Philip Gambrel:
CLASS OF 1966
Chesterton High SchoolClass of 1966
Chesterton, IN
Philip's Story
It was "Senior Week" for the class of '66. We had just finished the all-school "Senior Awards" convocation, where the smart kids who got scholarships or other academic achievement awards were recognized in front of the whole school. Afterwards, about a dozen or so of us seniors were congregating in the large foyer near the main offices. I do not remember who was there except for Becky Zehner, Karen France, and Tim Williams. I'm certain that others from their circle of friends were there also (Elsie Ferguson, Mike Griffin, Jerilynn Rucker, maybe Jay Mathias; I do not remember). But I do remember that Becky asked the question "How many of us were here for all 12 years?"
I had lived in Chesterton long enough to know that there was a certain "Us and Them" mentality in the whole community. I doubt that is what prompted Becky's question, but I wanted to be one of "us" not one of "them". My mother's family was from Chesterton (actually Jackson Township) but my father's family was not. I didn't have a "Chesterton surname". I was born in Indianapolis, and my family moved around a bit before we settled into Chesterton. We continued to move around even after arriving in Chesterton. I first started attending Westchester schools in Miss Lewis' 3rd grade class at Hageman School in Porter. Fourth grade, I was in Mr Updegraf's class at Thomas. Fifth grade found me in Mrs Spaulding's class at Central. And I was back in Porter, at Yost, in sixth grade. I started 6th grade in Mrs. Vermillion's class, but was transferred into Mrs Toufman's class after the first 6 weeks. I think, when we all came together for the first time in 7th grade, I was just about the only one who already knew everybody else in the class.
My grandmother, Selma Lindstedt, grew up in Jackson Township, near Burdick, right across the road from Pine Township. Delbert Hall lived across the road from my great grandfather's farm. The house at that location had burned down three times. Part of the family lore, attributed the fires to Muldoon's ghost, an apparition my Great Uncle Art had seen as a child in the barn one dark evening. The fact that before my Great Grandfather bought the property, Mrs. Muldoon was found dead in the barn had solidified those claims that the property was haunted. After the last fire, my Uncle Art decided he wasn't going to rebuild the house and just left the burnt out shell standing. It became a relic for country ...Expand for more
hayrides on Halloween, and in the dim light, as a cloud passed in front of the moon, it look haunted. (Speaking of Haunted Houses, my grandfather, Harry Anderson, grew up in Jackson Township also; near 500 East and Greening Rd. The toll road took most of the farm he grew up on, but it was across the road from the other "haunted house" we sometimes went to.) My grandmother would ride the "milk train" into Chesterton to attend school. She graduated from CHS in 1914. At that time the high school was the school we knew as Thomas.
My mother was born in Gary, and lived there until she finished 10th grade. They moved back to Chesterton, because there was no longer any work in the steel mills. When my mother graduated from CHS in 1939, the high school was what we knew as "the old building" (the Junior High). My mother, Ruth Anderson, graduated from CHS 25 years after her mother, and my sister, Jean, graduated from CHS 25 years after her, in 1964. My mother was valedictorian of her class. I think she may have been in the same graduating class as Keith Valpatic's father. Also, in that class, was Mr. Guerke, who taught us freshman English. She also mentioned that her Latin Teacher was Mrs Smith, who taught Latin to some of us.
While I had deep roots in the Chesterton area, I was still missing that 1st & 2nd grade qualification, to be one of "us". Hoping to cover up that little gap, I began to establish myself before 1st grade. The summer before first grade, I was visiting my grandparents, who lived at the corner of 8th & Lincoln (across 8th Street from what later became the football field). One day, I was permitted to go to the park by myself. (Hey! How tall was that slide, anyway?). I was playing in the sandbox by myself, when a "big bully" decided he wanted the sand box all to himself. He grabbed me, pulled me out of the box, sat on my chest and began to punch me in the face. Two hits was all it took, and I was running home, crying, bleeding from both nostrils. The "big bully" happened to be Tim Williams.
Back in the foyer of the High School, I asked Tim if he remembered that event. He reacted in disbelief. "You mean that was you? I never saw that kid again, I thought he bled to death, that I killed him. I used to have nightmares about him."
"Yes! There is a God!" I thought to myself, "and He has His own brand of vengeance."
But more importantly, I had established myself as one of "us."
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