Hoof Prints
Memories of the Blue and the Gold
by
Book Cover & Preview Text
Hoof Prints – Preview Time slipped by unnoticed until we approached a house near the high school. The rather comfortable evening allowed people to keep screen doors in before the first frost. As we approached the brick house later that evening we were reminded of the time as a voice boomed on a TV inside a darkened room, “Here’s Johnnie!” echoed forth. We looked in amazement at each other knowing full well the hour. Yet we knocked one last time. From within a tiny woman not much taller than our waist wandered towards the screen door. This frail lady noted the two monstrous and embattled demons lurking outside. Nervously she opened the door, tossed us what little candy treats remained in a bowl, and quickly slammed both doors shut; retreating to the safety of her home. Realizing how frightful we must have appeared to this lonely soul, we bagged our treats and skirted. We ran past the high school and slowed down as we approached my house. Around us the streets were all but deserted. The quiet felt good. The reality was we had school tomorrow and a game on Saturday. Trick or treat? Jack said good night and I went inside, emptied a ton of candy into several bowls, said good night to my dad, and slept soundly. The autumnal delights of September and October had us filled to the brim. An amazing and exciting energy surged throughout the tiny town of Manville. Saturdays were just one time when the marching band signaled touchdowns and celebrations, car horns honked and tallied the mounting victories, laughter and smiles filled the faces of proud Mustang boosters. It was absolutely glorious. Mother Nature highlighted it all against a back drop of yellow-oranges, blue skies, and crisp, clean air. Halloween turned magical, hardly scary. Day light savings time did little to darken our days. So why did November have to arrive? I guess just because it does. The days would grow darker still and Halloween’s treats would become the worst possible tricks. The poet, T.S. Eliot, called April the cruelest month of all. He never played football in November. Of course not.
Formats
Book Details
About the Book
As a kid fortunate enough to grow up in a small town like Manville, New Jersey in the 1950’s and 1960’s, I wanted to thank some people who were there. Much of my life was consumed by sports so the main focus follows my pathway from midget football to my senior year in high school. The kind, loving, and supportive members of this community enriched not only my life, but the lives of so many of my friends. The school system and so many dedicated teachers and coaches clearly forged a path I would travel down one day and for all their guidance and nurturing, I am eternally grateful.
About the Author
Upon graduation from Manville High School in Manville, New Jersey in 1969, the author entered Wilkes College, earning a BA degree in English Education. For thirty years the author taught English at Hillsborough High School in Hillsborough, New Jersey. There he coached football for six years and the shot put, discus, and javelin events in track and field for thirty-one years.
His classroom experiences provided him an opportunity to share his recollections of high school with his students. Adolescents especially enjoyed the tales of friendships. Several of his students encouraged him to write a book, and so he did.
Presently retired, the author continues to volunteer coaching the field events at his former high school in Manville. Additionally he and his wife support Native American Children, frequently visiting schools out West and enjoying time with their “adopted” Navajo family.