It was the summer of 1981. I was working for, and sometimes with, the flamboyant George Brockway. We were building stone walls. I say sometimes with because more than occasionally George had other important matters to attend to…like chasing down old girlfriends and entertaining folks at the local coffee shops.
At 52 he was in great shape. He did a lot of cycling and weightlifting and skiing. His square jaw was surrounded by curly golden locks. He swore it was the sun that did it.
George was a very good stonemason. He took the limestone blocks blasted out of Kinsella’s quarry in Fayetteville, carted them to fine homes with his big pickup and shaped them into attractive stone walls. During the long Central New York winters he gave ski lessons at Song Mountain.
George had grown up in a fine home himself. It was located across the road from the present day Wegman’s on Route 5 in Fayetteville. Apartment buildings cover the area now. As a lad he would hike north across that road to Cedar Bay on the Erie Canal where he would play hockey and trap mink and muskrat. The family also had a summer home on the east side of Skaneateles Lake. George was a fun loving, gregarious kid with a great sense of humor and had many friends in the Syracuse area. He also had a feisty side but this was usually tempered by that sense of humor.
One of George’s relatives was Albert Brockway. That Mr. Brockway was a well known architect in Syracuse. He taught at Syracuse University and designed many beautiful homes in the area. He also designed three large buildings at the State Fair Grounds. The founder of Brockway Trucks in Cortland was also a relative.
On the other side of the family was George Bond, a founder of the Bond, Schoenock and King law firm. Mr. Bond was also the head football coach for Syracuse University in 1894.
So George had some bloodlines in the Syracuse area.
He went off to the Berkshire Prep School in western Mass to finish up high school. Then he was off to Cornell University. A wild man at both schools I am sure.
In his early twenties George spent some time in the Navy, stationed in Iceland. There he saw a fellow decapitated by a cable while they were towing a plane out of the ice.
George Brockway’s father died of a heart attack while out hunting in 1954. He was 56. George was 26 at that time. His mother, his sister and he inherited Knollwood Farm, the family estate. This was sold within six months and George had a bit of a cushion to help him out.
George married Joan in 1962 and they had a son John Adam who is also a stonemason. They later divorced. The family moved out to Aspen, Colorado where George taught school and was a member of the Ski Patrol at the resort. He was a buddy of Klaus Obermeyer and Friedl Pfeiifer.
Back in Central New York in the late 60’s he taught school and then started his masonry business. Amy Sheneman helped him as a sort of secretary for a while. His business was usually in some need of organizing. George was back because he really loved this area, the geography and ice age geology especially appealed to him.
Syracuse was host to the National Sports Festival in 1981 and George planned on seeing as many events as he could. Basically it was a National Olympics with many of the events modeled after the games.
So my job that week went from stone wall builder to photographer. I had my old 35mm camera from years back. It wasn’t much by today’s standards but it would have to do. I shot a few action shots but the main reason I was there was to shoot photographs of George with the celebrity athletes and…. we had special access to the infields. George, you see, had procured a torch bearer tee shirt by fast talking some guy on the first day. George was especially proud of this. So he breezed through the gates pulling on his Tshirt and then dragged me with the camera behind him.
Eric Heiden and Al Oerter both had the privilege of being photographed with Mr. Brockway. Many other nationally known athletes also enjoyed a that moment in the sun.
Friday, July 24 was a very important day for George. This was the day of the 60 mile cycling road race. George was an avid bike racer. He participated in the senior division in bike races around upstate New York. He also took part in various triathlons. He followed the national bicycling racing scene by reading magazines and the occasional newspaper article.
He knew the kings of the road races were the Great Stetina brothers, Dale and Wayne, from Indiana.
So this day we went in early. After a pit stop at Buzzy’s coffee shop in Manlius we headed up to the entrance of Onondaga Community College.
This is where the racers assembled. There is a short stem road off the main road before it branched off around the campus. It was on this straightaway stem road that George waited. Now George wanted more than just a photograph with the Stetinas. He wanted to be their pal. He wanted a close bond with fellow racers. He wanted a little bit of that fame. After a while a van pulled up and parked in the grass. It was Wayne Stetina.
Wayne was a good bicycle racer. A very good racer. He would occasionally beat the National Champion, his brother Dale. Wayne got out of the van and busied himself with race preparations. He set his bicycle up on a stand and went about his business. There was a small crowd about the entrance. George was about thirty feet away. He held back. He was waiting for an opportunity. He really wanted that special bond with the racing family.
After 7-10 minutes another van pulled up. There was an opening ahead of Wayne’s van. This new van slowly backed up towards Wayne’s setup. George also saw an opening. This was it! He would save Wayne’s bicycle from this rude interloper! He would save the day for Wayne! They would be PALS FOR LIFE!
As this new van backed up very slowly George finally pounced. He bellowed out at the top of his lungs. “STOP!!!!!” The small crowd fell silent. Several crows flying overhead had seizures and fell lifeless to the ground. I suffered permanent ear damage. Some were shaking in fear.
The new van stopped suddenly. The driver got out. I looked over at George and saw a look of utter shock and horror on his face! The driver of this new van was Dale Stetina, the National Champion!! Dale slowly walked to the back of the van. He looked at Wayne’s bicycle. It was good 25’ from the van bumper. He looked at George with bewilderment and a bit of disgust. George sputtered..”Hi Dale…how is Greg LeMond doin’?”
“I haven’t seen Greg in quite some time” Dale said through clenched teeth. Well, George had blown it and he knew it. Instead of a hero the Stetina brothers saw him as some sort of kook. We slowly drifted away. George was shattered. There would be no warm family meals at the Stetina home for George. No pats on the back from a grateful champion.
George being George, however, he quickly recovered and soon we were off to see Sheila Young, the great speed skater and cyclist. All in all… a great week.. ..a lot of fun…with this wild man!
It’s twenty two, twenty three years later. George is in his 70s now. Sometimes we would drive around his boyhood home, Knollwood farm. Knollwood Farm was now an upscale neighborhood. Jim Boeheim lives there. George could still find a patch of woods or a little quarry that would stir his memory and a story would follow. The entrance to his family home now had a Byrne Dairy sitting on it. George said when was a boy twenty minutes would go by without a car going by on Route 5.
Anyway, these years later George and I are now repairing a porch at the old Brookside development in Fayetteville. I am working part time with George and otherwise sculpting animals.
George tells me a story from his prep school days at the Berkshire School. He says he and his pals are walking down a county road near the school on a weekend stroll. There was an exclusive girl’s school nearby.
Down this country road comes 3-4 gals on horseback. They are from the finishing school. So George and his fellows try to make conversation with the first girl trotting by. Nothing doing. Their noses are way up in the air says George. Second rider…same thing.
As the third gal rode by her horse began farting and farting ..and farting.
Then another horse started up. Those little aristocratic upturned noses had to take it all in. George and the boys were mocking and laughing and having a ball with the situation!
George told the story well and we were laughing our butts off too. I gotta say..it was a sort of freeing laughter. That is, I really loved George at that moment. It was all there. His great sense of humor and his being down to earth even while attending a prep school. George got a kick out of all sorts of people. He knew that afternoon that he didn’t have a lot of years left yet he was in a peaceful mood..We just really enjoyed each others company that day.
On balance, Central New York was very fortunate to have George around. He terrified many a driver with that huge pickup and he had no patience with the obese but these things just made him more interesting. He also helped me out a lot with my animal sculptures with his encouragement, contacts and moving the concrete tigers, bears et al.
A memorial plaque to George now hangs above the fireplace at the Song Mountain Ski Resort. Many attended its dedication.
Another colorful character from these hills that I sure do miss.
At 52 he was in great shape. He did a lot of cycling and weightlifting and skiing. His square jaw was surrounded by curly golden locks. He swore it was the sun that did it.
George was a very good stonemason. He took the limestone blocks blasted out of Kinsella’s quarry in Fayetteville, carted them to fine homes with his big pickup and shaped them into attractive stone walls. During the long Central New York winters he gave ski lessons at Song Mountain.
George had grown up in a fine home himself. It was located across the road from the present day Wegman’s on Route 5 in Fayetteville. Apartment buildings cover the area now. As a lad he would hike north across that road to Cedar Bay on the Erie Canal where he would play hockey and trap mink and muskrat. The family also had a summer home on the east side of Skaneateles Lake. George was a fun loving, gregarious kid with a great sense of humor and had many friends in the Syracuse area. He also had a feisty side but this was usually tempered by that sense of humor.
One of George’s relatives was Albert Brockway. That Mr. Brockway was a well known architect in Syracuse. He taught at Syracuse University and designed many beautiful homes in the area. He also designed three large buildings at the State Fair Grounds. The founder of Brockway Trucks in Cortland was also a relative.
On the other side of the family was George Bond, a founder of the Bond, Schoenock and King law firm. Mr. Bond was also the head football coach for Syracuse University in 1894.
So George had some bloodlines in the Syracuse area.
He went off to the Berkshire Prep School in western Mass to finish up high school. Then he was off to Cornell University. A wild man at both schools I am sure.
In his early twenties George spent some time in the Navy, stationed in Iceland. There he saw a fellow decapitated by a cable while they were towing a plane out of the ice.
George Brockway’s father died of a heart attack while out hunting in 1954. He was 56. George was 26 at that time. His mother, his sister and he inherited Knollwood Farm, the family estate. This was sold within six months and George had a bit of a cushion to help him out.
George married Joan in 1962 and they had a son John Adam who is also a stonemason. They later divorced. The family moved out to Aspen, Colorado where George taught school and was a member of the Ski Patrol at the resort. He was a buddy of Klaus Obermeyer and Friedl Pfeiifer.
Back in Central New York in the late 60’s he taught school and then started his masonry business. Amy Sheneman helped him as a sort of secretary for a while. His business was usually in some need of organizing. George was back because he really loved this area, the geography and ice age geology especially appealed to him.
Syracuse was host to the National Sports Festival in 1981 and George planned on seeing as many events as he could. Basically it was a National Olympics with many of the events modeled after the games.
So my job that week went from stone wall builder to photographer. I had my old 35mm camera from years back. It wasn’t much by today’s standards but it would have to do. I shot a few action shots but the main reason I was there was to shoot photographs of George with the celebrity athletes and…. we had special access to the infields. George, you see, had procured a torch bearer tee shirt by fast talking some guy on the first day. George was especially proud of this. So he breezed through the gates pulling on his Tshirt and then dragged me with the camera behind him.
Eric Heiden and Al Oerter both had the privilege of being photographed with Mr. Brockway. Many other nationally known athletes also enjoyed a that moment in the sun.
Friday, July 24 was a very important day for George. This was the day of the 60 mile cycling road race. George was an avid bike racer. He participated in the senior division in bike races around upstate New York. He also took part in various triathlons. He followed the national bicycling racing scene by reading magazines and the occasional newspaper article.
He knew the kings of the road races were the Great Stetina brothers, Dale and Wayne, from Indiana.
So this day we went in early. After a pit stop at Buzzy’s coffee shop in Manlius we headed up to the entrance of Onondaga Community College.
This is where the racers assembled. There is a short stem road off the main road before it branched off around the campus. It was on this straightaway stem road that George waited. Now George wanted more than just a photograph with the Stetinas. He wanted to be their pal. He wanted a close bond with fellow racers. He wanted a little bit of that fame. After a while a van pulled up and parked in the grass. It was Wayne Stetina.
Wayne was a good bicycle racer. A very good racer. He would occasionally beat the National Champion, his brother Dale. Wayne got out of the van and busied himself with race preparations. He set his bicycle up on a stand and went about his business. There was a small crowd about the entrance. George was about thirty feet away. He held back. He was waiting for an opportunity. He really wanted that special bond with the racing family.
After 7-10 minutes another van pulled up. There was an opening ahead of Wayne’s van. This new van slowly backed up towards Wayne’s setup. George also saw an opening. This was it! He would save Wayne’s bicycle from this rude interloper! He would save the day for Wayne! They would be PALS FOR LIFE!
As this new van backed up very slowly George finally pounced. He bellowed out at the top of his lungs. “STOP!!!!!” The small crowd fell silent. Several crows flying overhead had seizures and fell lifeless to the ground. I suffered permanent ear damage. Some were shaking in fear.
The new van stopped suddenly. The driver got out. I looked over at George and saw a look of utter shock and horror on his face! The driver of this new van was Dale Stetina, the National Champion!! Dale slowly walked to the back of the van. He looked at Wayne’s bicycle. It was good 25’ from the van bumper. He looked at George with bewilderment and a bit of disgust. George sputtered..”Hi Dale…how is Greg LeMond doin’?”
“I haven’t seen Greg in quite some time” Dale said through clenched teeth. Well, George had blown it and he knew it. Instead of a hero the Stetina brothers saw him as some sort of kook. We slowly drifted away. George was shattered. There would be no warm family meals at the Stetina home for George. No pats on the back from a grateful champion.
George being George, however, he quickly recovered and soon we were off to see Sheila Young, the great speed skater and cyclist. All in all… a great week.. ..a lot of fun…with this wild man!
It’s twenty two, twenty three years later. George is in his 70s now. Sometimes we would drive around his boyhood home, Knollwood farm. Knollwood Farm was now an upscale neighborhood. Jim Boeheim lives there. George could still find a patch of woods or a little quarry that would stir his memory and a story would follow. The entrance to his family home now had a Byrne Dairy sitting on it. George said when was a boy twenty minutes would go by without a car going by on Route 5.
Anyway, these years later George and I are now repairing a porch at the old Brookside development in Fayetteville. I am working part time with George and otherwise sculpting animals.
George tells me a story from his prep school days at the Berkshire School. He says he and his pals are walking down a county road near the school on a weekend stroll. There was an exclusive girl’s school nearby.
Down this country road comes 3-4 gals on horseback. They are from the finishing school. So George and his fellows try to make conversation with the first girl trotting by. Nothing doing. Their noses are way up in the air says George. Second rider…same thing.
As the third gal rode by her horse began farting and farting ..and farting.
Then another horse started up. Those little aristocratic upturned noses had to take it all in. George and the boys were mocking and laughing and having a ball with the situation!
George told the story well and we were laughing our butts off too. I gotta say..it was a sort of freeing laughter. That is, I really loved George at that moment. It was all there. His great sense of humor and his being down to earth even while attending a prep school. George got a kick out of all sorts of people. He knew that afternoon that he didn’t have a lot of years left yet he was in a peaceful mood..We just really enjoyed each others company that day.
On balance, Central New York was very fortunate to have George around. He terrified many a driver with that huge pickup and he had no patience with the obese but these things just made him more interesting. He also helped me out a lot with my animal sculptures with his encouragement, contacts and moving the concrete tigers, bears et al.
A memorial plaque to George now hangs above the fireplace at the Song Mountain Ski Resort. Many attended its dedication.
Another colorful character from these hills that I sure do miss.