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Smilin' "Sophomore"
Barry Robinson
by Wyatt Newman
Imagine a shipwreck of the good ship John Rogers, the crew being
disbursed among various islands to safety. Playing the old classroom
sociology game of "Who would you most like to be shipwrecked on
an island with?" I'd say, without hesitation, my usual gang of
pirates: Ken Kelling, Barry Robinson, Bob Martin and Norm Cooper.
Just about everything I did, everywhere I went, all or at least one
of those guys would be with me--packed together into my old blue
bomb 1950 Chevrolet. We would be heading to a game; sitting together
on the cross country or track team bus; roaming around the hallways
before class every morning; walking to school and home after
practice; eating in the cafeteria; attending Hillyard Booster
meetings or playing pool at the same. As the old refrain of alumni
goes when talking about alumni friends, "We did nearly
everything together." Nevertheless, the track/cross country
team activity was the core of our relationship with each other.
And so it was with Barry Robinson, who became Spokane's mile running
sensation his sophomore year, 1958, in track. Naturally, being an
athletic sensation so early in his high school life, his name was
always in the Spokesman Review or Spokane Daily Chronicle sports
pages. He was never written up as just Barry Robinson--it was always
"Sophomore Barry Robinson." Barry went on through Rogers,
as did the rest of us in the normal sequence of junior and senior
years, and the sports writers subsequently referred to him only as
Barry Robinson, but to me and the rest of the distance running crew,
he remained "Sophomore Barry Robinson." And so he remains
to me.
"Sophomore" was consistent in everything he did. His face,
whether running or just being Barry, had the same expression: a
round-shaped mouth, all front teeth on display to the viewer in a
Teddy Roosevelt smile, eyes with a "I know what I'm
doing," concentrated look. He always had that slightly
grown-out crew cut--not a flattop--a genuine, rounded crew cut. When
he ran the mile, he started and finished with pretty-much the same
pace, always having that same, "I know what I'm doing,"
expression, looking straight ahead, not really looking at anything,
his head slightly sashaying left and right. He'd break the
tape at the finish, be congratulated by teammates, and modestly walk
off, quietly and shyly receiving the congratulations but not
acknowledging them.
He was consistent in always finding humor in every situation, place
or person. I would call it a form of sneak-up humor. We could expect
something from him but what to expect was the sneak-up move. One of
my most memorable Barry Robinson jokes was what he would do in the
parade around the first floor of school prior to classes every
morning. I would be walking along, chatting with someone else and
feel a tap on my right shoulder. I'd turn to look and no one would
be there. Upon doing an "eyes front," movement and
resuming my walk, I'd catch him zipping by me on my left, he having
that look of "I did it, but you might not think that I did
it." It was never real ha-ha out loud humor, but we seemed to
enjoy having him around because who doesn't like being around
someone who sees humor in any life situation. I honestly cannot
remember him ever being sad. Like all humans, I'm sure he had his
sad moments, but he was able to keep those to himself very well.
If you look at the photos on the rogers60.com website, you will see
Barry with a white tee-shirt, acting like a debutante showing her
new gown. That was taken at beach in Southern California when he,
"Marty" Martin, Ken Kelling and I went to the Rose Bowl
together. On that same trip, I have a photo taken of all of us at
Knott's Berry Farm, one of
those posed shots seated with a dancehall dame of Wild West days.
Barry, of course, has his hands on her knee with a "Woo, this
is really neat," look.
According to Ken, who keeps track of all of our whereabouts, Barry's
not been to any of the reunions. I hope he shows up in 2010. I'd
love to be standing with a small group, chatting away about times
past and present and being tapped on my shoulder, turning around to
see no one there. There could be no doubt who--"Sophomore Barry
Robinson!"
-Wyatt
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Mr. Wayne Chapman
By Ed Mauget
I had more class time with Mr. Chapman than any
teacher or professor in my life. I was in Mr. Milton Stumpf's home
room for four years, but that was only ten minutes per day. I was in
Mr. Chapman's class every day for an hour for seven semesters.
Mr. Chapman taught mechanical drawing, and
various spin-off disciplines based on drafting, in the old WW
II-vintage green shop building behind Rogers. I took 3 1/2 years of
mechanical drawing because I liked the little bit of it I had from
Mr. Tierney at Bemiss.
I guess I'm partially an alumnus of Bemiss
Grade School because my own school, Cooper, was too small or too
bottom-rung to have its own shop and home economics classes. Thus
our entire class hiked to Bemiss Grade School and back once a week
or so. They didn't call them elementary schools then.
I should also nominate Mr. Tierney of Bemiss as
a first mate because he inspired me to take seven semesters of
mechanical drawing from Mr. Chapman.
Mr. Wayne Chapman was a solid, steady man. I
never saw a student give him trouble, and so never saw him need to
discipline anybody. I enjoyed the low-stress classes and got a lot
of satisfaction out of creating nice-looking drawings. I've never
been able to write legibly, but I could hand-letter a drawing
nicely. Go figure.
My practical rationale for taking so much
drafting was that I foresaw myself becoming an engineer. I didn't
know that engineers mostly read drawings; they don't create them
directly. This became a moot point because, for some reason, I
majored in physics in college.
When I graduated from college, I thought
perhaps I could become an engineer anyway. You see I'd found that a
B.S. in physics is only valid for entering a physics PhD program.
I'd worked with PhD candidates in college and found that they are
enslaved for years. Besides, I wasn't good enough to get accepted in
a program.
I returned to Spokane and cast about for a job.
I was hungry. At one point I even considered being a laborer at the
Kaiser Rolling Mill. I was not accepted because I was "over
qualified". Thanks, college!
I found an architectural firm, Culler Gale,
Martini, Norrie, and Davis, that hired me as a draftsman. I worked
four months drafting, putting nice lettering on my drawings, until I
wormed my way into a career at IBM that lasted until Halloween,
2000.
I still work in the "computer field",
but would have starved to death before finding my career had it not
been for seven semesters of draftsman training from mild-mannered,
capable, Mr. Chapman. Thank you. Thanks to Mr. Tierney too.
-Ed
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