Chunky

Chunky is a delicious, small candy bar that you rarely see anymore.  I don’t know if they even still make Chunky Bars. Google search ahead!   But when I hear the name Chunky, I don’t think of that scrumptious combination of milk chocolate, raisins, and peanuts. I think of a teacher from my high school. Mr. Richard Smith, aka Chunky.

When you think of the word teacher you usually picture a Math, English, or History teacher. Mr. Smith did not fall into that grouping. He was more of a jack of all trades type of teacher. He held many roles in our high school. He was primarily the Driver Training teacher. He was our Athletic Director. He was a wrestling coach and before that he was assistant wrestling coach.  He always fit into whatever role the school asked him to play. A role he filled for a lot of us students was confidante. He had an easy, down to earth style and was easy to talk to.

I knew him most as a wrestling coach, especially when he had the role of assistant coach in my freshman year.  He did all the work at practice. Mr. Blose was the head wrestling coach, but he used to find a place to sit against a wall and Mr. Smith ran the practices. Mr. Smith knew his wrestling, and he worked us hard, but he also knew how to have fun.  If you have been reading my blog for a while, you may recall that I have named myself the worst wrestler ever. That is not a reflection on Mr. Smith.

He, and my dad, taught me to drive!  I tried recalling Driver Training classes from high school, but I can’t remember even one!  I do remember, though, taking the car on the road with Mr. Smith in the passenger seat ever ready to press the extra set of brakes he had on his side.  We would go out in groups of three students. One would be driving and the other two would be in the back seat. It was tough to drive with a teacher to your right and two of your friends in the back seat trying to make you laugh. We would usually head toward Lehigh Furnace, where Mr. Smith lived.  I always wondered if he was checking on his wife!  We would go up over the Blue Mountain on some back road, come down into Ashfield on the other side and then back to the school.

When I look back on my high school years I can think fondly on memories of Mr. Smith. Other classmates may have had different experiences but I remember him always as a caring man, who was dedicated to Slatington High School and its students.

I don’t even know if Mr. Smith is still alive. If he is, he must be in his mid to late eighties.  But he is alive to me every time I turn left onto Center Street, in Slatington, from Main. He taught us how to make a left turn by using the manhole cover as a guide. He would tell us to make the turn and stay to the right of the manhole. “Now that is a perfect turn”.  When I make that turn today, and I completely miss that manhole cover, I think how proud “Chunky” would be.