Thank you, Mira Costa
“Old Souls,” by Steve McCall. April 2016, Ruby’s Redondo Beach. My daughter and her two friends in Ryan Jensen’s Classic car at the Ruby’s. Canon T3i
Grand prize
by Spiros (Steve) H. Mikelatos, M.D.
Lt. Colonel, USAF, M.C. (Ret.)
It was August of 1952, I was 15 years old and close to enrolling in Mira Costa High School. My school name was Steve, my Greek name Spiros.
Mira Costa, its teachers and students taught me to read, write, and speak English. They gave me an education above and beyond my expectations.
The young high school was opening its doors wide to welcome students for only its second year. The students were anticipating some difficult classes but were also eager to have some fun. My sister Helen and I were new and a bit different. I did not speak English. Truthfully, I spoke 2 words “yes” and “no”. English conversation was not possible for me.
My sister, mother Angeliki and I had recently joined my father Harry and older brother Jerry in Manhattan Beach. My father and brother had left our Greek Island of Kefalonia to come to America five years earlier. In Manhattan Beach, my brother assumed responsibility for our reunited family as my father was over 65 years old and my mother did not speak English.
Before entering Mira Costa, Helen spoke some English from lessons on the island. The money was not enough for my lessons. I tried to learn some words by myself from a dictionary. Soon I realized self-taught pronunciation may sound ludicrous. I decided to postpone my English learning until I reached America.
In Manhattan Beach, Greek-American ladies advised my mother and brother not to place Helen and me in a regular high school. My 20-year-old, macho brother Jerry was a man who could think for himself and was fluent in English. He decided to talk with Principal Lloyd Waller and Vice Principal Carl Fisher face to face.
When Jerry returned home, he told Helen and me that we were enrolled in Mira Costa, in the same grade we were enrolled in when we left our Greek high school. Helen was a junior and I a sophomore. Classes would begin in three days. Jerry did not forget to mention how cute and smart Mira Costa boys and girls were. I did not ask any questions. I had some faith that “The Lord is my Shepherd…”.
The administration tried to make my life easier. They gave me a class in woodshop, one in Glee-Club, and one in Algebra. There was less need for words in these classes. My classes in History and English would certainly, expose my ignorance of words.
For the first day of school, my mother gave us the Greek equivalent of a brown bag lunch. She gave us a piece of bread, 2 tomatoes, some olives, lettuce leaves, and a piece of feta cheese that looked like a bar of soap.
During lunch break, Helen and I sat together on the green grass to eat. Our class impressions were positive and the food tasted good. In a brief interval, a pretty blonde girl came to sit with us. Her name was Maureen and she was a stranger. She asked to be excused by her friends, then asked permission to join us. On that day and ever since, I could only believe that Maureen’s lovely face was a reflection of the beauty of her soul.
My English became the responsibility of Miss Jean Swain, my English teacher. She was young, cute, sweet, and innocent. In the beginning, it was difficult for her to believe that my English did not exist. She was more interested in making learning fun and interesting. She gave me an elementary school book to read about cowboys and Indians. She was amazed that I had to look up every word in the dictionary.
That approach was very, very slow. Miss Swain quickly changed strategies.
She decided to teach the whole class for 45 minutes, and then gave the class 10 minutes of work in the room. During those 10 minutes, she asked me to sit next to her by the class window. There she introduced her audiovisual method without an instrument:
“The wall is white”,
“The grass is green”.
She pointed to the object, spoke slowly, and asked me to repeat every word. From that moment, I began to learn English. In retrospect, I was not sure if Miss Swain’s new method was miraculously effective. Perhaps, it was more the inspiration of her presence next to me.
As I struggled with English in school, no student laughed at me or bullied me. No student complained that I was a burden on a class. Perhaps this helpful, positive attitude stayed with me until time came for me to give society something in return.
When homework allowed, I helped in the family business of growing and selling flowers. There was still agricultural land around local cities. Flowers were beautiful and they made so many people happy.
Early in the Fall of 1952, I began looking for school sports. There was no soccer team, but there was a track and cross country. Coach Ryan and later Coach Ray accepted my modest ability. I did some running and some long jumping too. I began running barefoot on the uninhabited hills around Mira Costa. Some of my fellow runners had more speed and grace. I participated and did my best. Though I was realistic about my ability, I was often daydreaming about the immortal runners Louis Zamperini, Emil Zatopek, and Paavo Nurmi.
I had some good luck in the long jump and the 660 yard run in a meet in Beverly Hills High School. I was not sure if my effort that day was motivated by Coach Ryan or was inspired by the Beverly Hills beauties watching on the track infield.
I also recall my barefoot race on the traditional Cross Country Course of Mount San Antonio College (MT SAC) in Walnut/Pomona. I still feel the hard earth under my bare feet.
Two years after I graduated from Mira Costa, Coach Ray and his runners won the State Cross Country Championship. I can only imagine the spirit of Zamperini, Nurmi, and Zatopek leading their steps.
It has always been a pleasure to know champions bloom in Mira Costa and in the
South Bay.
My sister Helen did not participate in sports, but did well in Mira Costa academically.
In my three years in Mira Costa, my English improved but did not become fluent. I could not hold a long conversation to my satisfaction. The Greek at home did not help my English.
Schoolmates, teachers, and administrators showed support and understanding.
Mr. Waller, Mr. Fisher, Miss. Swain, Mr. Brigham, Mr. Roy, Miss White, Coach Ryan, Coach Ray, and others were there for me.
Schoolmates and teachers asked me what was my family’s relationship with America before I left Greece. I would have said my father was a naturalized American citizen before 1930. I was born and raised on the Island of Kefalonia when Hitler and Mussolini were preparing for War. I lived in WW II and have known the hunger and suffering that a war can bring. I was 7 years old when the Americans stormed Omaha Beach and Normandie to bring the peace.
After the War, the US State Department located my father in our small island village. They invited the whole family to America.
Schoolmates and teachers asked me to talk about my island Kefalonia. I could have said the natives love this island and its nostalgic songs. They adore the high mountain, the magical landscapes, the idyllic seashores, and Santorini sunsets. The natives love the poet Homer who wrote in the Iliad: Legendary “Ulysses was leading the great-hearted Kefalonians” to rescue beautiful Helen in the War of Troy.
Sometimes, schoolmates and teachers asked me about my trip from the island to California and to Manhattan Beach. My English did not allow me to tell them then.
I left my island with tears in my eyes but an optimistic spirit. Loved ones wished me a brighter future in America. I sailed the Atlantic Ocean for two weeks. Then, I gazed at the Statue of Liberty with the torch held high. Someone read the inscription: “Give me your tired, your poor…”.
My brother Jerry traveled from Manhattan Beach to New York to meet us.
My mother, sister, and I were happy to see him there. From that great city, we traveled by train over the mighty Mississippi, across the Great Plains, and the Wild West. We reached Los Angeles and in Manhattan Beach, it was a joy to meet my father and see the family reunited.
Schoolmates and teachers had asked me how I liked Manhattan Beach and the South Bay. I could have said, I often walk The Strand. The ocean reminds me of Homer’s “Odyssey.” In the Odyssey, Homer describes the Elysian Fields, the paradise of the Greeks: “A place where no snow falls and very little rain. In the afternoon, the gentle breeze comes from the sea to refresh the people.” This description of paradise best fits Manhattan Beach and the South Bay.
In my junior year in Mira Costa, a counselor made appointment for me to discuss my field of interest. I was not prepared. I thought of becoming a priest, a monk, an actor and a life science teacher. Finally, I thought of helping people in pain and suffering applying medical skills. I had a feeling the counselor could have hinted that the study of medicine is long, difficult, and expensive. Instead, counselor Bernardi said, “Medicine is a nice choice.” Relatives were supportive. My orientation was set. I did not broadcast my choice.
Before graduation from Mira Costa, I was happy to be accepted by UCLA as a premedical student. I was also happy to receive two substantial monetary scholarships. One came from the beautiful people of the Bank of America. The second came from the beautiful humanitarian group Sandpipers and Sandebs. A few years ago, I had a chance to thank the Sandpipers and Sandebs in person. I was impressed how they walk in style, grace, and beauty and have compassion in the heart.
One evening in June 1955, an idyllic sunset appeared on The Strand horizon. It was graduation day for Mira Costa High School. It was time for me to say a silent “Thank you, Mira Costa”.
Many people were at the school to see students receiving diplomas. Some of my loved ones were far away but vivid in my memory.
My loving family was present.
Schoolmates, teachers, administrators, friends, and well-wishers were there for me and for others.
The beautiful people of the Bank of America and the beautiful Sandpipers and Sandebs were there in person or not far away.
Some people wished me the best.
Some wished me good luck at UCLA.
Someone simply said, “Vaya Con Dios!” B