Newsletter for the Alumni and Friends of
Hicksville High School Hicksville, New York

The Editors:
Buffalo Bob Casale '61	Linda (Piccerelli) Hayden '60
Pat (Koziuk) Driscoll '56	Bob (Gleason) Wesley '61

Contributing Editors: Bob Gillette & Walter Schmidt

Webmaster: Roger Whitaker

To contact the editors, email This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

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HICKSVILLE VIETNAM WAR ERA MEMORIAL - PROJECT UPDATE

Nothing new to report this month due to the continuance of Pendemic restrictions, especially in New York. However, we are pleased to tell you that our core action team remains safe and in good health. We are thankful for this and hope the same is true for each of our readers and alumni.

We are still providing a report this month, especially for those of you who may have been too preoccupied with the world situation to read last month's issue.

This is a frustrating time period for all of us! Especially frustrating for your Project Team as the Memorial is complete and just needs its official dedication ceremony to be finalized!

We still have not heard back from Superintendant Lintz regarding the need for insurance and liability coverage for the Dedication Ceremony and we're sure this is not a top priority for her, or the school's attorneys, at the moment due to the continued need to lead the Hicksville Public School District through the Coronavirus Pandemic.

Given the Pandemic, it still makes no sense to set a dedication date until we have the "all clear" from the Federal Government and NY State for gatherings of more than ten people. Once we have a dedication date it will be published both in HixNews and on the Hicksville Facebook pages.

We still can't report on March or April donations as Bill Walden, our treasurer, remains quarantined in his out of state vacation home, but we can tell you it is still not too late to donate!! At this point, Bill states he may not be back until June, which likely will not enable us to provide a donations update, since February, until the July issue of HixNews.

We trust all readers are staying safe at this difficult time. As always, should you wish to make any comments on the Update, please email me at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..

On behalf of the Project Team,
Joe Carfora, HHS 1962

Pat Koziuk Driscoll: 1938-2009

In May of 2009, Hicksville Newsletter, and the community lost a true friend who worked diligently on providing former alumni with much sought after nostalgia. Pat, who graduated Hicksville High in 1956, was affectionately known as an editor of the Hicksville Newsletter. She compiled most of the material that was included in each issue of HixNews and spent countless hours copying and pasting information on multiple pages.

HixNews started out as a two or three page email that was sent to some 100 or so readers. Eventually, it evolved into a multi-page newsletter that placed onto its own website and was supported with many special features. It was fortunate that Pat saw many of the changes that surfaced over the years.

Most probably never knew Pat was not in the best of health because she was never looking for sympathy or an "attaboy!" She didn't complain but just kept going like the energizer bunny. Pat shared time with her Florida pals shopping and fraternizing despite needing special consideration over the years. Pat spent most of her last year on oxygen 24/7.

She loved her portable transportation (a golf cart) that provided the mobility she lacked because of her dependence on oxygen. Her death created a void that exists today.

Pat's efforts brought many hours of joy to HixNews readers who waited patiently each month for tidbits of information. Pat, along with Linda Piccerelli Hayden, a 1960 graduate, were the pioneers of HixNews. They spent many hours scouring through emails from former students gathering information that was typed into an email and sent out the beginning of each month.

Pat was surrounded by family when she was summoned by a higher authority. This was not at all unusual because family was her life. She spent many hours enjoying those she loved most.

CLASS OF 1980 CLASS REUNION

August 8, 2020, 7:30-11:30 pm
Oak Room at the Heritage Club at Bethpage. 
Cost $125 includes food and drink. 
Payment info will be released soon.
Nearby Hotels include: (Book sooner rather than later)
Hilton Garden Inn Round Swamp Road
Homewood Suites Round Swamp Road
Holiday Inn, Plainview on Sunny Side Blvd
Four Points by Sheraton in Melville, Plainview on South Service Road
Any questions? Contact Sue at: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. 

The Newsletter

Photo Gallery

Birthdays & Anniversaries

Memory Lane

A REFRESHER COURSE IN "BURMA SHAVE"

A man, a miss,
A car, a curve.
He kissed the miss,
And missed the curve.

Burma Shave

I'm sure that Burma Shave actually saved some lives. People laughed and they were more careful!  It was a REAL "service" to America, even though it was an advertisement and it was one of the RARE "really useful" ones!

To My Old-As-Dirt Friends and Relatives who qualify as "old as dirt."  For those who never saw any of the Burma Shave signs, here is a quick lesson in our history of the 1930's and '40's.  Before there were interstates when everyone drove the old 2 lane roads, Burma Shave signs would be posted all over the countryside in farmers' fields. They were small red signs with white letters. Five signs, about 100 feet apart, each containing 1 line of a 4 line couplet and the obligatory 5th sign advertising Burma Shave, a popular shaving cream.

DON'T STICK YOUR ELBOW
OUT SO FAR
IT MAY GO HOME
IN ANOTHER CAR.

Burma Shave

TRAINS DON'T WANDER
ALL OVER THE MAP
'CAUSE NOBODY SITS
IN THE ENGINEER'S LAP.

Burma Shave

SHE KISSED THE HAIRBRUSH
BY MISTAKE
SHE THOUGHT IT WAS
HER HUSBAND JAKE.

Burma Shave

DON'T LOSE YOUR HEAD
TO GAIN A MINUTE
YOU NEED YOUR HEAD
YOUR BRAINS ARE IN IT.

Burma Shave

DROVE TOO LONG
DRIVER SNOOZING
WHAT HAPPENED NEXT
IS NOT AMUSING.

Burma Shave

BROTHER SPEEDER
LET'S REHEARSE
ALL TOGETHER
GOOD MORNING, NURSE

Burma Shave

CAUTIOUS RIDER
TO HER RECKLESS DEAR
LET'S HAVE LESS BULL
AND A LITTLE MORE STEER.

Burma Shave

SPEED WAS HIGH
WEATHER WAS NOT
TIRES WERE THIN
X MARKS THE SPOT.

Burma Shave

THE MIDNIGHT RIDE
OF PAUL FOR BEER
LED TO A WARMER
HEMISPHERE.

Burma Shave

AROUND THE CURVE
LICKETY-SPLIT
BEAUTIFUL CAR
WASN'T IT?

Burma Shave

NO MATTER THE PRICE
NO MATTER HOW NEW
THE BEST SAFETY DEVICE
IN THE CAR IS YOU.

Burma Shave

A GUY WHO DRIVES
A CAR WIDE OPEN
IS NOT THINKIN'
HE'S JUST HOPING

Burma Shave

AT INTERSECTIONS
LOOK EACH WAY
A HARP SOUNDS NICE
BUT IT'S HARD TO PLAY.

Burma Shave

BOTH HANDS ON THE WHEEL
EYES ON THE ROAD
THAT'S THE SKILLFUL
DRIVER'S CODE.

Burma Shave

THE ONE WHO DRIVES
WHEN HE'S BEEN DRINKING
DEPENDS ON YOU
TO DO HIS THINKING.

Burma Shave

CAR IN DITCH
DRIVER IN TREE
THE MOON WAS FULL
AND SO WAS HE.

Burma Shave

PASSING SCHOOL ZONE
TAKE IT SLOW
LET OUR LITTLE
SHAVERS GROW.

Burma Shave

Do these bring back any old memories? If not, you're merely a child.  If they do - then you're old as dirt LIKE ME!

Casale's Corner

There is nowhere to go and nothing to do. My wife suggested we take a walk, but I don't walk anywhere unless I have a golf club in my hand and its cart path only. My kids have a restraining order on us and won't let us come within 200 yards of the grandchildren. And we can no longer eat out, but when we tried to cook at home, there were cobwebs in the oven.

The network channels are inundated with coverage of the virus. The golf channel has been showing reruns of old tournaments, which are almost as riveting as watching my brother-in-law's video of his family camping trip to Yellowstone Park . And my wife is so desperate for something to do she is even considering sex, and maybe even with me.

Paranoia is off the tracks. Before the shutdown, we were having dinner at a local bar. I let out a loud sneeze and everyone at the surrounding tables started yelling "check please." My stock portfolio is plummeting and most of our cash is currently invested in toilet paper. I am washing my hands 137 times a day. I don't touch anyone. I don't even touch myself. I have been using tongs to go to the bathroom. This has to stop.

Our society and economy have been crippled by a microscopic virus. Scientists have not yet determined the exact origin but have narrowed it down to a Chinese fish market or Rosie O'Donnell's bathtub. And no one is sure how to prevent or cure it. In the past, the ways to prevent contracting a contagious disease were simple: don't eat in restaurants with a cat on the menu and don't date my college roommate's sister.

I don't consider myself to be in the high-risk category. I have been building up my immune system by eating one meal per day at MacDonald's for the last 25 years. Germs just slide through me. My only pre-existing condition is an inability to launch a golf ball further than 180 yards. And, according to the CDC, symptoms of the coronavirus are sweats, dizziness, and trouble breathing, which I experience whenever I am standing over a 3-foot putt. I can handle it.

So, I proposed to my regular foursome the idea of escaping from our self-imposed Stalag 17 and venturing outside for a round of golf. Everyone recognized the danger and severity of the situation. But when faced with the decision to remain sequestered with our wives or to risk contracting a deadly virus, it was a no-brainer. Every man opted to play golf.

Our foursome does not pose a medical risk to mankind. My friend, George is virus-free. Social distancing has not been a problem for him. Other than us, he doesn't have any friends. Bob, my neighbor is a urologist who has been working from home for several weeks. He has developed a way to do remote prostate exams by having patients sit on their cell phones. And our other partner, Jerry tested himself with a kit he bought online. However, he thinks he may have gotten the wrong kit. It showed no traces of the virus but indicated that he was pregnant with twins.

The federal government has established guidelines for social engagement. For example, you must stay at least 6 feet apart and no more than 10 people are allowed at a gathering, which means Patrick Reed's fan club can still meet. In addition, our foursome drafted our own specific set of rules for Pandemic Golf.

Rules of Play:

• Hazmat suits are permitted. As an alternative, one can wear a college mascot costume or big bunny pajamas.
• Masks are not permitted, because we would look more like stagecoach robbers than a foursome.
• Leave the flag in. And to avoid retrieving balls from the hole, any putt shorter than Lebron James is good.
• Ride in separate golf carts and don't come closer to another player than a fully extended ball retriever.
• Don't touch another player's balls. This is always good advice.
• No high fives. Fortunately, we seldom have a reason.
• No petting the geese or the cart girl.
• Don't use the spot-a-pot. More disease in there than in all of Wuhan China .
• No excuses. Slicing or hooking are not side effects of the coronavirus.
• Make an online bank transfer to pay off your bets for the day.
• Straddle the sprinkler on the 18th hole before getting into the car.

These rules and restrictions adequately protected us from contamination. Unfortunately, there is no vaccine for bad golf. I had trouble gripping the club with oven mittens, but it was an enjoyable afternoon which ended way too soon. There were no handshakes on the 18th green, no beers at the bar, and we drove home separately.

As the pandemic plays through, it is giving us a glimpse into our inevitable future where all meals are delivered, all entertainment comes through the TV screen, and all human interaction is through our cell phone. Where schooling is online at home, exercise is on a stationary bike in our basement, medical testing is done at drive-thru windows, and colonoscopies are performed at Jiffy Lube. The world is changing. It is becoming less interpersonal as technology consumes us. So now that we have time on our hands, everyone should take a moment to cherish this fading era, when friends still get together to hit a little ball around an open field for no good reason other than to enjoy the companionship of their fellow man.