Joe Koch's Autobiography--Part I

At her request, Dad began to tell mom the story of his life in installments. It is very school and work centered, with very little about his family or personal life.

2/15/43

I can't postpone it any longer, so here goes.  Chapter I --I was born of the traditional poor but honest parents who decided that it would take six more to make up for their first born. At the moment of my birth I filled my lungs and didn't stop crying until I was 18 months old. According to my mother I did take time out for eating but very little for sleeping. The constant exercise was good for me, for I was one of those chubby infants. The next 4 1/1 years I spoke scarcely a sound; in fact some people still call me quiet.  I have a vague recollection of cutting and pasting papers in kindergarten. 

I do remember being presented with a kindergarten diploma by  venerable Monsignor Mooney, a big goblet of beer in his left hand. He had a long and saintly career; he had refused to become bishop  just before Cardinal Hayes was appointed because he loved to be close to his children--there were over three thousand of them in Sacred Heart School when I attended. When he died he was clothed in the robes of bishop, an honor he had refused in life. After kindergarten I started in at St. Paul's School--the Paulist Fathers--and was promptly relegated to the dumb row. This didn't go well with Mr. and Mrs. Koch so out of St. Paul's young Joseph was yanked and returned to Sacred Heart. Seven and a half years later in true Horatio Alger fashion, he was graduated with a medal for general excellence. Now he is a not so excellent private. For the intermediate stages read the next thrilling installment.

2/19/43

Registration at Jamaica High, February 1927. We had moved out to Jamaica in October 1926, but I continued  commuting to New York to Sacred Heart. When I went up to Jamaica to register, the place was in turmoil. The school had just opened, and they were overwhelmed by all whose who wanted to begin at a brand new school. Mr. Grant, administrative assistant, was handling the registration. His system was simple. As soon as he appeared in a corridor, he was surrounded by clamoring would-be Jamaicaites. He'd say, "wait here one minute "and then duck away for alcoholic fortification in his office. As the day progressed, the clamoring crowds grew larger and Mr. Grant  weaved more and more as he ducked away.  It was sure fun. 

I didn't get registered, but I did explore the school thoroughly from the boiler room and swimming pool in the basement to the music room in the tower. The next day young Joseph was accompanied by his mother. My mother claims she's still exhausted from climbing all those steps in her efforts to get me into Jamaica High School. Despite this he was denied registration because he supposedly was in the Richmond HIll High School area. I can still picture my mother walking into the principal's office  to assert that the Koches were taxpayers in Jamaica. Our first tax will wasn't due until March, but Mr.  Vosburgh didn't know that and so he filled out a form approving me for registration.

At the registrant office I was handed a blurred mimeographed slip of paper and two blank program cards.  I stared in amazement at the mimeograph slip. At first I thought it was a Greek motto, but that seemed unreasonable so I decided it was some kind of code to be deciphered as part of an intelligence test. After five minutes of puzzlement someone told me  to copy it on to the program cards.  It wan't until I actually attended the classes that I learned w hat the symbols were.  I remember some of them, E1A16-105, HE1B21 gym. The reason for the battle to get registered was that the authorities thought they could limit the attendance to the school's capacity, 3,200. The firs term th e registration was 4,000. When a quit two years later, it was over 6,000.  At Jamiaca I pursued the commercial course for two, years. Each term I was suspended because I was late three times during the first month. In those days we certainly had awful bus service.

2/25/43

At Jamaica High School, I was officially registered for the commercial course--a young businessman in the making. I was horribly shy in school--sitting in classes with girls made me embarrassed all the time. During my first term, I managed to fail Oral English.  We had English 4 periods  a week and a different teacher for Oral English.  I could never get up sufficient nerve to speak before the class.  I managed to pass my other subjects, but on the whole, I can't say I enjoyed my two years at Jamaica.  It was entirely too big for a school.  I never became real friendly with any of the pupils, and I never became sure of myself.  Where we lived, I was slightly older than the rest of the crowd--they were all about my brother Francis's age.  You know Mary at 14 what a difference two years  makes.  I was what you might call a good student  for I did pass all my subjects each term, which was rather exceptional for Jamaica. My greatest handicap besides my shyness was that I had no one to turn to   for advice on my school work. For instance, I should never have taken a commercial course.  I know I was totally disappointed that I wasn't allowed to take Greek in my sophomore year because I was a commercial student.