Looking Back at “Back to the Future”

October 21, 2015 was the date Marty McFly went to in his journey to the future from 1985 in the iconic “Back to the Future” film of 1989. As the world celebrates this “Back to the Future Day,” and compares all the things that were and were not foretold, I’d like to go back to 1985 and compare how my life was in October 1985.

In October 1985, we were living in Vicenza, Italy, with our three children. Marlowe was at Utah State (in Logan, Utah), Athena and Marc were teenagers attending the DODS (Department of Defense School) in Vicenza. Diana was an eight-year-old. In the movie, Marty McFly goes back to the future to save his son from being arrested, and it is ironic that that year I was always worrying about Marc, my 14-year-old teenager, who it seemed was always getting in trouble.

Marc, 1985

This was our second year of our three-year tour in Italy; Marlowe had graduated from Vicenza High School, received a four-year scholarship to Utah State University, so we only had three children in Italy with us. Athena was a popular junior in the high school, school officer and performing in gymnastics. Marc was a ninth grader, class president, and wrestled on the high school team. Diana was in elementary school, and doing well.

I was in my second year in University of Maryland, attending night classes on base. It was very ironic that I, who had waited over 20 years to complete the college education I had interrupted when I married Ed in 1963 so I could be home with my children, now attended night classes, when the children were home and I wasn’t.

Athena, my prize-winning gymnast

My classes started about 5:00 p.m., so I can remember the “hand-off” when I arrived on base to attend school and met Athena and Marc, who would tend Diana that evening for me. I felt like I was handing-off Diana for their care, but of course, we were comparing plans as we traded places—me to school and them to home (or activities). Ed usually took care of Diana while I was in school, except for when he was TDY (away on temporary duty) and out of town.

I wasn’t gone every night, but usually took classes Monday through Thursday; however I also took a Saturday Cultural History Class where we went to visit the places we had studied about that week. It was a wonderful way to study history and I took at least four of these classes, visiting all the areas in Northern Italy. We studied Rome, but never visited there as a class. We would study the history, art, music, culture of the city (for example, Ravenna); then on Saturday, took a chartered bus to Ravenna to look at and discuss all the things we had studied!!!

Angela Buvoli, Conversational Italian teacher

I took Italian language classes through the University, (two full years), as well as attended a “conversational Italian” class on base to further enhance my use of the language. The conversational Italian teacher, Signora Angela Buvoli, told us about every-day life in Vicenza, its history, and how to understand things in a foreign country—how to take a bus, where to find things we needed, but didn’t know where to obtain; I recall I broke my sewing machine foot and she told me which marketplace I could most likely purchase a new foot for my machine; she was right. She taught us “how to get along” Italian, not the rigid grammar I learned from my university professor. I was always trying to practice my Italian, though I spoke it with a German accent (because I had studied German in college—or that was why they said I sounded more German than American).

I always spoke Italian with an accent, unlike my older children, who picked up Italian and spoke it without any accent (especially Marlowe). But Marlowe, who took Italian language classes in college in Utah and who always sounded like a native Italian, did not know his grammar as well as I did. Because of my English major, I studied English grammar and could compare it to the complex Latin grammar of the Italian language. But what I learned about Italian and practiced, although I was never very proficient), got me around. In fact when Ed and I traveled to Spain for a creative writing class taught on the “Costa Blanca,” I was able to speak enough Italian to help us though France (and of course, they thought I was German because of my accent), and never were quite as prejudiced as they would have been if I had spoken English and been a terrible American.

Ed in Germany 1985

I wasn’t as bad as my husband, Ed, who had studied Italian for six months in the Army’s Monterrey, California language school, and couldn’t seem to understand it. Once he stopped at a fruit market and asked for a “kilometer” of grapes. Of course kilometer is a measurement like miles and he meant to ask for a “kilo” or a thousand grams or approximately 2.2 pounds of grapes. He gave everyone in the market a good laugh at the ignorant American who couldn’t compute measurements.

Hitler's Eagle's Nest

That fall we went to Germany with Ed for meetings and were able to visit Hitler’s “Eagle Nest” at Berchesgaden, in Bavaria. The 20-minute “adventurous” bus ride along the steep rock walls and gorges to an altitude of 5,000 feet gave us a breathtaking view of one of Hitler’s favorite places. I recall buying a drink of “hot chocolate” there and I got a demitasse cup of thick, bitter, dark chocolate syrup without milk or sugar and couldn’t drink it. America’s idea of “hot chocolate” is definitely not the same as Germany or Italy’s.

The other thing I remember about that trip was that we were trying to help Marc be more responsible about his grades. Marc failed to turn in his assignments, or whatever, so he could not miss school to go on the trip, so Ed, Athena and Diana drove to Germany during the end of the week. Then Marc and I had to take the train after school on Friday afternoon to Germany to meet them.

I recall being confused in Milan when we had to change trains to go to Munich, Germany, and the signs referred to Munich as “Monaco” (Monaco di Baviera); it took me a while to determine that “Monaco” was the Italian name for München (German for Munich) and where I wanted to go—and that I was not headed toward the Monaco principality on the French Riviera. It was late that night when Ed met Marc and I at the train station and drove us to the hotel.

Athena and Marc were also very active in the base community theater program that fall, and I remember Athena was rehearsing for a musical that would be performed in December.

Diana

When I look back at October 1985, I think of it as the calm before the storm, because in December 1985 Ed was got a bone infection in his left arm, was medevacked (medically evacuated) to German and would spend nine months of the next year and a half in hospitals in Germany and Walter Reed Hospital (Washington, D. C.) before he was finally well again.  Ed spent that Christmas in the hospital at Landstuhl Airforce Base. I had flown with him to Germany as he was so sick, and arrived home on Christmas Eve. Diana had been staying with friends while I was in Germany, and I picked her up and Athena, Diana and I had Christmas together. Marc was skiing with friends in Austria that Christmas holiday and Marlowe stayed in Utah with Grandma Chambers in Burley. It was a lonely Christmas. 

Ed in the hospital at Landstuhl, Germany Christmas 1985

How a Class I took Taught Me about Learning

I love to learn. I have always loved to learn, and taken classes whenever I could. When we lived in Italy in 1984-87, I was able to complete my Bachelor’s Degree in English by taking classes at the Army base we were stationed at, Vicenza Army Base, through University of Maryland, European Division. However, no matter how many classes I took in Vicenza, there were still classes not available there that I needed to take to graduate. To complete these, I took classes by correspondence, and a creative writing class in Denia Spain on the Costa Blanca during the spring equinox.

One of our discussions onsite in Paris for our class.

     

 And I took, with a girl friend Susan, a one-week class in Paris, France in July 1985, “Expatriate Writers in Paris at the turn of the Century (Fin de Siecle).” We were given a list of eight books that were written by American authors who lived in Paris at the turn of the 20^th century to read and evaluate. Then we took the overnight train from Vicenza to

Me on the overnight train from Vicenza Italy to Paris

Paris to join the group of students. We shared a tiny hotel room in the center of Paris and met each day to visit the sites that were important in the lives of the expatriate writers we were studying, Henry James, Edith Wharton and others. We were immersed in the whole “Paris” experience—the art, Art Nouveau, Oscar Wilde, and theater.

       

 Each day was an adventure as we discussed the authors, their books, and the art that influenced them. There were no multiple answer quizzes, no true/false tests. Everything was discussion and dialogue. The two teachers directed the discussions, but allowed free expression and ideas. After classes we met at street cafes and talked some more.

        

As our week drew to an end, we had decided what the thesis of our final paper would be—what direction it would take about which author/s. Then our instructors realized that Susan and I would be leaving from the Paris Train station and our final Paris Project was set. The Paris Train Station was built in the late 1800s and was a favorite site for people to meet and see off their friends as they left for places all over the world. Our instructors reserved a room in the train station and planned a formal “farewell” for Susan and I. It wasn’t a normal party—it would be like someone in 1899 or at the Fin de Siecle would dress and act. Furthermore, each of would choose one individual in one of the books we had read and discussed, come dressed as that person, and stay in character all evening as that person. That would portray our in-depth knowledge of the character and book, and be included in our grade.

  

Susan (far left) in costume at the Paris Train Station

 

 

 

I can remember Susan and I looking all over Paris’ flea market for something to transform our clothes into a turn of the century costume that we could remove in a second after we boarded the train to look normal. My final costume included my black slip wrapped around my head; I purchased a flamboyant feather plume, black gloves, and a large black nylon scarf/shawl that I wrapped around to look like a long skirt. You can see Susan in

Me for my final project at the Paris Train Station

the mirror taking the photo, with a red wrap, paisley full slacks and one of my print scarves on her head. 

      Our teachers and others wore more elaborate costumes, but it was a fun and exciting experience to pretend to be a fictional character and to try to remember everything. I can only recall that I was a character from an Edith Wharton novel, and worried that someone would catch me making an error about a fact. I had to make up some reason for her to be taking the train to Vicenza because in the book she never went there—but that was acceptable.

      

Our instructors at the Paris Train Station

 

What did I learn from this class, besides the material taught in the class? I learned how you can make any class more interesting by making it more personal. You can relate anything to the student’s life and it will become more alive to them. You can involve them in role-playing and they will understand how another person feels.

I learned from that class that teaching is more than lecture—speech, talk, discourse. Teaching is imparting knowledge, enlightening, educating (teaching comes from “to lead forth”).   

 When teaching is done right, learning is fun.