The Photography of Jed Kirschbaum '67 - The Taft School

Joe & Louise Brognaderivation of a word, and he won’t have to hesitate. TeachingLatin is vital, he feels: “It is clear: if you are disciplined,you can succeed. You cannot bull your way through Latin.You have to do the work, the critical thinking on a body ofknowledge unfamiliar to you. You have to engage in complexjudgments based on fine distinctions. There might be76 words linked to a single root, and you have to decidewhich form is correct.” For all these years, Joe has conductedclass in that basement classroom, an absolute master.Joe understands Taft and how it has changed and stayedthe same. “The students come from much more varied walksof life now,” he observes, “and they are even more genuinelyinterested in each other than in the past. The way they cheerfor each other’s teams is amazing. But what seems the same isthat we never really have had much in the way of disciplineproblems, really. Kids like being here. They are happy. That’sreal. That friendliness and happiness are real. What is the essenceof Taft? People who care about students.”“Hundreds of girls in Centennialwere mothered by Louise, who toldthem how to behave, helped themget dressed for the formal danceand taught them what living withpride and dignity meant.”Ned Trombly, who has some four decades of work at Taft,knows him well. “He has that strange sense of humor and thatlaugh…. But how many student/athletes were taught sportsmanship,integrity, toughness and loyalty? He is one of the oldschool masters. He always had time for his students.” Joe’s Latincolleague and fellow Bowdoin graduate Dick Cobb’s praise isfor a man who has always served the school and who has neverceased to care for kids—the quintessential school man whowore many hats. “Throughout the years,” Dick recalls, “Joe hasbeen willing to do whatever was asked of him to make Taft abetter place: teach a fifth class, tutor a student in Greek, run thesecurity office…. And as a teacher, he has displayed outstandingknowledge and always gone out of his way to offer extrahelp to a student who was struggling. As a coach, he was incrediblyknowledgeable and very competitive.”Joe is quick to point out that he never was alone in this. LouiseBrogna has been a fixture here since the day she arrived, her lastseventeen years as the head of Centennial Dormitory. She and Joemarried in 1968, and she had served the nation as a nurse in Korea,treating soldiers wounded in Vietnam. Adjusting to life in a boardingschool was not easy, but Louise brought a love and toughnessthat have marked everything she has done. Ned recalls how “outspoken,loyal and honest she is.” Dick Cobb worked with her foryears when he oversaw the residential program: “She cared sodeeply about her girls in Centennial, and she always had their bestinterests at heart. She was the ‘House Mother.’” Joe says proudly,“Louise has grown to love the dorm. She treats the girls like herdaughters. They come to her for all kinds of things.” Hundredsof girls in Centennial were mothered by Louise, who told themhow to behave, helped them get dressed for the formal dance andtaught them what living with pride and dignity meant.Joe says that he will miss the daily routine. “I have beenliving by a bell since I was eleven years old. Louise and I willbe free to travel, to read, to see our kids and grandchildren.But I will miss this. Remember, Centennial was our home.”There is not much Joe hasn’t done at Taft, and he hasalways been willing to work for the school. He picked upkids at the airport, ran the security office, taught extra classes,and kept the faculty laughing with bad jokes told in a northBoston accent. He is everywhere. When I think of Joe Brogna,and the thirty-some years he has had here, I think of scenes:I come to school every morning and am in the dining hall for breakfastby 7:03 a.m. Joe, now in his last year, beats me every morning,and he sits at the end of the table where the lowermids and midssign in, and talks to his colleagues and greets the students.It’s a cold April morning, and the baseball field is a raw, miserableplace, with some spitting rain. Joe is running practice, hishands stuffed in his waistband, his hat perched on top of his headin an old school manner. He puts an arm on a player’s shoulderas he explains the hitting stance.It is a hot, sunny spring day a few years back, the varsity baseballteam is playing Avon, and Joe is just finishing his chemo treatments.The doctor has told him he can’t coach, of course, and heshouldn’t be in the sun; so he is parked in his car, the windowrolled down, behind the Wu Science building, near the right fieldline, where he can watch the game.It’s near the door to the gym, and Joe stands where he always does,where he can watch two games at once. He has coached here solong in three sports that he knows everyone. Coaches, referees,friends from town and parents stop by to shake hands. He has ajoke for almost everyone, and generally a shared story. He watchesevery game with the same interest: varsity boys, girls JV, the littlefaculty kids racing around the court at half time.Joe is at a class committee meeting, where we review every studentin the class. Joe has a boy in class who is struggling: he has faileda couple of quizzes and a recent test. “He’ll be OK. He is seeingme for extra help, and I will work with him until he gets it.” Thenext day I walk by Joe’s classroom in the basement of HDT. Theroom is empty save for Joe and a boy, at a desk.32 Taft Bulletin Spring 2007