Over the Bar

Hold Up On Cuts To Special Needs

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 19:34:00 +0000

Today's March 3 Boston Globe ran an Op-Ed piece on preserving funding for special needs, especially in cases where mainstreaming and inclusion are contraindicated, link here: Hold Up On Cuts to Special Needs .

Tough Love in Juvenile Court

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 19:30:00 +0000

A nice piece in the Monday's March 1 Boston Globe Op-Ed section by Karen Shepard on Juvenile Court Judge Judith Locke, link here: Tough Love in Juvenile Court .

The Place To Be Is Where You Are

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 20:30:00 +0000

Note: The words above are engraved in a wooden plaque hanging over the door to the forge on Penikese Island.

There is a certain quality to Penikese Island, something timeless and immutable that can get to even the most willful and stubborn among us. A Penikese sage once pointed out that most new students and staff start out intending to run the show but inevitably come away having been changed by Penikese rather than the other way around. Some cases are tougher and take longer than others, but in the end the island almost always has its way.

For this person, every stint on the island is a chance to re-experience Penikese’s transformative powers and learn its lessons anew. My preparations begin well before setting foot on the island as I dig out and pack up my island-only gear, clear my schedule of commitments and let people know I’ll be away, and emotionally steeling myself for the exhausting work that lays ahead.

Upon arrival, most shifts have an unpacking and settling down routine, in part necessitated by the students who need to adjust to a new set of parents to live with for the next five days. It is quite an adjustment for staff, too, transported by boat from the modern comfort of office, home and family bosom where gratification is but a finger-click away to an 1850s farmhouse and school, stuck on an island crammed with wild and crazy teenage boys.

I can take particularly long to adjust. My mind tends to be a ten-ring circus anyway, but at least on dry land I have the din and distraction of the outside world to help drown out the noise inside. The relative solitude and simplicity of Penikese can make those inner voices suddenly seem VERY, VERY LOUD. As a result I tend to be a tad wound up when I first arrive, scanning for things to stress about, working too hard, trying to get too much done all at once, and in general taking things way too seriously. Over the years this has not escaped the notice of others. Once a student turned to me, put his hand on my shoulder and said, drawing the last word out like an exhaled breath, “Toby, chill out, man, you need to relaaaax!”

So what can you do? Not much but to try and go with the island flow. At first, almost everyone focuses on time passing, but somewhere along the way something changes and they find themselves more in the moment than trying to get past it. This is the point when you find yourself gazing out the kitchen window noticing how the wind blowing across the grass on Tubbs Point makes it look alive, or a student who two weeks ago couldn’t have hated being on Penikese more now notices with amusement the guinea hen squawking at the rising moon.

Somehow, all those things that seemed such a big deal at the beginning of the shift now seem less so. Just for today, you do what needs to be done and set the rest aside to take care of in its own time. With the students you find yourself letting go of minor battles and accepting their unpredictability; they are teenagers after all. By shift’s end you are utterly exhausted but in a different place, reminded yet again that all your efforts to be in control can never change the fact that there is no better place to be - in fact no other place that you can be - than where you are right now.

Sizzle Please (But Hold The Steak): Remembering A 1997 Presentation on Youth Violence

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Mon, 22 Feb 2010 17:54:00 +0000

Every week the Boston Sunday Globe runs a column titled Q&A that features a brief interview with the author(s) of a recent publication. This week's subject was "The Spirit Level," link here, researched and written by two British social scientists in which they examine the underlying socio-economic reasons for a broad number of social ills from drug addiction to violence.

Through their research the authors found the strongest correlations to be between not how poor a particular country is or how poor its poorest people are, but the gap between its richest and poorest. The greater the gap, the wider the prevalence and severity of these social markers.

In Q&A the authors state that they are merely pointing out their findings and disclaim any political axe to grind. All that is well and good with us. We strive to be apolitical in our blogging, too. We will say, however, that this is not the first time we have heard of this correlation between wealth disparity and violence. A quick and tangentially related story follows:

In the mid-1990s we attended a symposium on youth violence in Boston. The keynote speaker was a well-known local criminologist who makes frequent media appearances whenever something particularly awful happens. Predictably, the keynote ascended the podium in tweedy professorial air and proceeded to decry the media’s sensationalization of violence while spinning lurid tales of violent crime and referencing his expertise on same for a packed and spellbound house of therapists and social workers.

After that exercise in hypocrisy and self-promotion and a long day's worth of workshops, the conference concluded with a closing presentation by Dr. James Gilligan, who was presenting findings from his book, "Violence: Reflections on a National Epidemic." In contrast to the keynote, Gilligan put on dignified and scholarly affair in which he presented slides and graphs establishing the same link between violence and the gap between rich and poor as the book featured in this week's Q&A.

If they were to be believed, the most striking findings presented by Gilligan were those illustrating how violent crime in America sharply increased with a sudden shift in wealth that began in the early 1980s. Gilligan pointed out other factors such as the appearance of crack cocaine in the inner cities around that same time (once only a boutique drug, crack made cocaine affordable to everyone), and then discussed his work and observations with violent offenders in the prisons. There among them he found a universal sense of worthlessness, powerlessness and not-mattering to others, people who had suffered deaths of the self and soul by countless daily cuts to the point of violent despair.

Not excusing the horrible things these people had done (we don't, either), Gilligan couldn't help but point out that for these rock bottom losers in our winner-take-all economy, holding a gun to someone's head was the only way possible to feel that they had, at least for that moment, the undivided attention and respect of the person at the other end of the barrel. Could any of us, he asked, imagine living our lives in this way, so utterly stripped of self-worth, dignity and control that we would resort to possibly killing someone just to get a momentary sense of something that the rest of us take for granted every day?

Though far less colorful and demonstrative in his presentation style that the keynote's talking head, Gilligan nevertheless gave quite a riveting talk, one that still informs our work years later. Gilligan opened our eyes a bit wider to give us a better perspective of life in their shoes. Rather than from relative security and entitlement, those we work with experience life and its societal institutions solely from a short-end, down, judged and disrespected point of view, and us as agents of this same tilted system. Effective interventions and treatment, even if stringent, must begin with at least some modicum of compassion and respect for the dignity of others, even if we abhor and censure what they have done. To conduct yourself and treatment otherwise is to only add yet another cut and doom any chances for successful treatment - and all it might effect.

If you couldn't tell by now, Gilligan had us at hello, but as far as the other people attending the conference, most had long since said goodbye. That auditorium, once so packed at the beginning of the day, was virtually empty at its end. It seems even us counselors and therapists have our appetite for sizzle and can be quick to pass on substance. Over a decade later, we are still grateful to have stuck around for Dr. Gilligan's main meal.

Snowmageddon averted

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 16:39:00 +0000

Forecasts for this week's snowstorm brought out the media's hyperbolic best as TV weathermen and women called for everything from a snowicaine to - dramatic pause - snowmageddon. Geez, wouldn't a blizzard have been bad enough?

Out on Penikese Island, staff and students monitored the marine radio, secured the area, and then spent the night bedded down toasty and warm inside while the wind howled and the house shuddered and groaned.

When everybody woke the next morning they found about six inches of snow on the ground, the chickens and guinea hen huddled in the barn, and the anemometer showing maximum gusts of 50 miles per hour the night before.

All in all not so big a deal, so after a quick coffee and hot chocolate, what did everyone do? They went sledding, of course.

2010 NATSAP Conference in San Diego

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Mon, 01 Feb 2010 18:24:00 +0000

We just got back from attending the annual conference of the National Association for Therapeutic Schools and Programs (link here for association information), this year held at the Torrey Pines Hilton in San Diego. As it does every year, this conference brought together representatives from hundreds of schools serving troubled children from across the country, along with educational consultants and treatment professionals of every stripe.

Each year we discover once again just how much more there is to learn about this business and its best practices of helping kids and their families, and each year we return with batteries and passion recharged to take another run at this uphill but worthy mission, easier to do knowing that there are so many other extraordinary people doing likewise.

Yes, the conference involved a lot of work making connections, doing marketing and sales and strapping on the learning cap, but we did manage to get away one brilliantly sunny afternoon for a hike through the nearby state park and down to the edge of the sea on the country's other side.

Note to NATSAP: we hereby submit this request for next year's conference to be in San Francisco, near to our former Left Coast home and college alma mater in Santa Cruz! Until the next time, here are a few pictures to hold you in thrall.

The First Day of Winter on Penikese

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 17:09:00 +0000

Yesterday, December 21, we traveled out to Penikese for a little island Christmas party. Because of brisk northwest winds chasing the weekend snowstorm, we had to sneak down Vineyard Sound in the lee of the Elizabeths and through Canapitsit Channel between Nashawena and Cuttyhunk. The day was radiantly sunny, ice cold and snow-blinding. We offer the attached slideshow of scenes from the day as a small token of our fondest wishes for a merry holiday season and healthy, happy New Year. May it be the best ever for everyone.

In the News

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 21:29:00 +0000

We at Penikese have been extremely busy of late, hence the long time between posts. However, much is being discussed in recent news, both locally and afar, on the topics of youth crime and delinquency.

Nationally, check out the the front page article from yesterday's New York Times titled: New York Finds Extreme Crisis in Youth Prisons.

Locally, the Cape Cod Times is running a series on youth crime, the first of which, linked here, ran on Sunday. This link will then lead you to the follow-ups, should you so desire.

Happiest Holidays to all and we'll be back to online journaling soon!

104 years Ago Today: First Lepers Arrive on Penikese

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 15:43:00 +0000

This link from Mass Moments of the Massachusetts Foundation for the Humanities, was forwarded to Penikese by friends Roy Hammer and Jim Hinkle today. As the title implies, the piece details the arrival in 1905 of the first patients to the newly established leprosarium on Penikese Island, opening yet another fascinating chapter in this little island's rich history.

We gave the cemetery its final fall mowing just a couple weeks ago...

Penikese Featured on ABC News Providence, RI

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 15:14:00 +0000

Penikese was recently featured on television by ABC News in Providence, RI. A link to the feature can be viewed here. Although its title "Bad Boy Island" left a bit to be desired, overall we were quite pleased with how the piece turned out.

Our thanks go to correspondent Parker Gavigan and cameraman Erling Moe for their interest, time and skill in presenting Penikese so positively and digging a bit deeper into Penikese's layered mission and approach, and to student Shawn W and graduates Anthony W and Joel R for making themselves available for interviews.

A Salute to Our Veterans

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 14:56:00 +0000

To all veterans, we salute and thank you on this solemn and special day. We especially recognize those who have served both our country and Penikese's mission to troubled and castaway boys (of which there have been many). The above picture, taken recently from the deck of the main house, shows the flag pole built and stepped by Tom Quatromoni, a proud veteran, with its flag at half mast in observance of Tom's recent passing.

A Eulogy for Tom Q

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 20:58:00 +0000

Right: Tom Quatromoni and David Ellison, July 1998

As we, the extended Quatromoni and Penikese Island School families pick up the pieces in the wake of Tom Quatromoni's sudden and unexpected death, we will continue to offer up occasional tributes as the spirit moves us. What better place to start, however, than beginning by sharing with you a eulogy for Tom delivered at his funeral by David Ellison, also known as "E":

As I look around the room, I see people who have been touched by Tom's life. Everyone of us has a special Tom story or two, and I'm sure later on we will share some of our stories with one another. Tom was father, brother, friend to the people in this room. We all loved and respected Tom. That wasa Q trait, people loved him for who he was. He was the most stubborn, hardheaded, caring, loving individual we have ever met. Tom was the kind of person who was loyal to his friends, family and the people he loved the most. Tom felt very close to his service friends. All though I haven't met them all, or for that matter you all, I feel I know you because Tom talked about each and every one of you. Tom may not have always agreed with what you said, but you always knew where you stood on any subject discussed.

When I moved to this area 13 years ago, Tom was one of the first people I met. I met him at Terry Sweeny's wake. For those of you who do not know, Terry was the former director of Penikese, who hired me to come here and restart the education program. The first few days of my new job were very confusing for me. Terry had passed away the day before I was to start my new life. Instead of receiving a warm welcome from a person who I thought would be my mentor, I was attending his funeral.

Before Terry died we had many long talks. Some of Terry's last words to me were to listen to what Tom Q said. Tom was the main shift leader on the Island and knew what was going on. Terry told me to absorb like a sponge everything Tom had to say. I soon found that this was no simple task. No matter how hard I tried to engage Tom in conversation, I only received in return very short responses, yes or no answers without elaboration. This was the man who Terry had told me to hang on to every word of? I remember calling my wife Liz and telling her to take the house off the market because I didn't think that this job was going to work out. I thought that Tom didn't like me and that the road ahead was not in this town. Years later, I asked Tom what his first impressions of me were. I told him what I had felt. He said he had wondered who the short man with the black pinstripe suit was and what were the changes he was planning to make on his Island.

Furthermore, if he didn't like or agree with my ideas then I could kiss his ass, and he would mark the spot. Tom was old school, he always felt respect was not given, but needed to be earned. In his eyes, I hadn't yet earned his respect.

Anyway, the next week I was off to the Island for the first time. Tom was the shift leader. I remember thinking oh great, I am going to spend a week on an island with a bunch of juvenile delinquents and with a man who says very few words. Oh, this was going to be fun, fun, fun. Although I have never been in the service, Q had always told me that when you are in combat, you bond with your brothers because you depend on each other to survive. In those days, life on Penikese was like going into a war zone. My first night out on the Island, as darkness set in, I came into the house to find Tom.

lighting several kerosene lanterns on the serving table. Q would line up the lanterns and light them one by one. The effect was almost spiritual; the lanterns gave off a soft comfortable light. For the first time on the island I felt safe. Q made me feel safe. This was the effect Tom had on many people. When you were with him, you felt safe. I had this feeling of safety many times in the 13 years that I knew Q. That night on the island was when I first realized that Tom Q was a kind and loving person. Tom's and my friendship blossomed from that point on. We were in battles many times throughout the years we knew each other. Sometimes the battles were with each other, it was part of our relationship. I would say Yankees, Q would say Red Sox, I would say hot, Q would say cold. You all know what I'm talking about, because I'm sure you all had similar experiences with Tom. Sometime we only agreed to disagree. It didn't matter, we accepted eacother for what we were.

Q once said to me, "Before you came here I had a name, and it wasn't Q." He would call me E, and I would call him Q. We made an agreement that it was easier to grunt out one-syllable words, so the names stuck.

Part of Tom's and my relationship was to bust each other’s chops. This past summer I was fortunate to go a Yankee - Red Sox game with him at Yankee stadium. It was something we had always planned on doing. Q wore his Red Sox gear, and of course I wore my Yankee gear. The game ended up being a 15 inning pitching dual that went on until 1:45 in the morning. A-Rod hit the winning home run. Afterwards, I asked Tom what part of the game he liked the best. He replied, "When old blue eyes sang New York, New York." Tom loved Frank voice. I had to give Q credit for his honesty.

Tom was a man who loved his children; he was so proud of his daughters and his grandson. He loved his brothers and his sisters and his friends. He loved good food and good wine and sharing them with the people he loved.

As I mentioned before, Q made me feel safe in many ways. When I would go out of town, I would ask him if he minded if I gave my son Ryan his phone number in case of an emergency. Q was always willing to be there for me and for Ryan if needed. This was Tom's nature, a kind and loving man who would always be there for a friend. I feel truly blessed to have had a friend like Tom be a part of my life. I told my son that I pray he too will find such a friend. Last night I was talking with Fred, Tom's friend from fourth grade on. We both said that Tom was the brother we never had. I love you Q and miss you dearly already. Tom Q, you will live forever in my heart.

Information about Observances for Tom Quatromoni

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 22:28:00 +0000

An obituary for Tom appeared in the Boston Globe today, October 21, 2009. It can also be viewed here at the website of Chapman, Cole & Gleason and includes information about his observances.

Tomorrow afternoon's wake and Friday morning's service will be held at the CC&G's Mashpee location, and all are welcome to attend. Those with further questions should call the office at 508-548-7276.

Photo: Tom aboard the M/V Harold M. Hill June 1996, taken by Gloria Franklin.

Tom Quatromoni

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 21:12:00 +0000

Last night Penikese received the sudden and shocking news that Tom Quatromoni, beloved island staff of 20 years, father to three lovely daughters of his own and hundreds of Penikese boys over three decades of devotion to Penikese Island, its school and mission to troubled boys, passed away this weekend. Although cause and exact time of his passing are unclear at this hour, he apparently died in his sleep sometime Saturday October 17.

As we await word from his family on when and where his observance will be, we offer the following slide show, a hurried assembly of images that constitute only a minute sampling of Tom's career at Penikese, and the multitude of lives he touched and made that much better through his strong, quiet and loving example.

As we receive word we will post the information here, along with other more thoughtful tributes to Tom, his character and life among us. Of course, those seeking a bit more information than offered here may contact Toby at the school.

Groundhog Day

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 21:16:00 +0000

No, not the calendar date, but the movie in which Bill Murray plays Phil Connors, a shallow, obnoxious TV weatherman sent to Punxsutawney, PA to cover the day’s festivities and finds himself trapped in an infinite loop of identical Groundhog Days. This being Hollywood, of course the movie revolves around a beautiful woman, the sort who would never fall for Connors unless he can learn a few important lessons about life and love from the endless identical clean slates set before him.

During one desperate phase of his ordeal, a crazed Connors kidnaps Punxsutawney Phil and plunges his car over a cliff, killing himself and the groundhog in a spectacular, fiery wreck… only to wake up on the same snowy Groundhog Day morning in the same motel room with the same Sonny and Cher song playing on the clock radio. The poor guy can’t even kill himself! So he gets up out of bed and does it all over again, and again, and again…

Underneath this Tinsel Town fiction beats a resonant but unglamorous truth: humans change their lives usually only when they absolutely have to, and even when change is inescapable, most occurs slowly, without fanfare, and by infinitesimal degrees. No wonder religious and Hollywood miracles hold such allure, to the extent many people end up waiting out their lives for a sudden something to happen that probably never will, rather than getting off the pot and actually doing something that will (eventually) bring actual results.

In the sense of real-life change occurring at a glacial pace, every day on Penikese is Groundhog Day. Our boys have developed their problematic behaviors over years only to have circumstances force them to choose between Penikese and some other rotten consequence like jail. They want to do neither in the worst way but, with exhortation and a Machiavellian arm twist or two, some choose Penikese, a difficult and important first step that is far from the hardest of those to come.

Many arrive on the island ready to buckle down, floating on a pink cloud of unrealistic expectation about how long and how much work true change will entail, an expectation not dissimilar to early recovery from addictions. Hey, this isn’t so bad! Just hit a few meetings, bang through the 12 steps (shouldn’t take too long) and boom, I’m recovered! Ah, but if change were that easy, wouldn’t everyone do it, and everyone succeed?

Inevitably pink clouds dissipate and the real work begins battling volatile, unsafe and uncontrollable feelings, irresistible urges and temptations, old ghosts, haunting fears, cognitive trap doors, and bouts of stinkin’ thinkin’. Success, improvement and mastery come in near equal measure to setbacks and regression so that, lost deep among the trees of recovery, the forest of net progress is nearly impossible to recognize. For most people, it doesn’t take long for disillusionment to set in, and once that worm gets in the brain it eats resolve away until giving up looks like the only sensible choice.

For those of us in the trenches shoveling along with our students against the tide of human failing, we get balled up and mired in the march of days seemingly going nowhere, too. We doubt our effectiveness, wonder if we are making a difference, whether it’s realistic to expect undoing 16 years of learning and ingrained behavior in only 9 months, how a particular boy is making progress, or whether these boys can even change at all.

Being trapped in Groundhog Day was a torture for Phil Connors, but that very same torture was also his only way out. Penikese is little different, at times a bit of Hell, but over time an island of forgiveness and salvation. Each day is a fresh opportunity to try again, make the same dumb mistakes, fall in the same holes, spin your wheels, drive everyone nuts and exhaust their patience. Yet, although desperate to throw in the towel and say screw this!, we somehow never completely give up on ourselves nor, as much as they might want to, do others completely give up on us.

Yes, the true story of internalized change and recovery is one of time, lots of time, a winding and uncertain path, raw perseverance and endurance, and a conscious decision made each new day (and sometimes several times during the same day) to give this never ending slog one more try. The only difference is hanging in there until something does happen without ever knowing exactly when that will be.

Then one day almost past the point of thinking or caring about it anymore, we wake up knowing a tiny something somewhere is different. It can be subtle and small and difficult to put a finger on at first, but this, the first glimmers of actual (not imagined) change taking place, is unmistakably real and genuinely miraculous in a way no magic wand or Hollywood fantasy could ever make possible.

Penikese Celebrates Accomplishments At 37th Annual Meeting

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 19:05:00 +0000

Note: the following article appeared in the Friday, October 9, 2009 issue of the Falmouth Enterprise:

The Penikese Island School held its 37^th Annual Meeting in Woods Hole on September 14 during which the school celebrated the purchase of its new permanent onshore office at 565 Woods Hole Road. Other accomplishments highlighted at the meeting include a successful fundraising campaign for a new vessel for travel between Woods Hole and Penikese Island, a new island dock currently under construction, and to be completed in 2010, renovation of Penikese’s one-room schoolhouse and construction of a new multi-use Boat House. Penikese was also selected as a charity for the 2009 Falmouth Road Race and secured over $20,000 in donations through its runners.

Penikese’s recent successes reflect the ambitions of a Board-approved strategic plan to strengthen the school in key areas that, beside its physical plant and facilities, include the school’s business plan. The Chair of Penikese’s Board of Directors, Ted Doyle of West Newton and Woods Hole said, “The Board’s commitment to the school’s core mission on the island is unwavering, but we are just as deeply committed to exploring ways to broaden Penikese’s influence in the community and investigate and establish new sources of revenue. It is for this reason that our recent acquisition of 565 Woods Hole Road was so important. Having a permanent home anchors the school in the community and provides a springboard for expansion.”

For many years, Penikese owned a building on Little Harbor Road, which it sold in 1996 in order to stabilize the school. In the years since, Penikese has rented office space in Woods Hole but, according to Executive Director Toby Lineaweaver, “not without giving up hope that the school might someday be in a position to acquire another permanent home in the community of its founding and strongest support.”

Penikese’s new building, known to local historians as Davis House, was built in 1805. It the mid-1980’s it was the Gray Whale Inn before being acquired by Woods Hole Research Center. Upon completion of its new campus further up Woods Hole Road in 2003, the Research Center vacated Davis House and rented it to Penikese. In late 2008, the Research Center informed Penikese of its intention to sell and gave the school first option. Penikese’s Board acted swiftly but prudently to examine the opportunity and explore purchasing and financing options. Thanks to a generous gift towards the down payment from a local foundation and financing through Eastern Bank and MassDevelopment, Penikese closed its purchase in late July 2009. Although the cost of owning over renting will prove marginally higher, Penikese intends to help offset the mortgage by renting its third floor office space.

On the acquisition of 565 Woods Hole Road Lineaweaver said, “We are elated to have had this opportunity and thankful beyond words for the efforts and contributions of all those helping make this dream come true possible. Again Penikese has a home to call its very own, a door for its students, families and graduates from any era to be welcomed through, and nothing sends a stronger signal than this of Penikese’s strength and intention to be around for years to come.”

In his state of the school address to Board members, Associates and school friends, Lineaweaver further added, “In spite of our country’s recent economic turmoil, Penikese had its most successful fundraising year ever in 2009. The school and those it serves owe its deepest gratitude to the generosity and sacrifice of this extraordinary local community of volunteers and donors who have proven year after year their bedrock belief in Penikese’s mission to some of our Commonwealth’s neediest children.

“Although particularly troubled and troublesome, each of our boys is still a child, loved by someone and deserving no less a chance than what any of us would want for our own. Our ‘thanks’ to you is truly too small a word when measured against the enormity of what we witness nearly every day: relief from desperation and harsh judgment, a chance at redemption, and renewed hope for a better life. For many, these priceless gifts were never found or experienced until they came to Penikese, and it is you who make this possible.”

The Penikese Island School, founded by George Cadwalader in July 1973, is located on 75-acre Penikese Island at the end of the Elizabeth Island chain and is a state-accredited private school serving at-risk teenage boys referred from youth service agencies, public schools, and private-pay families. Penikese’s mission is threefold: to the students enrolled in its comprehensive and intensive 9-month island program, to its many graduates and their families and communities through ongoing Aftercare, and through Community Services, the school’s efforts to share its experiences and resources with the community at-large through training, supervision and presentations on the impact of psychological trauma and learning disability on behavior.

In Orbit

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 17:56:00 +0000

Aware of it or not, everyone manages to establish and maintain their preferred, comfortable distance, emotional and physical, between themselves and others. Exactly how much and when varies endlessly with cultures, circumstances and personalities. Years ago while visiting the Middle East as a merchant mariner, I was struck by how communication between west (us) and east (them) could break down before a word was uttered. Egyptians stood and talked much closer, almost nose-to-nose and with lots of touching and handholding. We Americans were forever backpedaling and the Egyptians wondering what they had done to offend.

This obvious example aside, the dynamic referred to here has more to do with people in longer-term relationships such as family members, couples and personal friends. Preferences for closeness can range from shared identity and physical inseparability (In Cat’s Cradle, Kurt Vonnegut called the two-as-one couple a karass, never to be mistaken for a grandfalloon, or a false karass) to marriages of convenience on the other.

Wherever on this spectrum a particular relationship falls, each has its own formula, a unique balance between individual needs for closeness and intimacy that allow people to stay connected and the relationship to last. Conceptually it is not so different than the physical forces combining to keep the planets – each so different in size and composition - revolving around the sun. Too much pull and it plunges into fiery oblivion; too little and it drifts off into space, its identity as a planet and membership in the solar family lost until who knows what and when.

The example above might be metaphorical, but the dynamic qualities it illustrates back home on Earth and Penikese are little different. For good reason, many of our students are connection-avoidant, having lost, been let down or hurt by the most important people in their lives. After a while they learn that it’s better to not get their hopes up, safer to assume the worst, easier to not expect much from people or, above all, never let anybody expect much from you. No wonder our students make the crazy, senseless choices they do.

Getting students to risk connection one more time so late in the intervention game is about as steep a challenge as they come, but the rewards for doing so open a new universe of possibilities. With connection comes belonging, followed by identity, purpose and self in relations to others; with that then comes self-motivated treatment, choices that mean something, and lasting, internalized change.

Sounds like a miracle, a magic bullet, but the process, even when wildly successful, is never that simple or easy. Often the biggest barrier to successful connection with difficult-to-connect-with people isn’t them, but us. Our natural human tendency is to judge others’ relationships by our standards, understand their connections through our own perspective and, often without thinking, impose our values and expectations. This is particularly troublesome in treatment when we set goals and grade progress according to our judgments and criteria, often without asking the student what they want. In spite of our innocent intentions, our students end up feeling unsafe to connect, and pushed away with a deepened sense of futility.

Among our many challenges includes suspending judgment and preconception to allow students to first feel safe enough to be open to connecting, letting the process unfold at their pace and then allowing them to settle in at the optimal distance for them to stay connected and engage in growth and change. Underneath some shells we find a warm and affectionate, hug-starved child crashing about their new world of happy connections like an overgrown puppy. The majority, however, come across quite differently, never entirely comfortable with closeness of any kind, reluctant to reveal what they are thinking and feeling, quick to snap, standoffish, a distant Pluto to Penikese’s sun. Yet, there they are, living and working with you in the community, and goodness knows that if they truly didn’t want to be there they wouldn’t, as they’ve emphatically proved everywhere else.

After graduation it’s difficult to be sure just how connected these graduates remain over time. Astronomers know that distant objects are being held by the sun’s gravity only by noting that they keep returning to the same place in the sky at predictable intervals. In essence we do the same, maintaining gentle persistence and patient observation, inferring what we can. Although our students are far from predictable, they blink out their distant, occasional signals to let us know they are still there, and when we go looking for them we usually find them. And when we reconnect, we can see at least some different quality to their lives.

It might not be as much as we hoped or would want for own selves, but remember, this isn’t about us. For our students and graduates, any added measure of connection, belonging and purpose translates into a life that much more worth living, and better choices that much more worth making. Faint though this force may be in the far reaches of some graduates’ lives, we continue to discover new evidence of Penikese’s gravitational tug, keeping yet another lost boy in orbit.

Your Friend, George

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 18:00:00 +0000

Not long after Terry Sweeney’s death in June 1996 I was named Executive Director and charged with continuing his efforts to recharge and strengthen Penikese, its mission, program, staffing, business standing and community of support. And that was the short list (more on Terry’s prescient to-do list at another time).

One reason the Board saw me fit to be the new director was because of my hometown roots, local connections, and the potential to be a “uniter” of what had become a divided community of Penikese supporters. There were too many factors accounting for the division to go into here, but chief among them was the lack of love lost between Terry Sweeney and Penikese’s founding director, George Cadwalader and the ensuing split in ranks along loyalty lines.

As one might expect, most of the loyalty belonged to George and, Woods Hole being a small and tight community, this placed Penikese in an isolated and vulnerable position during a time when it needed all hands on deck rather than hands abandoning ship in droves. Accordingly, one of my strategies was to begin mending fences with George on behalf of the school.

Sounds easy enough, but there were a couple of problems. One was my child-like, naïve assumption (since only somewhat tempered) that people will accept and approve of me just because I mean well. The other was George, famously relentless in his ability to sniff out, track down and destroy bullshit, especially that of well-intentioned bubbleheads knowing little of what they speak, as it turned out, like me.

In the weeks after Terry’s death I had spent many a late evening at the office bathed in monochrome computer glow rewriting Penikese program materials in an effort to recast the school in a fashion more to the liking of what was a rapidly changing business landscape. What I came up with was, I thought, OK enough, a blend of Penikese Old and New Testament designed to advertise a school under new management, but not too new that it departed radically from tradition.

I carried this around with me for a few days as I made my way about town sewing Penikese goodwill when I chanced into George having a pastry at the local bakery with his wife and one of his sons. We chatted amiably a few minutes and then I asked if he would like to take a look at some program revisions I had been working on. George said he’d be more than delighted, so I handed him my writing and then went about my way, assuming the best, as always.

Not long after a letter arrived in the mail addressed to me in George’s distinctive hand and, ready for the praise sure to come, I ripped it open and began to read. Let it now be known that never did a glow of happy anticipation dissipate or a face fall in shock quicker than mine that day. What I read wasn’t a polite and measured response with a few points of constructive criticism, but a disembowelment in neatly typed words that spilled my heaping guts onto the post office linoleum.

And, as if the main body of George’s letter wasn’t unsparing and withering enough, George saved his best shots for last, proclaiming his distaste at my use of “shoddy buzzwords” and warning me that I was leading Penikese down a path to become like all the other programs “beclouded by inane jargon, inflated claims and sloppy thinking.” He concluded by saying, “For Christ sake, don’t risk having Penikese lumped into the same category.”

I will never forget reading the letter, but what I don’t remember is what I did with it. I assumed it lost to time until recently during another of my unending inter-office peregrinations from one space and floor to the next. After my most recent relocation I was unpacking and by chance came across a chronological correspondence file begun by Terry in 1994 and dutifully maintained by me through 1997. I popped it open and took a little history tour as I wistfully leafed through the exchange of letters, notes and memos between Penikese and its outside world of that era. And there it was, carefully dated, hole-punched and bound, George’s letter. I caught my breath and then plunged in…

The letter has lost none of its punch, but over the span of 13 years it does come across as a bit less derisive and controversial, especially in that it covers endlessly debated facets of Penikese philosophy such as the role of therapy and medications, the intrusions of state bureaucracy and the merits of classroom versus “real world” education. None of these debates were new then and although they don’t exactly rage in this day and age, they still boil up from time to time.

Retrospective vision also enables me to see that misunderstanding and misperception fueled a fair amount of what George had to say, and that our divergence was more a matter of words (mostly mine) getting in the way. We shared much more than we knew at the time, the most important of which was the single-minded desire to maintain Penikese’s decidedly anti-institutional, one boy at a time approach on behalf of those written off by so many others as beyond helping.

For years I always took George’s excoriation rather personally (for those who know me, this does not exactly constitute a departure from the norm), but now at last I realize that through its entire length of three pages, his letter contained only one personal remark:

He signed it, “Your friend, George.”

Believe Him Anyway*

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 19:50:00 +0000

It can be tough to take the average Penikese boy at his word. For some, bullshitting and lying has become second nature to the point of doing so even when unnecessary. And then there's the question of where it begins: do trying circumstances bring this behavior forth out of Darwinian necessity, or is dishonesty intrinsic to those with a predisposition for trouble? Likely it is a mixture of both, but whatever its origins in a particular person, this behavior is rarely malicious deceit alone but, at some level, also about managing distance in relationships and protecting a vulnerable inner self.

If you think about it, white lies are integral to the countless social contracts that grease everyday interactions. In the post office lobby or at a service counter somewhere someone asks with a bright smile, “How’s it going today?” You reply, “Great!” But maybe the real answer is “No, not really, but you don’t want to hear about and I’m not in the mood anyway.” In the moment, does it matter telling this person how you really feel? Not really, so you give the polite answer and then move on to the next transaction.

And then there are the things that we deliberately say and don’t say, especially to the more important people in our lives, as a way to keep the peace, avoid confrontation or expose more controversial feelings: “Gee, did what I just say make you angry?” “No, not at all!” Or, “Tell me the truth now, how do I look in this dress?” “Wow, you look terrific!”

Bottom line, being straight with people is not always a straightforward matter, with the choices we make along the way depending on countless social variables and nuance. Once again, we so-called normal folks are little different than Penikese kids in kind, just by degrees with normal human tendencies (acceptable social untruths) made extreme (habitual and pathological lying) by extreme circumstances.

Anyway, here we are on Penikese trying to build authentic connections with kids that are among the most troublesome of all to connect with, yet how can we even begin to make a connection when we can’t be sure – or even afford – to believe in what we are getting from others? Most of us end up carrying around huge grains of salt, ever on guard, and over time tend to develop an entrenched cynicism that pollutes our attitude and work. So what to do? The short answer is to set aside this fundamental mistrust and skepticism and take the students at their word, if for no other reason than because they need you to. Let me tell a quick story by way of example:

Two weeks ago a student named Jake graduated the program. All told it was a wonderful occasion with Jake ringed by family, staff and students and for once in his life the center of positive attention and basking in accomplishment and acclimation. As part of every graduation we ask the student to prepare some remarks and reflections, and the moment came for Jake to make his speech. Now ordinarily, Jake can be quite an acid-tongued person with rapidly seesawing personality, so those of us in attendance could not help but await his valedictory with a flinch of tension and negative expectation. To our delight and surprise, however, Jake delivered an effusive and heart-warming speech that knocked the socks off everyone.

A few days later at staff meeting we reviewed Jake’s placement, his progress in some areas, remaining challenges in others, and swapped a few stories. This went on quite well until someone in the room interrupted by bluntly asserting that Jake’s speech was total bullshit, and went further to say that Jake admitted so himself, even bragging how he played everyone at the graduation. The room immediately erupted in a chorus of assent that effectively reversed the post-graduation glow with declarations of what a liar Jake was and that no one ever should trust Jake, not even as far as you could throw him.

Whoa, stop, not so! Sure, Jake is far from trustworthy and believable, but this does not mean it’s OK to cave completely to cynicism and write him off. On the contrary, there are many occasions when you must take what the “Jakes” of the world say at face value, and paradoxical as it sounds and feels, tactically and clinically choose to believe them anyway.

It’s not that Jake wasn’t bullshitting. He certainly was, at least on the surface. But even if what Jake said was 100% fabrication, believing him anyway sets up a dissonance that begins to rattle his second-nature, life-long pattern and get him thinking a bit (“What, they believe me? Idiots! … Or are they?”). Similar to the pre-contemplative stage of addictions recovery, this dissonance becomes the germ from which all recoveries later grow. The thing is, someone, somewhere has to plant the darn thing, and that job falls to us.

In Jake's case, it is likely that his speech's sincerity and truthfulness fell somewhere between 100% and 0%, and if we can accept this as true, that means that some part of Jake really meant it, even if it was only the tiniest part of him or locked deep inside. Either way, what matters above all is that in that moment when doing so is called for, we accept Jake’s word without defensiveness, question and judgment, and mirror his success back to him with our heartiest and sincerest congratulations.

We do this for our own children so that over time they can build their own foundation for self-confidence and esteem and come to believe in and trust their own feelings about things. Although a bit older and a sight more troublesome, Jake’s need is no different than that of any child, and that scant piece that really means what he says but dares not admit it even to himself (much less others) will never grow unless we do this.

Believe him anyway.

* With acknowledgement to Dr. Kent Keith and his Paradoxical Commandments.

The Ides of June

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 18:46:00 +0000

Pictured above left to right: Terry Sweeney, Tom Quatromoni, Toby Lineaweaver

I better hurry up and write this chapter, because I only have a few days to live. You see, it’s all about (ominous music swell here) the Ides of June!

I know there isn’t such a thing, at least in the literary sense, but they sure as heck exist for me, a loaded time of the year fraught with neurotic tensions and portents. Have the petrels returned? How will the year-end race to the fiscal finish line end up? Can we get the place and all the various projects tidied and tied up for the summer visitors?

How about, will I live past June 29? That little superstition has to do with Terry Sweeney, Penikese’s director before me, someone I knew for only a short but indelible and life altering spell. The clock is ticking, so let me tell this story as quickly as I can.

Terry hired me in August 1995 to be a part time clinical consultant to the school. During my interview Terry explained that he had been charged by Penikese’s Board of Directors to perform a ground-up assessment and make whatever changes necessary to help Penikese recapture some of its faded zeal and reputation. At the time I had a busy outpatient practice working with children, adolescents, court referrals and people with substance abuse issues, so my work with Penikese was meant to be a bit of a branching out, a dalliance and a few extra dollars in my pocket.

As happens for so many dipping their toe into Penikese waters, I quickly became smitten, then dedicated, and soon I was thinking of little else. Apart from the school’s rich history and the island’s unmistakable magic and beauty, I quickly came to recognize Penikese as providing an optimal way of working with intractably resistant and high-risk adolescents, and, in spite of the school’s mixed reputation, a gold mine of treatment potential.

Terry and I hit it off like long lost friends, and discovered we shared many similar impressions of the school and dreams for change. Terry, he of the penetrating blue-eyed gaze, woolly eyebrows and ever-smoldering cigar, possessed a quick, scarily biting wit and a razor-sharp mind with years of experience in higher education and non-profit organizations. An eager disciple, I vacuumed his brain like there was no tomorrow. Funny thing…

In late 1995 Terry offered me a full time job as Assistant Director, a do-your-dream opportunity to get way from office cubicles and managed care paperwork and into a genuine experience where ideas and passion mattered! I accepted and, after a brief interim while I wrapped up my other job, I drove to the Penikese office for my very first day of full time work in February 1996. And when I arrived, there was Terry waiting by the front door making a show of glancing at his watch. Oblivious, I bounded out of the car with tail wagging and ready to change the world, that is until Terry bored into me with those eyes of his, growled, “You’re 5 minutes late,” and then disappeared into the house in a cloud of cigar smoke.

Uh-oh. Here, folks, is where I began to understand the difference between dating someone and being married to them. No more candlelit dinners, no honeymoon, just work, slavish galley work under a cracking, slightly paranoid whip. Yes, we got a lot done and I learned much, but it didn’t take long for me to realize that I liked Terry far more as a friend and mentor than a boss, and for us to begin to clash and battle. There was some mitigating circumstances, chief among them Terry’s battle with serious diabetes and the possible effects it was having on his moods.

Our relationship went steadily downhill until one day in late-June we got into a verbal fistfight about a student I thought Terry was being unnecessarily hard on. Now, when I get pissed off I tend to cry, and on this occasion I was so angry I probably looked a bit like Sally Struthers, tear-streaked and mascara running down my face. Of course Terry took it for weakness, and the capper came when Terry bit off his cigar and snarled, “You don’t have what it takes to be in this business. I think you need to go home and think things over. Now beat it!” That was Friday.

Well, I did just that, straight to the bosom of my wife, and we had a long discussion about what to do. "Everything will be fine," she reassured me, "we'll make it somehow, just do what is right for you." And, with the thought that I had already spent too many years in therapy recovering from my maniac father to be working for someone turning out to be pretty goddamned maniacal in his own right, I decided to quit. The next day Terry called me about some operational detail from his vacation spot up in New Hampshire, and in the process managed to toss in a few barbs. When I rang off I said to my wife, “That tears it, when I go in on Monday I am quitting!” Then we went to a wedding in Woods Hole, resolved to our fate.

That afternoon during the reception our first child, then about a year old, began to show signs of melting down, so I volunteered to take him home for a snack and some naptime. I got to the house, put him in the high chair and began feeding him. While doing so I noticed a message on the machine, and when I replayed it was Dave “Pops” Masch, long time Penikese-er, asking me to call him about something important. With spoon of applesauce in one hand and telephone in the other I called Pops and instead got his wife, Jeanne, and asked her what was up.

“Toby,” she said, “Terry is dead. He had a heart attack and died earlier this afternoon.”

I was shocked speechless, utter, blood-draining shock and disbelief. After a moment's pause Jeanne asked, "Toby, are you there?" I stammered, “You, you... are ... shitting me!” Jeanne, ever the therapist in her own right, then calmly but firmly talked me down until I was able to rationally comprehend what had happened. I had just spoken to Terry at 11 that morning, and now, just like that only a few hours later he's gone!

That was Saturday, June 29. The next day, June 30, the Board of Directors convened an emergency meeting and, instead of going in to quit, I went into work on that Monday as Interim Director. Everything changed just-like-that, and nothing has been the same ever since.

Lassie, Get Help!

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 19:20:00 +0000

The following is the first in a series of occasional chapters, arranged in loose chronological order, that recount a span of Penikese history beginning with founding director George Cadwalader’s retirement in 1994 through Terry Sweeney's brief tenure that ended with his death in June 1996, and the turbulent aftermath in which Toby Lineaweaver inherited George and Terry’s mantle and Penikese was reborn (the latter two not necessarily being causally related).

Some names and events will be altered sufficiently to protect the people involved from embarrassment without affecting the truthful gist of the story (Oprah forgive me). I would also like to say that every single soul who has given themselves to Penikese, no matter how wonderful and saintly or difficult and maddening, deserves their own star in the crown of heaven if for nothing else than wanting to contribute to this worthy but steeply uphill mission, and even if in the end Penikese (or I) wasn’t for them. We all meant well and were doing our best, and I thank and salute each and every one of you.

I gave my first-ever clinical presentation to Penikese island staff on a Friday in September 1995. Recognizing that Penikese had long been resistant (if not derisive) to therapists and the whole clinical realm in general, Terry and I worked carefully to strategize this first foray into enemy territory. We debated the merits of several texts, chose the most promising and relevant one, and then handed a copy to each of the island staff with instructions to read and bring reactions and questions to the next staff meeting.

I then spent several concentrated hours trying to boil everything I knew (looking back, not as much as I thought) into a brief, user-friendly primer on adolescent psychology. I neatly typed up the handout, and even made sure to format in a cartoon clipping spoofing therapy for a little disarming humor.

The Friday finally arrived and with my Penikese debut now moments away, I awaited with handouts ready, pencils sharp, bright-eyed and eager to make a strong first impression as Terry introduced me to the island staff and described what he had hired me to do. With that I thanked Terry, launched into some nervous introductory patter, then handed out my outline.

A quick aside: much later I realized that for Terry, hiring me to be the school clinician was more than just about Penikese coming into closer alignment with the modern-day expectations and regulatory requirements; this was the first salvo in a full-on culture war and march to total school revision. Little did I know at the time the Trojan horse purpose I was serving, embedded within my guise as a simple clinician.

Anyway, during my introduction the island staff sat around Terry and me on the porch overlooking Little Harbor. Some had just come off the island, as evidenced by that distinctive odor of kerosene and woodsmoke I long ago dubbed “eau de Penikese.” It seemed to me that I was being regarded somewhat warily, like an unannounced guest or intruder whose purpose and intentions were yet known. A welcome with open arms it surely was not, but hey, I knew what I was getting into.

I plunged in, gathering confidence and momentum as I went along, convinced in my mind that I was opening up new worlds for these dedicated servants of youth at-risk. That is, right up until I noticed one particular staff, Jim, not looking at his handout but directly at me with an expression that fell just short of a glare.

Wondering what I had done or said wrong I faltered, my arms slowed down their animated waving and, sensing my loss of momentum, Jim turned to Terry and without so much as apology or prelude blurted out, “Terry, what the hell are we spending money on this shit for?”

Welcome to Penikese, Toby!

Only on Penikese

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 20:10:00 +0000

Yesterday Penikese hosted Ian Ives, Sanctuary Director of the Ashumet, Long Pasture and Skunknett River Wildlife Sanctuaries out to the island. Ian plans to lead two Audubon trips down the Elizabeths this fall, including a tour of Penikese Island and we invited Ian to join us for one of our regular Wednesday trips so that he might learn about the school and the island’s natural history including Agassiz’s Anderson School and the Penikese Leper Colony, and this way enrich his tour.

Ian responded enthusiastically to our suggestion and arrived with two guests, John Galuzzo of Mass Audubon South Shore Sanctuaries and David Sibley, author of the Sibley Guide to Birds. Though constantly distracted by birds flying every which way all three proved gracious and attentive guests, accompanying me on a tour of the school and out to the Leper Cemetery before putting down their field pieces long enough to have lunch with the staff and students.

Naturally, the students had to trot out the island’s battered copy of Sibley’s, given to us a few years ago by Dick and Reta King and now bound down the spine with duct tape. David autographed the book and listened as one of the students politely requested he make a gift of a replacement copy, the student at once demonstrating good manners and promise for a career in development. After lunch Ian, John and David were trooped out to Tubbs Point by Mass Wildlife’s ornithologists in residence to view their camp and the swarming tern colony.

As the festivities drew to a close we made our way down towards the dock, and a few of us paused at the bottom of the tractor path in front of the Mass Wildlife Sanctuary sign. David planted his tripod to take a last look out over the cove, at which point I distinctly heard amid all the cawing and crying bird racket a cricket-like ch-chip, ch-chip. It sure sounded to me like a Virginia Rail I heard during the night one fall, but standing next to the David Sibley, the last thing I was going to do was venture a guess.

Instead I said something to the effect of “Gee, is that an insect or a bird I hear?” David cocked his ear, the sound repeated itself on cue, and David immediately declared,“Oh, that’s a Virginia Rail. There must be a marshy area nearby” (there is, just on the other side of the bushes we stood next to).

Then (and this is the kicker), he whipped from his pocket an iPhone, did some scrolling with his thumb, hit another button and played the very sound we had just heard. Impressed, I had to ask what it was he was playing and David explained he had a beta version (working but not yet ready for release) of the soon-to-come interactive e-Guide to Birds that will be downloadable onto computers, iPhones, Blackberry’s and the like. He even played the Leach’s Storm Petrel burrow calls for us. Wow!

Again thanks to Ian, John and David for making Penikese, always an interesting place, even more interesting on that day. Here are links to blogs written by John and Ian about their experience.

You Know You’re Getting Old When…

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Wed, 13 May 2009 21:06:00 +0000

A story told at today’s graduation:

As part of every shift change, the staff and students do an island and school cleanup, which includes taking anything that needs to come off the island down to the dock for when the boat comes. Now, cleanup and chores are hardly ever the average teenager’s strong suit, and this is especially so for not-so-average Penikese boys. On this particular day as the boat pulls into view the island’s staff and students start draining downhill from the house towards the dock, everyone (supposedly) carrying something to help out. After all, many hands do make a light load.

One of the island staff dubbed “New Old Jim” (there once were two 'old' Jims and a younger Jim, this Jim therefore being the newer of the two Old Jims, a name that has stuck even though the older Old Jim has since moved on) noticed that Darin was heading down to the dock conspicuously empty-handed.

Says Jim, “Darin, I thought you were supposed to bring down the rubbish. Where’s the rubbish?”

Darin says, “Yo, dog, I ain’t got no rubbish!”

Jim: “What do you mean you don’t have the rubbish? There’s always rubbish and it’s your job to bring it down.”

Darin (in slow, read-my-lips tone): Dog, I told you, I don’t have any rubbish.”

Jim: “Listen, don’t give me that. It’s your job, we’ve been on the island 4 days, and we always have rubbish that needs to get off the island. So for the last time, where is the rubbish?

Darin, now quite agitated and put upon (not such a rare state, but still…): “Now I am gettin’ aggravated, dog! I don’t have any rubbish! What are going on about, man? Leave me alone, I don’t got no rubbish!”

Jim, now also quite put upon and about to come down on Darin like a ton of bricks: “Listen, for the last time, go back and get the damn rubbish before that boat gets here or there’ll be consequences!”

At this point Darin paused and then asked, “What’s rubbish?”

Jim: “Trash, rubbish is trash!”

Darin: “Oh! I put the trash by the dock a while ago. Man, what got into you?”

Changing of the Guard

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 14:56:00 +0000

Then: The photo on the right was taken by Brenda Sharpe on a Wednesday in late June 1996 from Penikese's slip in Woods Hole. We were preparing to off load a pig (momentarily oblivious as to what was about to transpire) into the waiting truck of an - ahem - certain kind of person who renders live animals into edible portions.

Two days later a different photo appeared on the front page of the Falmouth Enterprise, and Brenda donated the photo you see here to the school. Shortly afterwards I took the image to Cindy Moore at Howlingbird Studios and asked her to see what she could do to about designing a new T-shirt for Penikese.

For the sake of some historical continuity, Cindy and I drew Dave "Pops" Masch into the space Toby Lineaweaver (then the Assistant Director to Terry Sweeney) occupied to the photo's right, and George Cadwalader into the space occupied by the boat captain on the left, wearing the sunglasses. The resulting line drawing was then made into a silkscreen to be printed on T-shirts, sweatshirts and graduate hoodies from then on, with an extra dollop of pink to highlight the pig's fateful presence.

To those of us who have been with Penikese since the mid-1990s, the picture is meaningful in so many ways. We can still name the boys and staff pictured here (left to right in clockwise fashion): Derek, Howie, Dan, Tom Reardon, Boat Captain, Raul, Dan Sweeney (Terry Sweeney's son), Brian, Sander, Sean Maroney, Teacher, Michael, and to the far right, Toby Lineaweaver.

Not three days later on Saturday June 29, 1996, Dan Sweeney came off his island shift to learn that his father Terry had suffered a fatal heart attack, and on Monday July 1, Toby reported to the office as Penikese's Interim Director, and everything changed.

Now: This picture was taken by Toby on the occasion of Matt H's graduation in February 2009, a day that will be forever known in Penikese history (for reasons we won't bother to explain just now) as Matt Day.

Shortly after the Harold Hill retired to Eel Pond and the Richard S. Edward began regular runs, folks at the school began clamoring for a new group shot to replace the old and mark the transition from one era to another.

With so many people present to attend Matt Day, including alumni Shawn, Glynn, Chris and Ryan, this seemed an auspicious moment to try and capture a new T-shirt- worthy image. Although a terrific picture, it remains to be seen whether this will actually make it onto silk screen. The Edwards is a bit wider than the Hill and Toby just not tall enough to get the right angle. Nevertheless, it captures a special day and many special characters and wonderful people associated with the school, and marks a certain changing of the guard today just as the above photo did 13 years ago.

Favorite photos of the Harold M. Hill

noreply@blogger.com (Toby Lineaweaver) — Tue, 21 Apr 2009 20:46:00 +0000

Captain Bill Roger's hand

at the wheel.

The Harold Hill dockside at Penikese Island.

The aft deck of the Harold Hill, taken in winter.

Toby and youngest son taking in the sun

the summer of 2006.

A shot off the cabin roof

onto the bow.

Another shot at dockside

on Penikese.