Talking about the Academy isn't easy

My fiancee and I were meeting with a priest to schedule our wedding day in Washington D.C. When the conversation about St. Basil's Academy came up, the waterworks almost sprouted out of my eyes. It's not the first time talking about the academy choked me up either. It seems like every two or three conversations about the school make me extremely emotional.

One of my theories is that I haven't thanked everyone who gave his/her time to make my life better. For example, I haven't seen Mr. Ted (our dorm supervisor, gym teacher, soccer and basketball coach and mentor) in about 19 years. He had such a great influence in our lives with his strict demeanor and dry sense of humor. He's probably the most influential man in my life as far as the way I carry myself in public and around others in social situations. When I acted up in public (which I had a tendency to do often at the age of 13) he'd smack me in the back of the head and tell me to straighten up. It sounds harsh, but that's what I needed back then. I was a wild child, with very little respect for authority and people I didn't know. Mr. Ted lives in Greece somewhere now and I can't find him online or through other connections through the school.

Another person I never had a chance to thank was Ms. Hellas Repanti. She was our principal at the school and she was awesome. Of course, back when we were children, we didn't realize how awesome she was. I can remember driving her to near insanity. In fact, some times I saw in her eyes how she was almost ready to give up on me. The difference between Ms. Hellas and other people in charge of the children was that she actually was a graduate of the school. She understood what we were going through on a very personal level.

Ms. Hellas never discussed her childhood in the academy with us. However, you could tell how much she tried to give us a "normal" life. She was at all of our events, whether it was a sporting event, a play or a class trip. She took pictures of us wherever we went. All of my big moments as a child we documented by Ms. Hellas. She was like a proud mother, of hundreds and hundreds of children she supervised throughout her tenure as teacher and principal. She never was married or had any children of her own, but something tells me she had the satisfaction of a great mom, every time one of her children grew up into the real world.

Miss Hellas passed away about 9 years ago. I'll never get to thank her for helping me through some tough times physically, emotionally and spiritually. I just pray she's looking down at me and she's proud of the person she helped raise.

I got choked up writing about these people just now. Deep inside, I want to believe one day we'll all meet in a much better place where we can share stories about perseverance and victory.

What doesn't kill you...

My brother Andreas sent me this Aristotle quote out of the blue today: "Suffering becomes beautiful when anyone bears great calamities with cheerfulness, not through insensibility but through greatness of mind."

I believe the quote is relevant to the children of the Academy. We're a strong, resilient and mostly, a happy bunch of people, who have experienced the worst in life. We persevere, when others either try to bring us down, or underestimate us.

I can recall a time, during my first on-air reporting job in Salisbury, MD. My boss, who didn't like my attitude or demeanor, told me: "quit while you're ahead Manny, you'll never make it in this business."

I hated working for him. We never saw eye to eye on anything. He knew a lot about news, but he played favorites with his employees. If you were one of the people he didn't favor, you knew about it.

I can remember snapping back at his advice, fearlessly. I told him: "I appreciate your professional opinion, however, I do not accept your advice about what I'll do for the rest of my life. If there's something you need from me while I'm here, I'll do it. After I'm gone, don't worry about me. I've been through more than you'll ever know, and this job is not, and won't be, the toughest leg of my journey."

The Academy gave me the "greatness of mind," to accept tough situations like that one. I smiled through the whole situation, because I knew at least I was doing what I loved, even though the circumstances we not ideal. I learned, years later, when I was promoted to news manager of my own station, that I could never talk to people the way he talked to me. I needed to be fair, honest and sympathetic to everyone's situation.

Ultimately, what I learned, is that all "calamities" are relative to the severity of the situation. What may have crushed another person's self esteem, only made me stronger and more motivated. I thank St. Basil's and the wonderful caretakers who taught me strength and courage.

You can take the boy out of Brooklyn...

Stealing, lying, cheating and even forgery, were all in my young repertoire while I was a student at the academy. I was a good boy, who did very bad things. Sometimes, I got away with it... other times, not so much.

I distinctly remember a time in seventh grade, when two other boys and I sneaked up to the campsite of some visiting boy scouts. It was the annual boy scout jamboree on campus. Boy scouts from all over New York came up to showcase their skills. While they were out racing and earning badges, we were rummaging through their tents, taking everything we could grab. The Swiss Army Knives were my favorite. So I snatched two of those. The other boys grabbed clothes, and even bigger knives (Rambo knives). We got out of there with about two or three hundred dollars worth of stolen goods. It was a good day.

When we got back to the dorm, we heard the supervisor on the phone with one of the campus's overseers. Our supervisor then called an assembly in the lunchroom to ask if anyone knew who ransacked the boy scouts' tents. Of course, we all denied it. Only three of us knew exactly what happened earlier, and we swore each other we wouldn't tell a soul. It seemed like a perfect plan. Then, our supervisor said the boy scouts called the police and the police were going to handle the investigation. I still don't know if they actually called the police or not, but the youngest of our crew, Steven, wasn't about to find out. He rolled over and told Ms. Electra the whole story. That's right, he gave a detailed account about how it was all my idea, and how I forced the other two boys to go along with my plan.

Needless to say, Ms. Electra showed up at the dorm and sequestered me in my room. She asked me if I had anything to do with the heist. I said "no way, c'mon Ms. Electra, you know me." She then told me Steven had already told her the whole story, and I could forget about seeing the light of day for at least a month (that just meant no gym privileges). When I denied it again, even after she told me about Steven, she reached under my bed (not a very clever hiding place, I know), and pulled out the bag where I stashed the booty. She caught me, red-handed. I started crying and apologizing profusely. She told me it was too late and how disappointed she was in me.

That was probably the most painful part of the whole ordeal. Not the month I went without gym privileges, not the embarrassment of writing the "sorry letter" to the boy scouts and not even the humiliation of everyone in the dorm knowing I was a thief. Ms. Electra's acceptance was more important to me, than how the other boys perceived me. She was like our mother. She actually was the only one who never physically hit us. She was against corporal punishment, but you sure knew when she was upset, and you never wanted her angry at you, or disappointed in you.

I learned a great lesson that day. No matter how perfect you think your plan is, you'll never get away with being a thief or criminal. Whether it's because your friends snitch on you, or whether the evidence is found under your bed, that type of life always catches up to you. Thank God for Ms. Electra and the academy. Without them, I probably would be in jail, or worse, today.

Never will I...

Many people will go their whole lives never wanting for the basics. They'll take the simple things in life for granted. Never will I.

Never will I take meals for granted, because I can remember many days there were no meals. I can remember begging for food, stealing food and just being hungry all the time. Never will I flip on a light switch without remembering the days in Astoria, NY. We were in the dark. When I put on my shoes in the morning, Never will I forget the time other people's shoes were the best ones I had.

I didn't care about hand-me-downs back then. My shoes served a purpose, as well as my clothes and meals. Staying alive and warm was good enough for me.

All that suffering took hiatus when we were in the academy's boundaries. We woke up, washed up and like clockwork, food was served to us. Sure, we complained about the food, like we were picky. But, I can't remember a kid who went without eating any of those days. Deep inside, we all knew we finally had it good.

It's easy to forget how much the school did for us. Sometimes, when I get uppity, when I mistreat people, when I throw out food, I remember the time all these things were necessities, not luxuries.

When you're with the people you love, tell them how you feel every day. More than once. Life is fast and, many times, unfair. If you miss a day, it may be the day they are taken away from you.

We didn't decide to go to the academy. We were put there.

I saw my mother a couple of weeks before I got dropped off late September of '84. I didn't know I wouldn't see her again for more than a year. Sure, I was only eight years old, but my heart ached for her dearly. She was the only person I needed to hold me every day. Even though we had it rough at home, she told me she loved me every night. Sometimes, that's more nourishing than food.

My brothers and sisters in the academy took my mother's place. They didn't exactly tell me every day: "Manny I love you," but I knew it.

Moreover, selfless people like Mr. Ted, Ms. Electra, Ms. Hellas, and the hundreds of volunteers at the school told us we could do whatever we wanted with our lives. Many of us believed it because they believed it when they said it.

So next time you argue over money or material things, remember, those things disappear quickly. People who love you won't.

How often do you go to church?

Before you answer the question about how often you go to church, consider going EVERY DAY! That's how often we went! No, we weren't studying to be monks and the girls didn't take their vows. We simply had to go, every day... Well, we didn't go on Saturdays. However, every other day of the week, and for two hours on Sunday, we were at the chapel. We went to church so much, we would sing the hymnals while we weren't in church.

I can remember one time, during a soccer match, I started reciting the "Litany for the Deceased." That was a part of the liturgy that gave homage to those who had passed away. So here I am, 13 years-old, remembering the dead during a soccer match.

Going to church every day was a bit counter productive for children our ages. We became desensitized by the time we got out of the school. I know some of us who refuse to ever go to church again. Some academy graduates don't even believe in God any more.

Every week day, right after we got out of school, we'd go back to the dorms and "do our homework," (I hardly ever did homework). Then at around 4:30 p.m., we'd head to the chapel for a half hour liturgy. Our dorm supervisors would round us up, in a single file, and we'd march to church in an orderly fashion. It was mandatory. You wouldn't dare NOT show up, because your gym privileges would be revoked. There was nothing worse than missing gym!

It wasn't a long church service anyway. I LOVED going to church because you got to see everyone else on campus. You got to see the big kids. Both of my brothers were in the older boys dorms, so it was a cool, daily visit with them. Best of all, the girls would have to go to church as well, and I loved to show off for them. Outside of the chapel, before the service, we'd tell jokes or just act silly. After church, we would exchange love notes, or just tell the girls how we looked forward to seeing them at gym. So, you get it, we loved church for all the wrong reasons... telling dirty jokes and pre-pubescent crushes. Not very holy, to say the least.

Sunday was the big day at church. The older boys got to serve as alter boys, and everyone looked up to the alter boys. I can remember watching my brothers serve in the alter, imagining myself in those golden robes. They were up there in front of everyone. They would usually give me a wink or a quick nod of acknowledgment when they were up there... just like holy rock stars:) They got all the communion bread they could eat. That was cool too.

I must admit, I loved Sunday's mass. We actually dressed up for Sunday's services. We also sang all the hymns. I loved mass so much, I joined the choir, lead by our principal Ms. Hellas Repanti. I could sing at the top of my lungs on Sunday. I actually felt like God could hear me sing. Praying for better days.

I only go to church on major holidays now. However, I still pray every night, even on Saturdays. In my prayers I still ask for better days. But, I also take time to thank God for answering my prayers when I was in the academy, and every day after I left.

I'm running away!!! (I'll be back in time for dinner).

In the seven years I lived in the academy, I ran away from campus an average of five or six times a year. No, there were no search and rescue crews dispatched to find me. No, I wasn't the lead story on the local news any of those times. And no, not even a member of the St. Basil's supervisory staff came out to look for me. The reason: I don't think anyone ever knew I was missing.

We used to hear horror stories about the kids who were actually caught running away. One girl actually hitched a ride into Cold Spring, NY, the neighboring town. She was immediately expelled by the Bishop (the supreme ruler of the Academy). Another kid actually caught a train back into the city to see his family. When his mother brought him back to the school, he was "dormed," (grounded), for two whole months!

There were a bunch of reasons to "run away." Looking back, I can't really justify my actions, except to say I got really bored with the campus sometimes, and I needed to see the outside world.

The truth is, there was no where to go. That's why I never ran too far. The farthest would make it to the convenience store/gas station, about a mile down the road. I ALWAYS stopped there, and turned around. It was about a mile into the trip I would start asking myself questions like: "Will someone see me and tell on me?" "Is some stranger going to try to pick me up?" Then I'd start to worry about the people I left behind: "I hope no one is worried." "Maybe they've called the police."

Ultimately, the main reason I never got too far, was the harshest, yet the most realistic of all my worries: no one wanted me back home. I know, I write that so matter-of-factly now, but it was true. If my father wanted me at home, he would have never dropped me off. If my mother wanted me, she would have kept me. When that finally sunk into my little head, it made it easier to go back to campus and tell no one except for Sam about my mini-adventure to the gas station.

As much as we all complained about life in the academy, we knew there was a group of people who loved us. We knew someone would pay attention to us, whether positively or negatively. We knew someone would be there to listen about our deepest, most personal feelings. No one at home was willing to do that for us. No one at home cared. That's why the children of St. Basil's Academy will forever be connected spiritually and emotionally. We all share that common bond.

I'm proud to call the academy the place I grew up, and I'm proud to have hundreds of brothers and sisters I've never met, who attended the school before me and after me.

Will you go out with me?

Some of my fondest memories of the academy were the ones of my "girlfriends." I put the word girlfriends in quotes, because honestly, relationships in the academy were like going out with your sister. Frankly, there was no where to "go out," when you were a girl's boyfriend anyway.

So here's how it would work. I would muster up the courage to ask a girl to "go out" with me. In other words, write her a note Sam or another friend would deliver for me. She'd read the note, then write me a note back to tell me whether or not she would be my girlfriend. Then, the next time we were alone, which literally took weeks sometimes, we would kiss. Sometimes we'd talk about our lives, but honestly, we all knew everything about each other. So, really, there were no surprises.

To tell you the truth, I started going out with a girl named Racquel Moran when I was in 4th grade. That's right, 4th grade! We french kissed while the a couple of older girls gave real-time critiques of the kisses. For example: "NO! tilt your head more." "Go slower." "Manny, hold her more gently." "Racquel, close your eyes!"

Racquel and I "dated" on and off until I graduated the academy in 1990. Every time a new boy or girl our age came to the school, we'd break up to date them for a while. Then, we'd get back together. Looking back, it was a really weird dynamic we shared with each other. I think we were just using one another to learn about the opposite sex. We also used each other to find out what the girls up on the other side of campus were talking about, and vica versa with the boys on my side of the school.

Racquel and I haven't spoken to each other in years. If we were to talk, I would thank her for teaching me how to respect women. She taught me that the opposite sex is more sensitive, patient and gentle.

My girlfriend always compliments me about how good a kisser I am... She shold be thanking Racquel too, I guess.

The Visitors

I lived at St. Basil's Academy from 1984 to 1990. In that span, thousands of people, from all over the world came to visit our campus. These people were always known as "The Visitors."

"The Visitors" came for all sorts of reasons. Around Christmas time, they brought cool gifts with them. Then, in the spring, they hosted monumental cook-outs and barbecues for us. Finally, in the summer, which was also the end of the school year, they would attend our graduation ceremony. That was always a special day, because it combined gift-giving and cook-outs. It was like an explosion of generosity from our adult and sometimes teen visitors.

For many of us, they symbolized who we wanted to be when we grew up. Successful Greek adults, who took time to give back to the community. They were always smiling and telling us funny stories about the "real world." The took us outside of campus, to shop, eat or just to experience the outside world for a day. This is a world we were sheltered from most of the time.

We looked forward to the visitors' arrival. Sometimes, they would surprise us. We would flock around them like they were some kind of side-show. What always baffled me was why they were so damn happy to see us and why they were generous to us. Why did they always have gifts? Why did they love us so much? We really didn't get it. I'm not going to lie, I loved it! And, I never really questioned it. I just accepted my gifts, said thank you, and smiled big. They never told us how sorry they felt for us, or how their hearts melted when we accepted their gifts. Looking back, I don't think I thanked them enough.

A man named William Vlandis was my favorite visitor. "Bill" always told me he visited, because he loved the campus so much. But, that never really explained why he was buying me clothes, records, food, shoes and toys. I later found out, Bill thought the world of me, because of what I had been through. He told me, years later, that all he wanted to do was make sure a kid like me saw the good in the world, and that there was more to life than just agony, poverty and pain. Bill used to introduce me to people as his little brother. I always thought of him as a dad. We don't talk much any more, but I hope he's satisfied with the man I've become. Further, I hope the man I've become is a lot like him.

"Back home, I live in a mansion!"

Living with three other boys in your room isn't that tough. However, until you learn to live with and accept their foibles, it can be a bumpy endeavor. And that was just the three others in your room. There were about 40 boys in the entire dorm. When you count all those boys, plus 40 more in the older boy's dorm, it made for an interesting and eclectic mix of personalities and imaginations. We were all hungry for love and acceptance. 

Some of the boys were bed wetters. Some were bullies. Some cried a lot (OK, I cried a lot). Ultimately, we were all from very similar situations at home, back in the city. That's how we ended up in St. Basil's. 

I can vividly remember telling stories, and hearing stories about how rich our families were back home. One boy used to tell us about how his father drove a Porsche, and how his mother ran a successful business back in Queens. Others would talk about their swimming pools and fancy homes. We never questioned the stories, even though we knew in our hearts, even at eight years old, there was no validity to any of these fantasies. 

The truth is, we came from nothing. Back home, for me, there weren't even lights in the house. Our electricity would get shut off every month. Some days, we'd have to beg for food from the local grocers in Brooklyn. When we didn't beg for the food, we stole it. That's because we were poor, dirt poor. Sometimes, when you're a kid, and you're poor, you don't really notice. Sometimes adults would protect you from the truth, and make you forget how tough times really are. Well, that wasn't us, we knew. 

Even though the lights went out at 9 p.m. sharp, we stayed up all night sharing our fictional tales. This is how we coped with the reality of our lives. We were dumped in the church's lap, because our moms (sometimes dads) couldn't or wouldn't take care of us. Imagining a better life back home, made the pain of being abandoned easier for some reason. We didn't realize it back then, but those imaginary tales opened our minds and hearts. The stories paved the way to bigger, much loftier, goals that would shape us into the adults we wanted to be. But honestly, it's really who we wanted our parents to be. 

We spoke about our parents like they were our heroes. It was almost like we were making excuses for them. We were justifying their actions. We forgave them immediately, but deep inside, we knew the academy was our new home. We also knew we would rather eat well, sleep well and play games with our new family, than suffer back in the real world. 

Manny's first day

I'll never forget the day my father dropped me and my brothers off at St. Basil's Academy in September of 1984. I was only eight years old, but I don't remember ever crying harder than I did that day in Ms. Electra's office. Ms. Electra was in charge of student life at the academy. She seemed scary and mean, at least that's what my first impression of her was that first day.

Almost immediately after my father headed back to the city, Ms. Electra drove me to "Boys Dorm Number 1," where Mr. Thanasi (that's how you say Tom in Greek) was the dorm supervisor. I remember hearing the screams and chaos when I walked into the 14 room, single floor, motel-like building. Boys, some my age, some a little younger than I, were running crazy through the halls. I stood at the end of the hallway, with Mr. Thanasi's hand on my shoulder, teary eyed, and scared for my well being. What could a young boy make of all this? I was used to being in a small apartment, around just my two brothers, and a few of my cousins. There were about 40 irately energetic boys in this building, all starving for attention.

My new supervisor walked me to my room, where a boy in his Fruit-of-the-loom underwear was jumping on his bed, screaming gibberish repeatedly. It reminded me of something you'd hear on the Pee-Wee Herman show. He was jumping on one of the four beds in the room, one in each corner. I was escorted to my corner, given bed sheets, a blanket and a pillow. Then, I was told, in Greek: "O.k., 9 O' Clock is lights out, be sure you're showered, and ready for bed by 8:30 p.m. O.K.?"

I sat on the bed stunned and crying, when the boy, 6-year-old Sam Tzourellas, stopped screaming and jumping and walked over to me. He was blond, with light brown eyes and skinny as a rail. He said: "Hey, my name is Sam, do you want to be my best friend?" I wiped the tears from my eyes and said: "O.K.," then laid down on the bed and cried some more. The rest of the night is a blur. However, even after 26 years, Sam remains my best friend. He's also the best friend anyone could ever ask for.