimming off the Mahukona Coast of the Big Island of Hawaii with the Perez family. I was the bag lady for this family of spear fishermen, ½ mile off shore, when a whole school of spinner dolphins appeared suddenly and went cavorting past me. So making me at home in the sea gave me some of my most glorious experiences.

Thank you Uncle Pete. I hope you can hear my words.

Patsy O’Shea
Portland, Oregon

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Robin Wright on Uncle Pete Kurachek:


The year was 1954. My father, who was in charge of Parks and Recreation for Saltaire, hired Uncle Pete, and Pete in turn hired me as a counselor, Art Mol as head lifeguard, and Werner Ulricht, a German Exchange student from Fair Harbor, as assistant life guard.

The next summer, after Uncle Pete’s counseling, I became Art Mol’s Assistant lifeguard.

Pete Kurachek was a great football coach! I spent hours with him on the Saltaire field learning the hard way how to block and tackle. He liked to win.

Wishing the Kurachek family sympathy and all the best,


Robin Wright
Woodside, CA

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Remembering Uncle Pete
By Duncan Dobie

In one way, he had that bulldog look of a tough, seasoned football coach with a whistle around his neck who could breathe fire or tear you in half if he wanted to, yet he was always a hero to us young boys. He always had a smile on his face and a special twinkle in his eye. Although (like Beaver once said) he appeared to be 10-feet tall and larger than life to most of the boys at Saltaire, he usually spoke softly with encouragement and that encouragement had a way of giving you confidence in whatever you were attempting to do.

People often talk about a special teacher or coach who influenced their early life in some special way. Uncle Pete was the epitome of that unforgettable teacher. He might as well have been a member of the family and I guess that’s why we called him Uncle Pete. He was family. He had that special gift for teaching and bringing out the best in people. He could be gruff and intimidating at times, but he always had our respect and he taught us how to do things and how to have confidence in ourselves. He had the gift for teaching you to believe in yourself.

One of my fondest memories of Uncle Pete goes back to the summer that he taught me how to swim. It must have been 1954 (it’s my understanding that ’54 was his first year at Saltaire) but it seems like it was a year or two earlier than that when I was five or six. At any rate, I was 7-years-old in 1954. Like a lot of kids, I could dog paddle around the shallow end of a swimming pool but I really hadn’t been around water that much and I couldn’t swim very well on my own.

My grandparents decided that if I was going to spend the summers with them at Saltaire, I’d better know how to swim. So Uncle Pete started giving me swimming lessons. We practiced in the bay off one of the swimming docks just west of the main dock. At first, the murky waters of the bay were quite intimidating, but Uncle Pete’s confidence-building style was contagious and he soon had me stroking and kicking and swimming out in water well over my head.

At last, the big day came for me to show everyone how well I could swim. My grandparents and my parents were both there on the dock along with Uncle Pete for the big event. I was to jump off the end of the dock and swim around to a ladder that was maybe 10 feet away. I had already practiced several times with Uncle Pete and it should have been an easy task. But something went wildly wrong as soon as I jumped in. My mind went blank and apparently I forgot everything that Uncle Pete had been teaching me. I thrashed around for a few seconds and Uncle Pete finally had to jump in – shoes, shorts, shirt and all -- and pull me over to the ladder.

I was very embarrassed. A dripping wet Uncle Pete acted as though nothing had happened. He immediately began encouraging me to try again. “It’s okay,” he said. “You can do it.” Finally I did it. I jumped off the end of the dock, floated up to the surface and calmly swam over to the ladder. Then I did it two or three more times. It was easy. Uncle Pete kept saying, “I knew you could do it!”

Uncle Pete gave me the confidence I needed to be totally at home in the water. It wasn’t long before I was a virtual “fish” in both the bay and the ocean like most of the other boys at Saltaire. In fact, those early swimming skills I learned at Saltaire paved the way for me to be a very strong swimmer in later life. I’ve always been at home in the water, and time and again those skills learned so long ago have helped me through some potentially dangerous situations.

I later became a certified lifeguard while volunteering at a children’s cancer camp in Georgia. Over the past 25 years, I’ve taught many youngsters from seven to 17 how to swim. I’ve never really even thought about it until this very moment, but in many ways, that is Uncle Pete’s legacy to me. He gave me the confidence to know I could do it, and I’ve been able to pass it on to others.

I spent every summer at Saltaire with my grandparents until I was 12 years old in 1959. For all of those years, Uncle Pete was always a much-loved permanent fixture – leading us boys and coaching us in baseball, archery, swimming and other activities. He might have been a little tougher with the older boys, but I don’t ever remember him putting me down or putting down any of my friends in any way. Instead he always built us up. He was my first and only great coach. As I grew older and started playing football and other sports in high school, he was always the yardstick by which I measured other coaches. None of them ever lived up to his ideal. None of them ever had the kind of influence on my life that he had. Truly Uncle Pete was 10 feet tall! Thank you, Uncle Pete, for the amazing gift that you have given to so many others!

Duncan Dobie
Atlanta, Ga.


Please click on "comments" to post your thoughts.

Remembering Pete Kurachek

Editors note: As our readers know, October 12, 2008 saw the passing of "Uncle Pete" Kurachek, the Saltaire director of Recreation, 1954-1964, who left strong impressions on anyone growing up in the Village in those years. We asked people for comments, and got more than 10,000 words in reply. The stories below were already sent to the Kurachek family. Robin Wright starts from the beginning and Jim Connolly and Pam Thorp go from there. We will publish some more tributes in this space in the next few days. And of course, as always, your comments can be posted below.

From Tom Connolly:

In my lifetime I've spent 1,000 days in Saltaire. Of those, all but 100 had already passed by the time I reached age 21, and all but three had been expended before I reached age 45.

Three years ago, Jim, John and I flew to Utah and spent some time with "Little Pete" and his wife Mary at Pete's cabin in the mountains. It seemed as if we had said goodbye only a week earlier - rather than forty-plus years. Interestingly though, we spent most of our time talking about what we planned to do the next day, and very little time reminiscing.

Uncle Pete was not there, of course. He was elderly by then, and being cared for by Stephen and his family. I should have spoken with him then. It would have been so easy. But for some reason, I wasn't sure what to say. That feeling persists.

At his essence, Uncle Pete was a teacher. He taught us all Junior Lifesaving, taught us softball and basketball, and God help us - archery. In all that time, I cannot ever recall Uncle Pete telling me what to do. He must have of course - but I don't remember it. What I do remember was the twinkle in his eye when he explained my choices. After watching me field ground balls by dropping to one knee, he made the correction and observed, "Better to use your glove, than your face."
There were some things of course, that were deadly serious. All of us who spent time life guarding remember Uncle Pete coming up to us and asking, "How many people are in the water?" His warning that, "most drownings occur in two feet of water or less," has remained with me throughout my lifetime.

In a twist of irony, Uncle Pete was an authority figure, who shunned it. He taught but never lectured. He always prioritized. To this day I remember him saying, "The most important part of the double play is keeping the runner from taking third." I remember that, and I remember what he might have added - but elected not to.

Saltaire is a unique place, a place where children play rather than compete, a place where accomplishment takes a vacation, and expectations are nowhere to be found. From the moment one sets foot on the boat dock, the beauty of the sunset and the smell of the salt air transport residents and renters alike to "another place."
But unlike many on that endangered island, Uncle Pete knew our hearts, and took the time to touch our souls. Sometimes he did so euphemistically - "I think the boys are being swayed by her peaches and cream complexion.” Sometimes he did so with a look. But almost always, with a twinkle in his eye.


Tom Connolly
Jefferson, MA

VICTORIA BAUM'S TRUE CONFESSION:

Dear Uncle Pete—

I want to thank you so much for how well you taught me to swim. As recently as this past July in Tuscany, Italy, when I was doing laps of the sidestroke in the hotel pool, I still heard your voice in my head saying: "Take the fruit from the tree, put it in the other hand, and put it in the basket."

I was a pretty quiet and background-type swimming student. Even though I hated swimming through seaweed in the bay, I loved swimming and always attended my swimming lessons. I worked my way up the Red Cross swimming-test ranks. Then came my test for the big prize: certification for junior life saving. In order to get that prize, I would have to survive the really scary test: Jump off the dock and save Uncle Pete who would confidently try to drown me as if he were a panicked swimmer.

The stories about Uncle Pete's ferocity during the junior life-saving tests were legendary, and I was mighty anticipatory. The day of the test I watched several others go before me and then it was my turn. At the assigned moment, I took a deep breath and launched myself off the dock and began swimming warily toward a flailing Uncle Pete in the deep water. As I came within reach of his long, muscular arms, he grabbed me around the neck and pushed me under the water. In my innocent and instinctive effort to resurface, I kicked as hard as I could. And this struggling young girl kicking her 12-year-old legs to try to get above water quickly discovered that she had not kicked the water at all but rather that she had kicked Uncle Pete. Really hard. Right in the testicles. In that split-second, Uncle Pete stopped struggling and gasped in pain. Realizing what I had accidentally done, I seized my moment and pinned Uncle Pete in my toughest cross-chest carry and hauled him toward the shore for all I was worth. He barely moved but then recovered with ferocity. By that time I could touch ground and I just dragged this big man toward the shore.

Then the test was deemed over and we stood on the beach for the verdict, a dripping Uncle Pete and me. I guess I expected a tongue-lashing. Instead, Uncle Pete looked me right in the eye and said something like, "That was one smart move young lady. You pass." I was elated but also so embarrassed that I could barely utter a word of apology. Uncle Pete turned and limped back to the water to confront his next victim.

So, here 44 years later, I want to sincerely apologize to you Uncle Pete and assure you that I kicked you where I did purely by accident. I trust that you recovered and that I did not wound you for life. Thank you again for having run such a great summer day camp and swimming program. We are all better--and more athletic--people today for your involvement in our young lives.

With warmest regards,
Victoria/Vicki Baum Bjorklund
New York

SHEILA O'SHEA IN NEW MEXICO ON "THE WHISTLE":

Dear Kurachek Family,

I'm so sorry to hear about the passing of Uncle Pete. My sister, Patsy, had asked me to give a few remembrances - HOW CAN I FORGET THE WHISTLE!? It was ALWAYS there ready to rein in any wayward (wayward in multiple ways) kids. I don't think I've met a whistle since then, so his still rings in my ears. Perhaps that's why I've got a hearing loss. I remember he brought real sports to Saltaire. I mean real, real, real sports, not some casual fun, slightly competitive game. Didn't he start the gold vs. blue rivalry?

Oh, Uncle Pete sometimes scared me with the whistle ready to blast any mistake I made which was, as I recall, every few minutes. I'm sure it wasn't that frequently from my perspective now as a very wise and almost old adult, but it felt that way to me then when I was a very skinny 8 year old.

Uncle Pete was an iconic figure. He sure made an impression on all of us. I'm glad he lived so long and did so well. But that whistle. I expect now that if (and its a BIG if) I get to heaven I'll hear the whistle, turn around and see Uncle Pete smiling with that dang silver thing still in his mouth.


Sheila O’Shea Gibbens
Pena Blanca, N.M.

Robin Wright:

The year was 1954. My father, who was in charge of Parks and Recreation for Saltaire, hired Uncle Pete, and Pete in turn hired me as a counselor, Art Mol as head lifeguard, and Werner Ulricht, a German Exchange student from Fair Harbor, as assistant life guard.

The next summer, after Uncle Pete’s counseling, I became Art Mol’s Assistant lifeguard.

Pete Kurachek was a great football coach! I spent hours with him on the Saltaire field learning the hard way how to block and tackle. He liked to win.



Robin Wright
Woodside, CA




Jim Connolly remembers:



Thinking about Uncle Pete brings back a flood of memories far more vivid than last night’s dinner. Tom, John (Jayo) and I were enrolled in “class” the year Uncle Pete arrived. I remember the very first time I saw jim. He was putting down lime for the first and third base foul lines. It is as clear as yesterday.

It was also clear from the outset that he was in charge. He was Uncle Pete to us and Coach to his players in Pleasantville. I remember one time years later when I visited his family in Pleasantville and called him “Uncle Pete.” His players looked absolutely horrified.

I remember the Blue and Gold teams and the games we played all Summer long to see which team would win the most points at the end of the year. Somehow he always kept it close. And of course there was the coveted Cup which ensured good behavior. I think we should have a Cup for our grandchildren.

I remember swimming lessons at the Bay, particularly Junior Lifesaving. I never forgot what to do if a panic-stricken swimmer grabs hold of a would-be rescuer. Go down. They’ll let go. Then turn their hips, come up behind then, hit them with your forearm in the shoulder, grasp them by the chin and pull them back. I never worried about anyone else after “saving” Uncle Pete.

I remember when I was a Counselor and lost my high school ring in the Field. Uncle Pete had the entire class line up along the fence and walk to the other end. And they found it. I can’t remember what I did with it after that.

Peter Jr. got me into a lot of trouble. Just before a hurricane, maybe Hurricane Carol, Pete and I took our sailboat, the Wahoo, out for a sail. We were flying and got back safely. My mother let me hear about that. She also had some comments the night we sailed to Bay Shore and stayed over at Ronnie Swedborg’s. I imagine Uncle Pete heard about that too.

Then of course there were the Church bells and the hole for the Beach Taxi. Luckily we all took a vow of silence.

The most vivid memories were the softball games. Uncle Pete taught us how to play the game and we practiced all the time. First it was the Men against the Boys. After a while we beat them. And then we always beat them.

And we always beat Ocean Beach. They were twice our size but they never realized it was a team game. Mike Fitzgerald was our sometimes catcher. Ronnie Swedborg pitched - which really made a big difference. Jayo played third. Pete played short or caught. Tom played second and I was on first. Kenny O’Hare played left. Bobby McGinn played center. Bobby had a gun and threw it on a rope. And Carbery O’Shea played right. We had a very good umpire.

One day when we were killing Ocean Beach again, their pitcher Bill Dickie threw at me a couple of times and then whipped one in overhand. You called the game and then asked me quietly what I was going to do. I went after Bill and invited him to show me what he had. He thought about it for a second or two and decided to shake hands. I was really surprised at that because he was much bigger. But then I noticed that Jayo had brought along a bat. Good thinking, Jayo.

We had our share and more of fun in the sun at Saltaire notwithstanding the occasional mosquito and poison ivy patch. We always traveled in a pack that often included brothers and sisters. We knew early on that Steven was very bright. And May Lou was a sweetheart. And Michael was a daredevil. And Mrs. Kurachek was a great Mom. I was excited to see Pete Jr. start up his butter and egg business and compete with old man Severe, when he began rationing milk.

I apologize for running on a bit but it all seems like yesterday to me. Uncle Pete was such a strong influence on so many lives, not least my own.


Jim Connolly, aka James
Dover, MA

Pam Thorp:

UNCLE PETE


I heard of the passing of Uncle Pete with great sadness. He played a major role in my childhood, and as is so common in childhood, something so valuable and dear is often taken for granted.

My memories of Uncle Pete are countless; here are just a few:
Uncle Pete teaching me to float by taking a leaf and floating it on the greeny-grey surface of the bay. “Everything that is living floats,” he told me. I can’t tell you how many times those words have re-played, and in all sorts of situations in life where I was afraid that I would ‘sink’.

I hated swimming lessons. I was a skinny little girl and would become shivering and blue-lipped quite quickly in the water. One day I was determined to avoid the dreaded lesson, and sat cross-legged and aloof on my towel fiddling with the sand. My mother could do nothing to coax or cajole me into that water. Uncle Pete assessed the situation and gently sat himself down on the sand next to me. I don’t know what he said or did, but I ended up digging up the bathing cap I had buried (the one I “forgot”), and braving the waters. Something in his voice, tough but very tender, got to me. I still hate swimming laps to this day but I’m one heck of a strong swimmer!

I loved looking at Uncle Pete. It wasn’t a crush thing he just inspired a feeling of well-being. The image of Uncle Pete in his red swim trunks, t-shirt, signature whistle, deep tan and zinc-white nose is indelible in my memory network as is the sound of his voice that always pushed me to do my best.

I will really miss you in the world Uncle Pete. I send my love, respect and appreciation out to you, wherever you may be at this time. I’ll bet you are floating out there somewhere, as any spirit so wonderfully alive could never, ever sink.


Sent with my most heartfelt condolences to the family of Uncle Pete: Peter, MaryLou, and Steven.

Pamela Thorp
New York City

The Coach Comes Home

In Pleasantville, he was "The Coach." In Saltaire 1954 to 1964 he was everyone's



Uncle Pete



From the White Plains Citizen Net Reporter comes the story:


October 18, 2008: The Coach comes home at last to Pleasantville forever next Saturday at 11 A.M., October 25 with burial at All Souls Cemetery in Pleasantville. He was a great guy who saw the greatness in everyone. That’s what great teachers do. All their children are their children. Coach was that way.


Ed. note: Readers of Saltaire38.blogspot.com know we have talked a lot about Uncle Pete, and we will have a lot more to say after we collect our thoughts and yours. Please continue to pass along the letters that Patsy O'Shea and Jim O'Hare have been requesting to give to the family, and please post any thoughts you may have by clicking "comments" below.


1988



1957 (Stillgebauer Archives)

click images to enlarge

In the meantime, here are the basics:

Kurachek, Peter William

"Coach" Died peacefully on October 12th, 2008 after 93 years of a life well-lived and characterized by thankfulness. Born on All Saints Day, 1915, Peter kept close to his heart those who predeceased him: his devoted wife, Louise; his dear son, Michael; parents, Peter and Katherine, and brothers, George and John. He is survived by his son, Peter (wife Mary); daughter, Mary (husband Terry Quiggins), and son, Stephen (wife Mary); grandchildren, Kathy Kurachek, Jennifer (husband Josh) Kenchel, Amy (husband Richard) Miller, Michael (wife Angela) Quiggins and Sarah (fiancé Ryan), Sam and Peter Kurachek; and great- grandchildren, Emma and Stella Kenchel and Carter and Kellen Quiggins. Peter was a proud graduate of the University of Kentucky where he received a Master's degree in education. He attended the U of K on a football scholarship, revered the opportunity of a college education, and belonged to the honorary education fraternity, Phi Kappa Delta. He enjoyed reminding us that college in his day cost fifty dollars a semester! During World War II Peter served as a Captain in the U.S. Air Corps readying young men for combat. For 32 years he was a successful teacher, high school football coach, and athletic director in Pleasantville, NY. He was a lifelong member of the New York State Teacher's Association and the American Football Coaches Association. Peter's teams reflected his life: well-prepared, disciplined and passionate. He loved the camaraderie of fellow coaches of all sports and the exuberance of his young players. He connected with them. He understood them and he understood his role as a teacher and the responsibility of helping boys on their trajectory to manhood. His teams won a lot of games and he was fond of saying, "Loses are owned by coaches, wins belong to the team." His players loved him as did their parents and years into retirement he would reflect, "Some of my best players never took the field. They were managers or substitutes. Young people who just wanted to be part of something larger than themselves." He received numerous coaching awards culminating in the "Distinguished American Award" bestowed upon him by the Westchester Chapter of the National Football Foundation and Hall of Fame. Peter and Louise retired to Florida, toured the country, and visited Europe. They helped many of the aged people around them and when his loving wife passed, he moved to Minnesota to be with family. In recent years, Peter found a spiritual home at the Immaculate Heart of Mary Catholic Church (IHM) in Minnetonka where he was befriended by many parishioners and especially Father Pat Hipwell and Sister Eleanor. For the brief time he was at Sunrise assisted living, he was embraced by many kind caregivers. Peter's smile, gentle heart, kindness and loyalty will be missed by all who knew him. A Mass of Christian Burial will occur on Friday, October 17th at 11 AM, preceded by visitation at 10 AM at IHM Catholic Church, 13505 Excelsior Blvd, Minnetonka. Peter will be laid to rest aside his wife Louise and son Michael at All Souls Cemetery in Pleasantville, NY. In lieu of flowers, donations to support extracurricular activities may be made to the Peter Kurachek Activities Fund, IHM School, 13505 Excelsior Blvd., Minnetonka MN 55345.

We can all supply some Saltaire color to the story along with our sympathies to Pete Jr., MaryLou, Steve, and all the grandchildren. Lets hear from you.

JimO'Hare

George Fontanals Jr.

Editors

THE STILLGEBAUER LODE

(Swim Meet, 1957 Stillgebauer Archives)


Click photo to enlargeAFTER MORE THAN HALF A CENTURY, PHOTOS EMERGE FROM THE STILLGEBAUER LODE OF CLASSIC SHOTS FROM THE 1950'S.
THIS IS WHAT THIS BLOG IS LIVING FOR! THANKS TO WILLIAM STILGEBAUER FOR MAKING HIS ARCHIVE OF PHOTOS TAKEN BY HIS FATHER HANK AVAILABLE FOR ALL TO SEE AND TREASURE.
WE WILL BE SHOWING A PICTURE OR TWO DAILY IN THE NEXT WEEK OR SO: 1950'S PICTURES OF SALTAIRE CROWDS AT SWIM AND TRACK MEETS; THE GORE OF THE PIE EATING CONTESTS, FACES TO REMEMBER, BAYFRONT SCENES, AND SOME NEVER BEFORE SEEN CANDIDS FROM A CAPT AL SHIM SHACK PARTY.

"A classic Uncle Pete shot!"-- Jon Lyon

"Great pic. Interesting thing is that someone who moved in last summer would recognize the site immediately. The dock looked worse in ‘57 than it did in 2005! But Uncle Pete was as usual pensive and sternly anxious -- our side must’ve been only 20 points ahead or something." -Hugh O'Brien

"Stilge's picture of Uncle Pete at the swim meet got me digging through useless old slides for an image I knew I had and had never looked at closely, but I knew it to be a swim meet scene, ruined by overexposure, double exposure and totally out of focus. I found it. I was amazed. It is from 1961, 4 years after the Stilge picture. Like the Stilge picture, it shows a swimming meet. You can only decipher one figure in the 1961 picture: and it is Uncle Pete, standing in the water in almost the same place he had been standing in 4 years before at the start of a race. The only difference is in 1961 he was wearing a T shirt. Take a close look. We know that Uncle Pete did not stand in that spot for four years straight, because in those years he had also been in Pleasantville in the fall, one of the most successful high school football coaches in NY State history. But the man had drive. There he is in '61. Same spot.

--JO'H

Dialogue on Uncle Pete

Beaver: says:

"I enjoy reminiscing about Uncle Pete - swimming lessons were challenging, but memories, at this stage of our lives, of Uncle Pete are fond ones. He was one of those rare people that you encounter in the road of life that, I think, helped shape your life. We all joke about it but he was a reverential, almost, God like figure in our then young lives.

I, like Meegan Keegan, liked to do the sidestroke. I still remember like yesterday Uncle Pete telling and exhibiting how to "bury your face and exhale, stroke, inhale, while doing the crawl - to this day I never mastered it."



JOH replies:

Uncle Pete taught the sidestroke thusly:

The whole class of kids was put on the sandy beach lying on their sides.

Uncle Pete would say this is what to do:

"With your right hand, reach up, grab an apple off a tree.
Bring your right hand down to your waist and transfer the apple to your left hand.
Then move left hand down to your left side and drop the apple in a bucket. At the same time, lift your right hand back up to the tree for another apple.

Grab the next apple with your right hand and bring it down to your side and put it in your left hand. Put the next apple in the bucket and reach up for the next apple," etc etc.

That was the arm movement.

The scissors kick: "Up, open and close. Up open and close." Uncle Pete used the "up open and close" mantra for both the scissors kick and the frog kick for breast stroke.

Is there any other way to learn those strokes??????



Beaver replies:

“What's all this about apple picking and what does it have to do with swimming??. This is all very confusing to me. “

JOH replies: :

Those are figures of speech, Beaver. Figures of speech.
If you were too dumb to understand those simple metaphors that Uncle Pete used to teach swimming (he was a teacher after all) no wonder you never learned to swim. You probably flunked English too.

That was how Uncle Pete explained how to do the side stroke.
Summers before, he taught us to do the dog paddle by saying "what does a dog do when he swims?" and we answered "He cups his hands."

Summers later he taught us how to time artificial resuscitation in Junior Lifesaving by chanting "out goes the bad air, in goes the good"




Beaver replies:
“Agreed - I learned to swim but not well. I did barely pass English. Come on Jim - you're not going to ever get me to believe that we answered "he(dog) cups his hands" You being a dog owner must know that a dog is physically incapable of "cupping" their hands" - after all dogs don't have hands, they have paws!!”



JOH:
Go figgure.
Get back to work.

Uncle Pete

I distinctly remember Uncle Pete teaching me how to swim. As the Aherne's and the Hull's always split use of the family beach house, I would only get one months of swimming lessons a summer, not quite long enough for me to become proficient at swimming. Finally one summer, Uncle Pete threw me off the dock into the deep end and held a bamboo pole in front of me just out of reach. Exh time I reache for the pole to save myself from drowning, Uncle Pete would move the pole a little further away, and again just out of my reach. The next thing I knew, I had swam (swum?) all the way to the shallow end. Uncle Pete promptly announced to my father that I could now swim, and the rest is history.

Chip


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