The past fades into the mists of time, leaving little trace of the people who came before, thus we should try and hold onto our history as long as we can. The venerable Bridgeport High School, Harding, is located on Central Avenue, at the corner of Boston, as it has been since 1924. Perched atop this hill, the athletic field has a vista of the entire city of Bridgeport below. The Central High School (The President's local city rivals) hill toppers are ironically dominated by the Central Avenue Harding 1920's football pitch as it is topographically situated above in latitude, the north-end school. Harding, named after the first President to receive the votes of women, following the constitutional amendment which allowed universal suffrage, is one of only a handful of monuments to Warren Gamaliel Harding, the politician from Ohio who was once remarked by Theodore Roosevelt as a 'fantastic man' to be Vice President. Harding had become president following the end of Wilson's term, the country had found a new place of influence on the world stage as victors of the war to end all wars and had settled into the peace and prosperity of the roaring 20's. It was an age of Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald and Teapot dome. Harding served in the Oval office for a mere three years and died in 1923. Harding High School and athletic fields were constructed in their simplistic and art deco style to honour this time and this man. Local political decisions and the changing nature of amateur sports has rendered the current site obsolete, the Hospital, psychiatric ward and cancer centre, situated next door will be reclaiming its land which was transferred to the government in the 1920's and Harding High School will relocate from its simple early 20th century address to the site recently vacated by the demolition of General Electric's world headquarters. As Mrs. Harding, the president's wife, was present at the laying of the cornerstone in 1923, resplendent with flapper dresses and model T fords, it is unlikely that the new school would be named after the Republican from Marion.
Back in 1959, the Town of Trumbull didn't have a high school of its own. The rural farming community to the north of Bridgeport had just 8000 souls and town planners seeking to build and develop started a building boom of schools in the late 50's and early 60's. Grammar schools such as Booth Hill and Jane Ryan were constructed in 1958 and 1957 respectively, the High School was built in 1960 and is now Madison Middle School. The famous eagles nest of Trumbull High on Daniels Farm Road was cleared and bricked together in 1971. Prior to that, Warren Harding High School in Bridgeport served as the coming of age place for all of Trumbull's farm boys. They might have had to beg, borrow or steal their way to class five miles away, long before bussing was thought up and many of these kids were to become important parts of the varsity squad, but these clean cut lads from the ancient town named after General Washington's friend had to weather the same distance which compelled the town to secede from Stratford in the horse carriage times of 1790.
In an age of ESPN, and college sports contracts, you wonder what Vince Lombardi's Fordham squad or Jim Thorpe would have thought of astro-turf and metallic spectator stands three levels high. The fellas who made the sport of football before the forward pass, were concerned about sportsmanship, toughening up the character of the boys who would become men; they would have felt comfortable at Harding field, they would have been bewildered by the industry of varsity sports in 2013.
Having attended Harding myself, I was involved in the opening up of the city sports teams to the suburban FCIAC conference. I lobbied for the renovation of the simple field which had been dug up and pockmarked by the scars of graffiti and trash strewn along the unplayable natural turf. The reconstruction occurred just twenty years ago but many of the original features were retained such as the old H goals posts and the character of the place. In life, we are taught, some things age gracefully, some things decline from time and others are intentionally neglected, isolated and destroyed. That is what happened to the Boy's squad at this Bridgeport school. I was proud to visit the Fairfield County schools as part of the project and as an ambassador for sports, from Wilton to Darien we met to discuss how to fix a system which had fallen into ruin, a field which once hosted decathalon and javelin had become decay and rubbish.
So on a Saturday, an autumn day in November, a sport which was made for November, the leaves turning brown, the sky overcast and grey, with just days from when families celebrate the holiday of survival, the day of giving thanks as the puritans had done when they survived the harshness of the proceeding year, we will ventured back to Trumbull's football field to prepare for the upcoming match between Warren Harding President's who will play host to the Darien Blue Wave on the 9th of November
Both schools were built in the 1920's, with Darien opening a few years after Harding, in 1927, but the Darien squad is top ranked regionally and has enjoyed the glory that has eluded Bridgeport teams since the 1960's. Back then, Harding hosted players that were all-state and which played for numerous championship teams. The spectator stands here are still simple, granite blocks of seating with wooden benches, faded in colour and chips of blue paint scattered on the ground, much as sportsmanship has given away to bluster, athleticism such as this metamorphosis of decline never to be seen again. America, a once great nation, savour of the world, left in its tomb, thanks are given but that is all to its memory. Surrounding the field, old houses constructed in the mid teens of America's century, simple one families with wooden decks, it could be Queens or the Bronx if you closed your eyes, preserved by poverty. Behind us rose tall spires of religious temples, a church named after the saviour of Milan, Ambrose (now also vacant) and the beauty of a Russian Orthodox dome. I looked at an old map of the neighbourhood in 1910, amongst my papers which told me the rosters of Boys to combat each other on the gridiron. The field was undeveloped back then, six acres of this spot was owned by a man named William Lewis, whose family was one of the oldest families to arrive in Philadelphia in colonial America. When his ancestors moved to Connecticut, they married into the family of Trumbull's first representative to the General Assembly in 1798, Edmond Curtis. They were large landholders, his kin Benjamin owned 45 acres of undeveloped land, just up the road and near where GE was, the town farm was located. This area when Harding was memorialised was vacant, subdivided, forest and field. Just three rustic dwellings made from timber existed across the road from this field, they were owned by Mrs. L Beach of Trumbull. As this will be one of Harding's final home games before construction of the new school, I thought it appropriate to cover it, in part, as a thanks also to Darien, and the other suburban schools who supported the idea of conference integration. We should understand that the students who go to High School are just kids, their destinies often determined for them, a world of hope and opportunity might be before them, but things which are obvious to us through experience eludes them, so I brought my party of young kids to cheer on the old. The lightness of summer has ended along with the bright colours of autumns trees in transition, all blend into the permanence of winters grey. Football is a game fought in mud and rain, in snow and muck. There is no umpire to cancel the contest as in baseball a youthful sport, in the event of weather which is inconvenient. We age with them at the battle. A slight coldness was in the air and perhaps a necessary toughness which awakens the realities for our athletes in the arena scraping through mire, as football is a fight of will against will. Perfect climate for a sport which thrives on the brutal, where skill and creative intellect combine with misery. Man, legend says, survived the harsh New England winters with both brain and brawn, just as we've evolved through torment and triumph, civilisation side by side with the primitive. In this perfect location which was the old postal route between Manhattan and Boston, we stand at the crossroads in this uncertain age, but on the pitch both sides are equal, a fair chance for both squads, whether the suburban or the city, all men must prove themselves before the adoring crowd and skill not wealth will determine the victors. As the two teams leave the field in a weeks time for the last moment, wearied, but not beaten, helmets at their sides, they will embrace each other, they survived, they were victorious or they claimed a prideful defeat, pride in their efforts but knowing that great days are to be. For the seniors, this is their moment, they will not be back next year. Many play for the fun of it, their greatness will be in science or industry, all the seniors we embrace and we salute. Darien's boys such as Silas Wyper or Isaac Selhausen, Matt Lesko, Matthew Vossler or Jackson Lovegrove, they now go on to college and have our endearing thanks for memories we have all lived through. The underclassmen assume the roles of leaders, but we must encourage the type of selfless leadership that makes them true winners. They are all something bigger than we could ever imagine, the team. That mysterious dream that individuals can be stronger together, united and unbroken. They assume their places amongst the greats that have ever laced the cleats, along all the ghosts who have ever roamed this field, and their labour is immortal.
