JOHNNY THORPE

As another summer passes, the air grows colder, and a new school year begins, I will always remember 1968. This is a true story I wrote about a very dear friend.

JOHNNY THORPE

An essay by Dave Drew

I entered fourth grade in September of 1968. At St. Brigid School in Westbury, Long Island, New York, the kids in each class stayed the same from first through the eighth grade so we knew who to look for and share the stories of our two glorious months of Summer vacation. The one thing we never knew until that first day was who our teacher was going to be. As we got off our busses, we were told to report to room 205. By this time we knew the drill: sit in alphabetical order in rows from one through five. We had 45 kids in our class so I took up my place in row 1, seat 9 (nice!).

Mrs. Bodie entered the classroom. She was very old (to a bunch of 9 year olds) and she had the reputation of being very strict. We were actually relieved to have her instead of one of the nuns (they were borderline psychotic). After introducing herself, writing her name on the blackboard, and explaining the rules (pencils for math only, cartridge pens for all other writing-NO BALL POINT PENS), Mrs. Bodie read the roll.

When she got to me, she paused and asked if I was related to Ellen Drew. I told her that she was my big sister. A smile came to her face and she proudly told the class that Ellen Drew was the best student she ever had and that we should all try to be just like her. This was pressure that I just didn’t need, but as a shy yet attention craving little kid, suddenly I felt strangely important.

Later that night, I talked to Ellen about this. She graduated High School the year before and had just begun her second year commuting to Roosevelt Hospital in Manhattan where she was enrolled in Nursing School. Ellen told me that Mrs. Bodie loved her and made her sit in front of her desk for the entire year. Ellen said that Mrs. Bodie was old when she was in fourth grade but Mrs.Bodie was a really great teacher (you know, one of the good ones you never forget).

The next day, the seats in the classroom were rearranged into 6 rows. I was now in the second row, first seat, right in front of Mrs. Bodie. (Oh great). Every morning at St. Brigid, The principal, Sister Augustine (we called her Sister Disgustin’) led the morning prayers through the speaker box just below the crucifix in the front of the room. Mrs. Bodie read the roll. When she got to me this time she paused and asked if I knew Johnny Thorpe. Of course I knew Johnny Thorpe. He was the coolest kid on our whole block. Mrs. Bodie then began a string of stories that she would repeat and expand upon every day for the next 3 weeks. “ Johnny was a cut up but he always tried his best.” “Johnny wasn’t the best student but he had integrity”. “He would make mistakes but always owned up to them”. He was a direct contrast to my sister who was always perfect. I thought “I’m really in trouble now”.

Johnny was the coolest kid on the block. The Thorpes lived right across the street on Evelyn Ave. This was a typical suburban neighborhood in the baby boomer sixties. There were kids everywhere. We had bases painted on the street for the endless baseball games. We all had above ground pools in our backyards. Johnny was always nice to me. I think it was because he had a crush on Ellen since the first grade, but it didn’t matter. He was like a big brother. If you heard something sounding like a lawnmower flying down the street, you knew Johnny had built another motor bike or go-kart. He dated Ellen a few times when they were about 16, but it never amounted to anything. Johnny had a 55 Chevy in his garage that he was always tinkering with. I loved looking at all of his tools and the projects he had going on.

John was an only child. His parents had him relatively late in life and they doted on him. He never got into any real trouble and he was a gifted mechanic. He was a lot of fun. He told me my first dirty joke. He was drafted into the army in 1967, not long after his High School graduation. Soon after, the Thorpes moved to a smaller house on a quieter street in Huntington, NY. They missed John....So did I.

I used to play army all the time. My Dad was a World War II veteran as were most dads on the block. When I wasn’t pretending to be him, shooting Nazis, I was pretending to be Johnny, shooting commies. We watched the News on TV every night. It reminded me of a football game. They would lead with the score: 14 Americans dead, 36 Viet Cong dead. Yessss! We won again.

Back in school I was becoming a teacher’s pet and I was enjoying my new found popularity. The other kids thought it was pretty cool that I actually knew the people that Mrs. Bodie was talking about. I was awarded some pretty special duties. I was allowed to help the sixth graders dispense Holy Water. I was allowed to help the Boy Scouts raise and lower the flag each day. The first 3 weeks in fourth grade may have been the best time of my life.

I came home on Friday, had tea and cookies with my Mom, and went out to play with my friends on the block. We played some baseball (I was Tom Seaver) and played army (I was Johnny) and waited for our Moms to call us in for dinner. My Mom called me later than usual. When I walked in the front door, I saw Ellen crying. I knew something very bad had happened.

My Dad put his hand on my shoulder and told me that John Thorpe was killed in Viet Nam. They left to visit the Thorpes. I don’t remember anything else about that night. It didn’t really hit me. It was just like the scores on TV.

Monday morning, before the announcements and morning prayers, I went to Mrs. Bodie. I wasn’t sure how to tell her. (Why was this horrible task left up to me.? I was only 9!) I said “Remember Johnny Thorpe?” (Of course she did, she talked about him every day). I told her that he died in Viet Nam.

Her eyes filled with tears and she left the room and closed the door. I just put my head down on my desk because I didn’t want the other kids to see me cry. They all started whispering and then talking and soon spitballs were flying and there was noise like fourth graders make when the teacher is away.

Sister Augustine (rhymes with disgustin’) said through the speaker box just below the crucifix that a former St. Brigid student, John Thorpe, died fighting for his country. The class was silent. She led us all in an Our Father and a Hail Mary. After about 30 seconds, the noise in the class began again. My head was still down on my desk.

Through the noise I heard Mrs. Bodie in the hall.....weeping. I wished I never told her.

Mrs. Bodie entered the room and said “Please open up your math books to page 14.” She never mentioned Ellen or Johnny Thorpe again.

I never played army anymore. That day still haunts me. I dream about it.

Within a few years, John’s parents passed away. They never got over it.

I go to Washington every few years and I always take the time to go to the wall and touch his name.


DD