Rick Rantamaki:  

CLASS OF 1984
Rick Rantamaki's Classmates® Profile Photo
Chaney High SchoolClass of 1984
Youngstown, OH
Youngstown, OH
Youngstown, OH
Youngstown, OH
Youngstown, OH

Rick's Story

[ Our School Motto ] I received an email the other day from an old high school teacher. Attached to it were images of renovation work recently completed at the school. (Our school was built when the "bomb shelter" look was all the rage, so ANY renovation work is a welcome change.) As I marveled at the drastic changes to the ol' alma mater, I came across a photo that, rather unexpectedly, caught my eye. It was an image of the auditorium - though it barely resembled the auditorium I remember. All the wooden seats were gone and the bare concrete floor sloped down to a mound of debris at the foot of the stage. Situated center stage was a make-shift plywood desk surrounded by piles of building material. The acoustical ceiling tiles were ripped out, which exposed the ductwork, lighting, and roof joists. What really drew me into the picture, though, were the colossal, art deco, words still mounted high above the stage, "ENTER TO LEARN; GO FORTH TO SERVE". Our school motto was like a classic mission statement in any post WWII industrialized city school. It's a bold proclamation that implies the school's sole purpose is to systematically convert pliable young minds into loyal civil servants. I wondered then, as I do now, just how applicable that motto is. Like many of my classmates, I emerged from the public school production line with all the bravado of a typical high school graduate. (In other words, blissfully ignorant I was an idiot.) This inflated sense of self-worth was bolstered by the spiffy graduation gown and hypnotizing tassel. I was, as far as I knew, ready to "go forth and serve". But, did my stint in the public school system really teach me anything? Obviously, public schools can only do so much; it's hardly a shortcut to a higher standard of living - like those mightier-than-thou parochial schools. Those kids were far ahead of us "public" school types. Their school parking lots were filled with new cars. They had trust funds. They watched financial investment commercials - with interest. They had legacy admissions awaiting them. Their coeds wore tartan skirts - everyday. They had it made. By comparison, we were still amused by simple shapes and bright colors. (I'm sure those standardized Iowa Tests confirmed this, but the results were never posted.) Our futures were uncertain. We were confused. Sure, I crunched formulas in Algebra, trudged through "The Grapes of Wrath", spilled my Fortran cards, and mumbled my way through a foreign language, but did this prepare me for the real world? Hardly. Instead, much of the knowledge I've acquired has been through a series of botched life lessons. Many of which could have been avoided if our public schools offered some "real life" classes too, such as: + Relationships (some settling may occur) + Mortgages (know where your money is really going) + Time Management (easily overlooked) + Parenting (which could also be considered a "scared straight" and/or "preventive" class too - with a strong emphasis on the benefits of a cold shower) +Leadership Skills (when to take charge) + Partying That's right, partying. After all, this is a skill that can be put to immediate use, because the majority of our "party" days occurred during our late teens and early twenties. Just imagine how many "unfortunate" circumstances you could have avoided if only you had been properly instructed. Why, there's a myriad of topics a party class could cover, such as: + How to properly tap a keg + When is Kool-Aid a viable mixer + How to recognize when your friend has had too much + Proper etiquette for holding your girlfriend's hair while she's reviewing the contents of her stomach + How to be a good listener - even when the room is spinning + Slurring - like you meant to + Driving a car from the passenger seat + How to know if it's oregano + When is malt liquor the right choice + How to make Jell-O shooters + How to "act cool" when the police arrive + When is urinating in public okay + The perils of generic beer The topics are endless. I'm certain they'd have no problem filling this class. Heck, I would've skipped lunch just to attend. Perhaps courses like this were available down at the vocational school and I just wasn't paying attention during our sophomore-year promotional tour. (Maybe that explains why some of the vocational kids seemed to possess a bloodshot, bleary-eyed, wisdom beyond their years.) Anyway, back to the subject. So, the knowledge I gained in high school was just enough to make me competitive on "Wheel of Fortune" and a dumbstruck moron on "Jeopardy". But, was this limited knowledge enough to permit me to go forth and serve? Yeah, I guess. I mean, I didn't whither and die after graduation and I'm not standing on a street corner holding a sign that says, "I'm not gonn...Expand for more
a lie. I need money for beer." So, I guess you could say the public educational system provided me the wherewithal to go forth and serve (and contribute to the government tax coffers). I just think, though, that if you could somehow reunite the collective minds that originally penned my high school motto, they'd be hard pressed to agree that I represent the civil servant they had in mind. So, in hindsight, perhaps a more appropriate motto might have been, "Enter to learn; go forth somewhat prepared for life's uncertain journey", or maybe something a little more succinct like, "Enter sober; PARTY ON". Okay, now let's discuss that mascot... ------------------------------------ Google "Rick Rantamaki" for more Rantamaki adventures. ------------------------------------ [ Senior Moment ] It's early morning, its dark, and I'm on my way to the office. My thoughts are on the day ahead (project deadlines, appointments, networking tasks) when I realize the radio is on. It's playing; "Every Little Thing She Does is Magic" by The Police. The song's ominous beginning is in rhythm with the dancing shadows my headlights form along the tree-lined corridor between my house and the highway (where the deer gather each morning to see me off to work). Usually, the soundtrack for my commute is a CD (or a lively Hispanic station - as if there's any other kind), but since my wife drove my truck over the weekend, and she abhors my "weird" CD collection, she set the radio on some local station. What kept me from changing it, though, were the memories that came rushing back with the music. Memories of my high school "Senior Day" - an occasion marked with soaped messages on car windows, fake legs sticking out of trunks (or, at least that's what we told the cops), and honking the horn like it was a newfound language. Senior Day was also when we officially turned the school over to the juniors (ha-ha suckers) and the school's faculty imparted their final words of wisdom. (Funny, I can't remember a word they said.) I, too, was a part of the ceremony. I stood at the podium before the darkened auditorium packed with giddy juniors and seniors and performed my impression of Mr. Davis, our chemistry teacher (a giant leap for a once-introverted young man labeled "the new kid" at nine different public schools). I held up one finger and slowly wagged it back and forth and then, in the deepest voice my scrawny body could muster, I said, "Don't make me get out my soapbox." The room erupted in laughter and applause as Mr. Davis, shook his head and ascended the stairs into the spotlight. Then the radio transitioned to, "Against All Odds" by Phil Collins - which, coincidentally, happens to be our class song. Our classmate, Judy, sang it during the Senior Day ceremony. Granted, it's a sappy song from a crappy movie. (A movie I successfully avoided for 22-years - until I was saddled with the flu and couldn't reach the remote. To date, this has been the only non-sports related moment were I've seriously considered throwing something through the TV.) I thought about Judy standing there, alone in the spotlight, accompanied by a piano. She sang the first verse as if the words were radiating through her, but the gravity of the moment stole her composure between verses and her voice became choked with tears. She covered her face and the piano slowed, waiting for her to recover. Now that I think about it, I really didn't invest much in Judy as a friend. In fact, I didn't invest much in most of my classmates I considered "friends" (funny how life is constantly refining your perspective). Today, this song eerily reflects the "empty space" where the flimsy friendships built in high school have collapsed. "COME ON JUDY, YOU CAN DO IT," yelled a voice from the audience. Judy wiped her tears, took a deep breath and continued, half-singing, half-crying. And, as much as teenagers rejoice in exploiting the weaknesses of others, no one heckled. No one could. Collectively, with a crescendo of whistles and applause, our class carried her through the finish. It might be a crappy movie and the song may rival Aunt Jamima's syrup inventory, but that moment cemented that song into our class history. Then the morning radio crew interrupted my train of thought with the temperature and time and told me to "stick around for more great oldies." Huh? Oldies?! I'm listening to an "oldies" station? My parents listened to "oldies" stations, not me! This stuff isn't old! I'm not old! I can't stop using exclamation points!! Then it dawned on me. It won't be long until "Senior Day" takes on a whole new meaning...yay. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to take my radio in for repairs. ------------------------------------ Google "Rick Rantamaki" for more Rantamaki adventures.
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