LAKEMONT ACADEMY FOR BOYS

LAKEMONT ACADEMY

Boys, grades seven through twelve

Mrs. Dohler could be mean, intolerably mean, worse than any high school bully. Even when she smiled, her face turned ornery. “Thomas, just accept it for what it is,” she screamed after her third attempt to explain the inner workings of the Pythagorean theorem, using words she thought I should understand.

 Adrift and dispirited with public high school, when mother produced a brochure for Lakemont Academy for Boys, suggesting that I entertain the prospect of becoming a member of the student body, I accepted without hesitation.

A trip from Rochester to Seneca Lake and a tour of Lakemont only served to fuel my desire. Palmer Hall, built prior to 1910, served as headquarters for now abandoned Starkey Seminary, a coed religious institution, was given new life as a boys school sometime in the thirties. When they converted the property to a college prep facility, several buildings were added to the campus: a gymnasium, a stable, and a grandstand for family and fans to observe events taking place on the new playing field/arena. What interested me most was the stable of eight horses the boys are taught to ride for show and recreation.

Lakemont Academy maintained a low student to teacher ratio, never more than five to one plus the promise of tutoring when necessary, deemed essential for my education because I am a dreamer, not a student.

Mother made all the arrangements for my first year at the school, which included a work schedule to help pay my tuition. Starting as a sophomore, September 1943, I moved into one of the student rooms, which came complete with a roommate.

Teachers remembered, some with names

Mr. Gilland, headmaster, lived in a home on property with his wife and son. Affectionately, but furtively, called snort because of some affliction he had with his nose, he looked the quintessential headmaster: rosy cheeks separated by a regal nose, underscored with a freshly trimmed mustache. He was the backbone of the school.

Mr. Clark, second in command, also lived on property with his wife and daughter, Cathy, taught math, and science. The Clark home provided entertainment and guidance for anyone seeking help.

Mr. Saied, a short bewhiskered Persian expatriate, who was well versed in world history, would charm the class with stories of his exploits, thus taking up class time, off subject.

Curriculum at Lakemont included French and Spanish. Having struggled with Spanish in public school, the choice was easy. As it turned out, Spanish class consisted of one student. We, Mr. Bogart, and I met in his rooming quarters, where we listened to Spanish on shellac based 78-rpm records on his personal phonograph one hour a day, four days a week.

Horsemanship, taught by Mr. Forbath a Hungarian expatriate, who also held a class in American history, Although well versed in the management and control of the school’s equine critters, he learned about American history along with his students. Given a reading assignment after every class, we would skip the homework because a student read the same pages aloud in class the next day.

 An Armenian gentleman conducted classes in English literature, mostly Shakespeare.

The school maintained a fully equipped woodshop in the basement. A kindly old gentleman attended the facility offering help to anyone taking advantage of the opportunity to use the room. I could be found there making gifts for mother such as a solid maple rolling pin for her baking.

Roommate complained when I suggested he get out of bed first thing in the morning to close the window (because it was cold). His bed was closer and I saw no reason why he should gripe about such a simple request. So, to keep the peace, I rigged up a device to automatically close the window, run off his alarm clock. This worked so well, I solved other problems using my mechanical bent. For instance, lights had to be off after curfew, but if I wasn’t tired I would read under the covers using a flashlight. Batteries being expensive and hard to come by, I tied a rubber band to the door that kept the lamp on my bedside table lit, until someone opened the door.

Classmates Remembered, some names

Chandler (Chan) A. Oakes, III, and I became best friends. One week, when we had free time, we hitchhiked around the eastern seaboard.

David Oaks, younger brother of Chan.

Sartwell, son of a physician, lived in Penn Yan, N.Y.

Mafia Boy, joined our senior class from Staten Island, who amused us all with his wild scofflaw ideas, told with a heavy New  York City accent

One boy I remember because he was a walking database of Baseball statistics.

Meals served in the multipurpose room are prepared fresh every day. All students are required to service the dining room from setup to tear down, all of it done according to rules of etiquette, set down by Mrs. Gilland.

Lakemont’s equestrian program emerged a favorite amongst the students. Half-day trips through the country side, traveling to horse show venues, participating in steeple chases on campus, all helped to make a boy’s school exciting. Bob, was a favorite of mine because he was fast and wanted to please his rider, His jumping savvy made child’s play out of a steeple chase.

On the flip side, and as part of my work schedule, stable maintenance was a regular chore. Cleaning out stalls and adding new hay, feeding, grooming with a currycomb, and cleaning the horses, dealing with the saddlery, on a daily basis. Bob, needless to say, received the deluxe package at grooming sessions, and being an insider, I picked him for my mount as often as possible.

Horseheads, New York. Athletes were granted special privileges, such as no classes on Saturday, for good performance.

Lakemont’s arbiter for student’s social graces, usually the Headmaster’s wife, arranged for three or four seasonal mixers, and to make matters interesting, imported a truckload of students from nearby girl’s schools. One such event in particular, brought in a gaggle of girls from Keuka College for Women who were all older than Lakemont students. Wartime sent all the able-bodied men off to fight for freedom, so we were choice, not prime.

We soon learned the importance of decorum at Lakemont. Required to wear long sleeved shirts, with tie, to class, we could not sit at the dinner table, jacket-less.

Hot weather swimming was ad hock, at the lake, or at one of the lakes’ feeder streams where there was seclusion as well as rocks to dive off, which often ripened into a co-ed skinny dip, your only cover being a thick blanket of gooseflesh.

Sailing, an amenity offered by the school, but when my roommate and I went down to the landing, we found the boat had capsized so instead of a Sunday on the lake we set the dinghy upright, scrubbed and polished the boat for the next sailor.

I attended Lakemont during 1943, and 1944, graduating in June of 1945. America was at war with Germany and Japan those years and the school was required to provide ROTC training and uniforms. I learned early on that when I traveled, people were more responsive to my needs, dressed in a second lieutenant’s costume.

Graduation ceremonies, held in the multipurpose room, included some public speaking effort. Only five students in my graduating class

In the summer of 1992, we, my wife Shirley and I, rented a car in Boston with an itinerary that included a drive through New York State’s finger lake region intending to check out Lakemont on our way. Taking State route fourteen out of Watkins Glen, driving north, slow enough to annoy the line of cars behind us, we reached the city limits of Geneva without having seen Lakemont’s familiar campus. Before moving on, we retraced our route several times until we spotted the vacant land where Lakemont used to be. After parking by the side of the road, I climbed out and walked over to edge of the property, wondering what happened to my favorite learning institution.

Looking through my mind’s eye, I could see the playing field next to the highway, beyond that on the right, the gymnasium. Off to the left, the grandstand beside the road that led to the stables. In center background, Palmer Hall framed in a spectacular view of Seneca Lake. As I watch, Bob, a dark horse with a flaxen mane flying off his powerful neck, rounded the steeple chase just in time to miss running into some spectators.

I dedicate this memoir, albeit to keep the vision alive of a place that meant so much, to a small group of men seeking enlightenment during the dark days of WWII,

Tom Corbin

May 1, 2011