St. Mary of Assumption in Elizabeth set to close July 30

Talk about your highest level of hypocrisy.

On June 11, officials at St. Mary of the Assumption High School in Elizabeth were told by Cardinal Joseph Tobin and his hierarchy that the school was not in danger of closing and had enough of an enrollment and financial base to remain open for at least another year.

Yesterday, the powers-that-be in the Archdiocese of Newark did an abrupt about-face and pulled the plug on the school, telling the St. Mary teachers and staff that they had four days to pack up their belongings; that the school was indeed going to close at the end of the week.

St. Mary had only been a fixture in Elizabeth since 1930. That’s 89 years of serving the youth of Elizabeth and its surroundings. Eighty-nine years!!!

How could that possibly be? How could the higher-ups say one thing two weeks ago and say another yesterday? What about the school’s 155 students? Where do they go?

Oh, in a gracious gesture, the Archdiocese of Newark told the St. Mary students that they could attend Roselle Catholic at the same tuition rate that they had at St. Mary. Isn’t that just special?

St. Mary officials said that they were going to try to raise the $2 million necessary to keep the school open, before the absolute final deadline next month. But that is almost next to impossible. Unless some charitable Superman swoops in and opens up his check book to make that miracle donation, the school is doomed, much like most of the other high schools in the Archdiocese.

It’s no secret that the Archdiocese no longer wants to be in the business of higher education. That has been evident with the incredible amount of school closings within the Archdiocese in the last 20 years. I can just rattle off all the schools that are within the confines of Hudson County, great institutions like St. Aloysius High, the Academy of St. Aloysius, St. Mary’s (Jersey City), St. Joseph of the Palisades, Sacred Heart Academy, Holy Family Academy, Holy Rosary Academy and last, but certainly not least St. Anthony all shut their doors within the last 20 years, all citing the same reason – declining enrollment and the rising cost of education.

But is that true at St. Mary of the Assumption? The school enjoyed a rebirth over the last two years. Freshman enrollment actually doubled since last year. The incoming freshman class for September of this year was actually 200 times better than the freshman enrollment of a year ago.

So that can’t be the reason, can it?

If St. Mary was indeed in danger of closing, then why make the announcement now? Why didn’t the powers-that-be make a determination in October or November, giving the dedicated staff seven months to try to raise the necessary funds.

No, the Archdiocese decided to padlock the doors this week, just two weeks after saying that the school was not in danger of closing.

There have been other schools that survived the decree of execution sent down by the Archdiocesan leaders. Almost a decade ago, Hudson Catholic was informed that the school was going to be closed, but the school decided to go co-educational, allowing girls for the first time. That move turned out to be a major plus for Hudson Catholic and the school is now flourishing.

Seven years ago, Holy Family Academy in Bayonne was all set to close, but parents got together to raise enough money to keep the doors open, but only for two years.

Three years ago, Marist, also in Bayonne, informed its parents that the school was going to close, much like St. Mary of the Assumption, within a very tiny window. But the Marist parents all rallied together and managed to keep itself solvent – and the school remains open to this day.

Two years ago, Queen of Peace in nearby North Arlington also suffered the same fate, with its doors closing just months after the Archdiocese told its school officials that enough money was raised by private funding to keep the doors open.

Now, St. Mary of the Assumption has suffered a similar fate.

It’s just not right to the 155 students that are still part of the St. Mary student body. If that school was indeed in financial dire straits, then they should have been informed months ago, not told one thing just two weeks ago and now have the rug pulled from under them today.

It’s beyond unfortunate. It’s just not right. The kids deserved better from the Archdiocese. Regardless of the Archdiocese’s position on not wanting to be in the business of higher education any longer, the kids deserved to be told the truth, not told one thing June 11 and another today. Is that being Catholic? Is that teaching these adolescents the right way to live a Catholic life?

It’s a damn shame that these kids have to search for a new place to continue their education. It didn’t have to end this way.

On its website, there are links to fundraising efforts in order to try to keep the school open. One can donate by clicking on to https://stmaryhsnj.org/save-st-marys.

The absolute deadline to raise the necessary $2 million is July 30. It should be interesting to see just how close the good people of St. Mary of the Assumption can get to keep the doors open.

One thing is for sure: the whole situation just reeks of hypocrisy. You can’t tell people one thing one week and another just two weeks later. It’s not the way to operate.

You can read more of my work at www.hudsonreporter.com and www.theobserver.com. You can also follow me on Twitter @ogsmar.

Happy Father's Day with my Field of Dreams piece

This column was first printed in the pages of the now-defunct Hudson Dispatch on June 29, 1989. It ended up winning several different awards from the New Jersey Press Association, the North Jersey Press Club and the Garden State Society of Journalists. It was also reprinted in Reader’s Digest later that year (although I never got credit, the paper did).

For several years, the clipping sat in an old Avon box in my basement. We had a major flood two years ago that ruined a lot of my old clippings, including several of the old Dispatch articles. But somehow, this one survived. It’s very weather beaten and faded, but it survived.

I’m re-typing it today and posting it, because after all, it’s Fathers’ Day.

I ventured to the movie theater the other day. No, not to see “Batman” or even “Ghostbusters II.” I’m not a trendy type of guy. In fact, I’m a little behind the times. I saw “Field of Dreams.”

OK, so the rest of the western world has already plunked down the cash to see “Field of Dreams.” We’re in the midst of a blockbuster movie season. “Field of Dreams” is old news to movie freaks. After all, it was only released nine weeks ago.

But “Field of Dreams” is about baseball _ sort of. And besides, “Batman” is not about Don Mattingly. I am a sportswriter _ at last check. And I’m a movie fan. Just a tardy movie fan, that’s all. I had to go see it. Who cares if I’m late?

I heard so many things about the movie. It was supposed to be the best thing ever to happen to baseball movies _ which wouldn’t be a hard feat, considering that most baseball flicks flounder.

I went with an open mind, waiting to be disappointed. I left feeling wonderful, feeling alive, feeling good. “Field of Dreams” touched me more than any other movie. It was clearly the best picture I’ve ever witnessed.

And my strong feelings about “Field of Dreams” had nothing to do with baseball. It had to do with life. Or, for that matter, afterlife.

For those who have not had the chance to see “Field of Dreams” _ like all seven of you _ you can stop reading here. Take my word for it, the movie is excellent. It’s the best thing you’ll see all year.

Now, for you other fortunate folk.

Let’s face it. “Field of Dreams” has its flaws. I mean, Shoeless Joe Jackson batted left-handed in real life and threw right. In this movie, the exact opposite. He batted right and threw left.

Brings up a good question. Do your extremities become mirror images after death? Only Elvis can answer that one. Remind me to ask him the next time the King is spotted at a 7-11 in Michigan. Elvis probably shoots at TVs with his left these days.

Gil Hodges is mentioned to be on the “Field of Dreams.” But there were no Brooklyn Dodgers uniforms to be found.

Still, this movie was absolute perfection to me, because it was able to touch me in a way that some people can relate to _ but hopefully not many.

Because of one movie, I got in touch with the huge vacancy that has been dominating my life for the last 18 years _ namely the absence of my father.

I was 10 when cancer snuffed Jack Hague away from me. He was sick, dead and gone within one month’s time in 1971. He was my everything. He was my inspiration, my motivation, my life. He was my Little League manager, my friend. He taught me so much about life in 10 short years _ and then he was gone.

It left me with a brother who was 60 miles away with his own family, a sister who was maturing rapidly _ and a loving mother, who had to be both parents from that point on. It was not easy.

Especially because of my obsession with sports _ something I shared with my Dad. We would watch ball games together, talk baseball constantly, play catch in my backyard.

With no father, those times came to an abrupt halt. I longed for the days of playing catch in the yard. They were long gone.

“Stop throwing like a girl, James,” I could hear him saying. “Step and throw.”

There were so many times in 1972, the first year after my father’s death, that I would stand in the yard, hoping he would come back. I just kept standing there, smacking the ball into my empty glove.

Little League was no longer fun without my Dad. It was a struggle to play for some other manager.

That summer, my mother bought me a “Pitch-Back,” the net that snapped the ball back to you after you tossed it. However, the damn thing never offered advice. It never told me what I was doing wrong. It just stood there.

And the “Pitch-Back” could never tell me what I was doing wrong in life. Of course, my mother did _ and worked hard at it. But living with two women and no man’s view of life certainly was no breeze for a moody kid who found his only release through sports.

As time went on, I tended to forget about my Dad. Not entirely, but enough that he wasn’t a major part of my life anymore. I lost his set of values, his standards. I forgot what Jack Hague stood for. I wanted to be independent, my own person. I couldn’t fill the shoes of a memory.

Sure, sports remained my one constant _ and still is today. Without it, I would be lost. But most of all the other values I thought I had disappeared.

People think I’ve lived a good life, an exciting life. But it’s been fairly shallow. I never realized that until recently _ and never more so until I saw “Field of Dreams.”

It was a total awakening for me. I knew how important my father was _ and still is. Sure, my father was gone, but I should never let him stop being my parent. I should have left his values live on in my life instead of being pigheaded and stubborn and wanting to be something and someone else.

“Field of Dreams” touched me so much that I wanted to build a field in my backyard, albeit a small patch of brown grass nestled in Jersey City. And all the greats of yesteryear who are now departed could come back. They wouldn’t even need an invitation.

Gil Hodges would wear a Met uniform and run the show. Thurman Munson would be behind the plate. Satchel Paige on the mound, Lou Gehrig at first _ and Jackie Robinson stealing bases all night.

And the players would leave a little spot where right field would be, just enough for a grey-haired man with a three-finger glove could throw some high hard ones to his son.

“Field of Dreams” did what it was supposed to do _ make us all dream. It made me dream _ of the days when my father taught me about baseball and life.

I almost took those days for granted. I look back now and cherish. I never realized how much I truly missed my father.

So this is somewhat of an open call to all our readers. Stop, take time out and realize how important your father is.

Sure, there may be some differences and there may be some strife, but the day may come when your father is suddenly not there _ and that vacant feeling of his loss almost gets a stranglehold of you.

I know what that feeling is like. I knew it 18 years ago _ and I rediscovered that huge gap 11 days ago. Yes, Fathers’ Day, the day I saw “Field of Dreams.” I had totally forgotten it was Fathers’ Day. It was so totally ironic I saw the movie on that day.

I’ll never forget Fathers’ Day again. That’s why I love the movies so much _ and why “Field of Dreams” is the best movie I’ve ever seen. I found my Dad. I’m grateful for Hollywood for that.

That’s why I’m asking all of you to find your fathers, too. While he’s still around.

Remembering the early days of writing and Coach Wilkins

The year was 1983 and I was a young pup in the sports writing world, working at my first job in a litany of literally dozens, the Morristown Daily Record. I was 22 years old and just out of Marquette University. I was hired by the Daily Record to be a sports agate clerk, someone who would answer the phones and take the results from correspondents and put those results into the computer for someone else to write the round-ups.

The sports editor of the Daily Record then was a man named Mike Richard and in the interview process, he told me that the position of sports agate clerk was “a little below me” and that I was probably overqualified for the job. I told him I didn’t care. I was always taught that the first thing to do was get your foot in the door. I told Mike I wanted the job and he then gave it to me.

Well, the job of being a sports agate clerk lasted all of three days. On the first Saturday night I worked at the Daily Record, the assistant sports editor at the time, a wonderful man named Roger Farrell, came into the back room where all the other “agate clerks” were situated. Farrell asked, “Who back here knows something about figure skating?” I bravely put up my hand real fast.

“Good, here’s your press pass, go to the Meadowlands Arena and interview Scott Hamilton,” Farrell said. “Come back here and write the story about Hamilton.”

The truth be told, I didn’t know a single thing about figure skating, except for the fact that Dorothy Hamill was really cute. At least I knew who Scott Hamilton was. But in terms of technical moves, like double axels and forward spins, I knew not a thing. But I figured I was getting a chance to write.

That was the end of my days as a sports agate clerk. Two days later, I was told to cover a high school softball game. Then it was high school baseball, then college softball. Mike Richard left the sports department and the new sports editor was a man named Rob Tanenbaum, who really liked me and gave me so many opportunities to cover events and write. Rob really knew how to get the best out of me and pushed all the right buttons. My career as a sportswriter was about to flourish.

Later that summer, the Daily Record put out a high school football tab, with features on every single team in our circulation area and even some that were fringe schools, but we did features on those teams as well. I think it was about 48 teams in all, complete with starting lineups, heights and weights, schedules, the prior year’s statistics, the whole ball of wax.

It was about as in-depth of a high school football publication that could be found in New Jersey. We really did a sensational job with the tab – and that excellence was maintained through my second stint with the Daily Record from 2007 through 2017. Some of my proudest moments as a sportswriter came from writing the stories for the football tab every year.

Anyway, in the summer of 1983, I was first given the responsibility to write nine previews for the tab. Then, one of my colleagues broke his ankle and couldn’t finish his assignments. So naturally, the other teams were thrown into the lap of the new kid, so I had something like 16 previews to write. At the end, I was a little punch drunk, because I wrote in one preview about Whippany Park that the “Wildcats were coming off consecutive 0-9 seasons and if they don’t improve, then there will be wholesale changes in the coaching staff.”

That line amused the brilliant copy editor, the late, great Bob Handler, who used to call me to his desk whenever I did something wrong and pointed out my mistakes. That’s why Handler was one of the best editors I’ve ever worked with, because he didn’t just make changes for the sake of making changes. He would turn each article into a teaching lesson and instructed us what we were doing right and more often than not, what we were doing wrong. He was amazing.

Anyway, Handler called me to his desk and had the Whippany Park preview on his screen and just barked out, “Wholesale changes, Hague? They’re teachers. They’re teachers. They’re not coaching in the NFL. They’re teachers.”

Hey, I was 22 and totally naïve.

Anyway, the best part about doing the work on the tab back in 1983 was the awesome array of football coaching legends I had to deal with. There was the late John Bauer at Randolph, the late John Chironna at Morristown, the late Bill Regan at Delbarton and his son, Bill, Jr. at Morris Knolls. There was the immortal Ted Monica of Madison, who was always so larger than life. Coach Monica commanded respect from everyone he came across.

There was Gerry Gallagher at Morris Catholic and the late Frank Bottone at New Providence, who was one of the nicest men God ever placed on this planet.

These guys were absolute coaching legends in New Jersey. Some of the all-time leaders in New Jersey coaching victories are among those names.

One of those legends was Doug Wilkins of Mountain Lakes, a man who was a brilliant football mind and a master motivator. I was fortunate enough to become very friendly with Wilkins over the years, back when I was still wet behind the ears and knew nothing and no one to recent years, when I wrote about his retirement in 2010 after leading the Herd to another undefeated state championship season in 2009.

Wilkins walked away after the 2009 season with 328 coaching victories, with seven NJSIAA state titles.

“I thought about that,” Wilkins said in an interview with me for the Daily Record after announcing his retirement to his players.  “I’m walking away from a 25-game winning streak. How many people do that? I could have very well seen myself coaching these kids, because they’re my kind of kids. But I told them that this was about me. It wasn’t about them. They’re such a special group of kids. It was so hard for me to face them and tell them that I was leaving. I didn’t want to disappoint them. But it was time. It was good to go out on my terms. I’m feeling good physically. It makes sense.”

In that interview, Wilkins said that he reflected a lot on his career.

“When you’re coaching, you do it a year at a time and you don’t get much of a chance to look back,” Wilkins said. “But when you look back at some of the things we’ve done, it is remarkable. We haven’t had a losing season since 1984. None of the current kids were even born then. Over the last four years, we’ve been 43-3. Over the last decade, we were 97-15. It’s like we’ve created a monster and we have to keep feeding it. It’s been an incredible run. It’s been so gratifying and satisfying. I think of all the kids I’ve coached and all the friends I’ve made over the years. Some of my former players are now like my best friends. It’s been my life. That’s what I’m going to miss the most.”

Wilkins passed the coaching torch over to one of his top assistants Darrell Fusco and the Herd kept on winning. Wilkins was always there at the games, watching on the sidelines. He was there when they renamed the field after him a few years after his retirement.

Last week, Doug Wilkins passed away at the age of 76. He leaves a wife, Marjorie, three children and nine grandchildren. More importantly, he left a legacy of greatness that will never be duplicated from an era in Morris County football that can never be matched with all the coaching legends that were in the county back then. How fortunate was I to have had the opportunity to learn about football and learn about life from these coaching titans like Doug Wilkins.

The one story that comes out when recalling Doug Wilkins’ life is the tool he used to motivate his team before big games. He would bring out an old turntable and pull out Jack Jones’ Greatest Hits. And that scratchy record would warble Jones singing a familiar tune from the Broadway hit “Man of La Mancha.”

It’s hard to believe that teenage boys would sit attentively and listen to some Broadway show tune. But the song “The Impossible Dream” meant so much to Wilkins, the lyrics being attributed to football.

“To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
And to run where 
The brave dare not go
To right the unrightable wrong
And to love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star
This is my quest
To follow that star
No matter how hopeless
No matter how far
To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march, 
March into hell
For that heavenly cause
And I know
If I'll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart
Will lie peaceful and calm
When I'm laid to my rest
And the world will be 
Better for this
That one man, scorned 
And covered with scars,
Still strove with his last 
Ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable, 
The unreachable,
The unreachable star.”

I heard that song in the Mountain Lakes locker room some 36 years ago. I thought it was a little on the corny side when I first heard it, but what did I know? I now know how great of a motivation that song was for Wilkins’ team.

Now, I hear that song and all I can think about is Coach Wilkins, his incredible generosity to me as a young sportswriter and the generosity that was extended right up until the day he retired after 44 years of coaching.

People will gather in Denville today and pay tribute to Coach Wilkins and his great life, the legacy he will be forever remembered for. His heart can lie peaceful and calm when he’s laid to his rest. He’s reached the unreachable star.

You can read more of my work at www.hudsonreporter.com and www.theobserver.com.