Longtime Westport educator Garry Meyers died peacefully at his Stratford home on June 11, surrounded by family. He was 89 years old.
The Bridgeport native was a teacher, a storyteller, and a marriage and family therapist. After graduating from Warren Harding High School in 1948, Garry headed to Dartmouth College. He earned a Phi Beta Kappa key, and graduated magna cum laude in 1952.
After serving in the Korean War, Garry earned a master’s degree in education from the University of Bridgeport on the GI Bill. He taught English at Staples High School for many years, and was a principal of the firm Tape Book, before creating the first public high school special education program for emotionally disturbed adolescents in the state of Connecticut.
The gratification Garry experienced as he developed this safe place for “the kids” spurred him to devote his professional life to helping more children and families. He pursued a master’s in marriage and family therapy from Southern Connecticut State University, becoming a licensed MFT in Connecticut and Massachusetts.
Whether in line at the hardware store or traveling to Russia, Garry often made new friends. He had an agile, insatiable mind; an irreverent, irresistible sense of humor, and a genuine interest in everyone he met. His life was a celebration of the people he loved, the places he and Donna visited, and the stories that grew from these experiences.
During their years together, Garry and Donna called many places home, including Westport, Redding Sandy Hook and Stratford; Astoria, New York, and Oak Bluffs, Massachusetts.
In their home on Martha’s Vineyard, Garry and Donna created a haven for family and friends. It was especially cherished by Garry’s 17 grandchildren.
Garry is survived by his wife of 51 years, Donna Rae Hitt Meyers for 51 years; his children Liese Meyers Niedermayer, Jennifer Meyers (Mark), Adam Meyers (Ingrid), Melissa Fable Dempsey, Kimberly Fable, and Chaz Fable (Valeria). Garry was predeceased by his youngest daughter, Rebekah Meyers Aronson. He is also survived by his grandchildren Bryan, Erich, Stephanie, Randi, Jessica, Daniel, Jacqueline, Kristen, Alexandra, Matthew, Teddy, Olivia, David, Kiona, Julie Rae, Julian, and Julia.
As a Staples High School student in the early 1970s, Tom Owen had great teachers. But, he admits, “I wasn’t as invested in them as they were in me.”
A self-described “jock” who claims football, skiing and baseball got him through school, it’s not surprising that Owen ended up coaching at his alma mater.
It’s harder to believe he also spent the past 36 years as a teacher there.
Owen retires this month after a storied career. He coached Wrecker golfers to 3 state championships — he was an all-around jock — and “15 or 20” boys and girls state skiing titles (he lost track during his 23- and 5-year Staples stints, with 8 years at his son and daughter’s Joel Barlow High School in between).
But his impact is even greater on countless special education students. He guided group after group from 9th grade to graduation — and remained their mentor far beyond.
Tom Owen, Staples High School Class of 1974.
It was an unlikely career for a kid who spent his freshman year at Norwich University — a private military school in Vermont.
“That didn’t go so well,” Owen laughs. “I thought I could ski every weekend, and carry on my high school shenanigans. Instead, I ended up walking thousands of tour duties.”
Transferring to Ohio University was a better choice. He joined the rugby team — a jock is a jock — and after sophomore year, told a counselor he wanted to be a phys. ed. teacher.
She suggested he look into a new field: special education. It appealed to him — particularly because he could coach after school.
Owen started as a Staples paraprofessional in 1979. That same year, Long Lots Junior High football coach Bob Yovan retired. His former school — the same place he’d met his future wife, Deb — handed the 24-year-old his 1st head coaching job.
He quickly realized how lucky he was. His 2 jobs — teaching and coaching — brought him in contact with tens of thousands of “amazing” people. “I couldn’t believe I was getting paid to do this,” Owen says. “I had the greatest interactions with kids, parents and colleagues. I got to be a teacher for students, a counselor for families, an educator and a mentor.”
Tom Owen liked taking students out of the classroom. He believes learning can take place in many ways, and many places.
In the 1990s, he and longtime fellow teacher/friend/sidekick Diann Drenosky — who also retires this month — worked in a separate building near Staples’ 9 Building. “The Little House” provided an innovative way to teach both academic and living skills. The kids were tough, but Owen, Drenosky, paraprofessional Ann Rully and Westport Police youth officer Arnie de Carolis created a warm, family atmosphere there.
“It was a great program,” Owen says. “We were devastated when it ended.”
Generations of students are grateful that he and Drenosky remained a team. “We laughed a lot — at each other, and ourselves,” Owen recalls. “We cried some too. She’s a special person, and she touched so many people over the years.”
Coaching allowed Owen to reach other students, in different ways. “Looking back, I can’t believe the amount of time and emotional investment I put into it,” he says. Football and golf are demanding enough; he just shakes his head at the memory of “standing on the Southington ski slope at 9 p.m., when it’s minus-30 degrees.”
Much has changed over the past 36 years, of course. As a coach, he’s seen far greater parental involvement — for better and worse.
Tom Owen met Debbie Goustin — his future wife — at Long Lots Junior High School.
“Parents help a lot with organizing now,” he says, declining to discuss the negative aspects. “My parents basically just showed up at a few games.”
He has the special perspective of having attended the same school where he spent his entire teaching career.
“Things were so casual back then,” he says of his student days. “The stress level was way lower — maybe to a fault. The stress kids have today is over the top.
“We were much more independent. Our parents were way less involved. We solved things more on our own.”
He is not putting today’s teenagers down, he notes. “That’s just the way it is. I would have done better in school if I was under all the rules and regulations we have today. I definitely took advantage of the lack of discipline.”
But, he adds, “I wouldn’t do anything any differently.”
Owen’s free-spirited attitude continued into adulthood. At his retirement dinner, colleague Tony Coccoli said, “Every Tom Owen story ends with, ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.'”
Coach Tom Owen, on the golf course.
Retirement will give the self-described “jock” more time for sports. He and Deb’s children, Patrick and Lex, spend winters at Jackson Hole. Owen may become a ski instructor, and/or work in a golf pro shop.
“I’m 59 years old,” he says. “I’ve ‘gone to school’ for 54 of those years. This fall will be a big adjustment.
“I look forward to it. But I feel really, really fortunate to be part of Westport for so long.
“While you’re in the middle of it, things just happen. But now as I get away from it, I realize how in many ways, this town and school defined who I am.”
Cliff Barton — a longtime Westport educator — died last week. He was 90, and had recently suffered a stroke.
An outstanding student who attended Florida A&M University on an athletic scholarship, he was a skilled practitioner of jewelry casting before earning a masters degree in education and organizational theory from Columbia University’s Teachers College.
He joined the Westport school system in 1958, and over the next 29 years served as a teacher, speech pathologist and assistant superintendent. Throughout his career he maintained a private practice as a speech pathologist and educational consultant.
In 1958 Cliff and his wife Sylvia purchased a home on Stonecrop Road in Norwalk, integrating the neighborhood. Cliff involved himself in a wide range of civic affairs — including the Norwalk Redevelopment Agency, the Mayor’s Blue Ribbon Commission on Race Relations, the Carver Foundation, the Mid-Fairfield Child Guidance Center, Norwalk Hospital, and the Norwalk Power Squadron — that continued until his death. He was a founding member of the boards of the Norwalk Arts Council and Norwalk Maritime Center.
In my third of a century of Westport teaching experience, Cliff is one of the last of the greats. He’s right up there with Gladys Mansir, Wyatt Teubert, Charlie Burke, Tony Arciola, Harold Allen, Nick Georgis and Gerry Rast, among others.
All these professionals, with diversified personalities and academic perspectives — committed to the quality education of every kid — put Westport on the Gold Coast map.
The local community of Gray Flannel suits in the time of the Famous Artists Schools wanted the best. Then, with the Soviet challenge of Sputnik, the national government wanted the best in education as well.
The dialogue about various teaching approaches in the new Staples High School faculty room — for the first time mixed with males and females — was constant and intense, loud, humorous, sometimes angry, always provocative.
Cliff Barton, then a speech teacher who traveled among the different Westport schools and administrative offices, often punctuated the emotional dialogue with a non-controversial observation that was sane, possible and always respected.
Cliff put his words into practice as an administrator. As the head of special education and a former teacher, he recognized the complexity of kids with physical, emotional and academic needs. Cliff understood the political task of integrating them and their parents into the regular school community.
Adams Academy, where Cliff Barton worked his magic.
And he recognized the importance of his staff in getting the job done. In characteristic gentlemanly style, Cliff insisted that all teachers tar themselves away from their demanding, often isolated involvement to meet every Wednesday in the supportive, informal Adams Academy — the 1-room schoolhouse away from typical, overly administrative property — where Miracle Workers could see each other as normal people.
Cliff exuded trust in us whenever we might lose trust in ourselves. This respect and confidence ultimately extended beyond the meetings and beyond the school, into our private lives.
When I visited my former partner, former boss and old friend for the last time, I held his hand. He clasped mine in return and whispered reassurance: “Our paths will cross again.”
(Donations in Cliff Barton’s memory can be made to the Carver Foundation [www.carvercenterct.org] or the Norwalk Maritime Center Children’s Opportunity Fund, 10 N. Water St., Norwalk, CT 06854.)
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