FOUNDER’S LETTER

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SEPTEMBER 2022 / DONNA MOFFLY

“Beer cans rolled out of the car, and the boys spent the night in the slammer.” OF TEENS TO WATCH OUT FOR

I’ll admit it. September is my favorite issue, because we get to highlight some remarkable “teens to watch”—talented, civic-minded, living proof that you can put an old head on young shoulders. We need that reassurance, especially as I recall the pain (and fun) of those growing-up years in my distant past.

Teens are daring. They think they’re invincible. Jonathan Moffly and Jimmy Sheehan scaled up the underside of the I-95 bridge over the Mianus River to catch pigeons and were spotted by the cops. “We had to come down,” says Jonathan, “because they had our bikes.”

John Sinclair and Craig Fanning drove the family car from the Riverside Yacht Club parking lot backwards all the way across the Post Road to Scott Dykema’s house near North Mianus School.

Teens are creative. The Sinclair gang also made a very realistic dummy and strung it up the flagpole at the yacht club. When the groundskeeper came to raise the flags in the morning, he was stricken to find a body hanging from the yardarm. The boys were reprimanded but later would hoist some beach furniture up there, too.

Teens are easily embarrassed. When my brother Lee took a date necking for the first time, he pulled into a secluded country lane. But before they got in their first smooch, a policeman shined a flashlight in his face, announced they were trespassing on private property, then turned the light on the girl and said, “Oh, no, not you again!”

On stage at Hathaway Brown School, I was singing “Tahitian Love Song” complete with hula to a packed audience when my sarong came unpinned. As I grappled with it and sped to the wings, the University School boys in the front rows peppered me with loose change.

Teens are prone to automotive

mishaps. The minute I got my license, I drove four girls over to University School to check the scene. But when I waved out the window to a young man I knew, my other hand turned the wheel to the right, we jumped the curb and ran into a large maple tree. Nobody would ride with me for a very long time.

Driving home from a party in Philadelphia, an underage Jack Moffly and friends were stopped by the Springfield Township police. Beer cans rolled out of the car, and the boys spent the night in the slammer. When his father came to claim him the next morning, the judge asked his name. “John Wesley Moffly III,” came the reply. “Perfect,” said the judge. “We’ve been looking for you. You owe us for a whole bunch of parking tickets!”

Jack’s father didn’t speak to him for days.

Teens deal with bullies—eventually.

My brother Mike was only about five-six in high school. Wearing a necktie borrowed from Dad, he went to a party where a guy asked, “Do you like your tie?” “Yah,” answered Mike. “Well, have two of them,” said the bully, taking out a pair of scissors, cutting it in half and stuffing the loose end in Mike’s breast pocket.

Fifty years later and now six-foot-five, Mike finally had his revenge. When he and wife, Sue, walked into the country club, there across the room was the same guy who, by the way, hadn’t grown an inch. Mike whipped into the club office for some scissors, then went over to him and said, “Hey, I like your tie!” “Thanks,” replied the gent. “I do, too.” “Well, have two of them,” said Mike, taking out the scissors and returning the favor. “Oh, my Gawd,” said the man, pointing up at him. “You were that kid!” “Yup,” said Mike, putting his arm around his shoulder. “I’ll buy you a beer.”

Oh, to be young again. (Hmm. Come to think of it, maybe it’s better this way.) G