John Adams High School
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 Morris Aronson Feb. 14, 1916 - Dec. 22, 2006 |
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| pictures of Moe at the class of 1961 40th reunion picnic click here | |
SOUTH BEND - Morris "Moe" Aronson, 90, of South Bend died at 2:05 p.m. Friday, Dec. 22, in St. Paul's Retirement Community following an illness. Mr. Aronson was born Feb. 14, 1916, in Chicago, IL, to the late Samuel and Anna (Kruveshevsky) Aronson and was a lifetime South Bend resident. In 1942, he married Sarah "Sally" Rosen, who preceded him in death in 1970. He was also preceded in death by two brothers, Eli and Jack Aronson. On Nov. 29, 1975, in South Bend he married Marian E. Marty Camblin, who survivies. Also surviving are his daughter, Jane (James) Skaggs of Vernon Hills, IL; his son, Michael Aronson of Indianapolis, IN; his stepdaughter, Mary Ellen Delgado of South Bend; two stepsons, John M. (Ann) Camblin of North Liberty, IN, and Mark L. (Sharon) Camblin of Knoxville, TN; five grandchildren, Brian (Maureen) Skaggs, Sara Skaggs, Julia (John) Goetzka, John W. (Gretchen) Camblin and Peter (Jill) Martin; and three great-granddaughters, Olivia Camblin, Katja Goetzka and Catherine Martin. Moe retired as a math teacher with the South Bend Community School Corporation in 1984, after 46 years, primarily at John Adams High School. He continued teaching as a substitute teacher for many years in area schools following retirement. He was a well-known wrestling and assistant football coach at Adams and led the wrestling team to the state title in 1966. He was a 1934 graduate of the former South Bend Central High School and received bachelor of science degrees in mathematics and chemistry from Purdue University in 1939. He then went on to receive his masters degree in Physical Education. In 1935, he served a year in the Civilian Conservation Corps, at Pulaski State Park. He enlisted in the United States Army in 1943, and was discharged as a first lieutenant after serving in the 10th Mountain Division during World War II. He was a member of the Michiana YMCA for 79 years, where he worked out religiously and was an avid handball player. Moe was honored for his hard work and dedication by being enshrined in the Indiana Wrestling Hall of Fame and the South Bend City Hall of Fame. He will be loved and remembered for his sense of humor and zest for life, and will be missed by all those who have been fortunate enough to have known him. Funeral services will be conducted at 11 a.m. Wednesday, Dec. 27, in the Welsheimer Family Funeral Home, 521 N. William St. Burial will follow at Southlawn Cemetery. Friends may call from 4 to 8 p.m. Tuesday, Dec. 26 in the funeral home. In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions may be made to the YMCA of Michiana, 1201 Northside Blvd., South Bend, IN 46615. Family and friends may leave e-mail condolences at welshfh@yahoo.com. |
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| December 26, 2006 David Rumbach Tribune Staff Writer | |
SOUTH BEND -- Morris "Moe'' Aronson, who died Friday at age 90, inspired students as a talented math teacher and hard-nosed wrestling coach at Adams High School for nearly five decades. |
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No ordinary MoeAronson knew when to be toughJACOB SANDOCK Tribune Staff Writer January 7, 2007 In 1988 as a freshman at the Rabbi Naftali Riff Yeshiva and having taken a hard knee while attempting a lay up -- in a most unprotected spot -- I crumpled into a ball in the school gymnasium and whimpered under the basket as my classmates gathered around me with growing concern. Morris "Moe" Aronson, the longtime wrestling coach and math teacher at Adams High School -- who conducted gym classes for one semester at the South Bend High School/Rabbinical College -- ambled over to the scene on his replacement hips, assessed the situation with an intense, surgical calm and then began to methodically clear away the crowd. "Step aside, men! Step aside!" Moe barked with his signature semi-lisp while grabbing at jerseys; his face curled into an unconcerned scowl. Well, it sure didn't feel OK. And Moe's spot-on diagnosis of the situation did little to ease the pain. But for this Tribune reporter, that moment was captured with Kodak clarity; every gesture and word Moe produced in his somewhat comical dismissal of my "situation" a calculated message, no doubt, aimed at our class. The message, clearly, that whatever beats you down to the ground is insignificant; that the pain is insignificant, and that, ultimately, moving past what felled you and rising up is all that matters. It was a message Moe, who died recently at 90 years old, passed on, in different ways, to myriad others throughout his life and during his 46 years as an educator and 22 years as the wrestling coach at Adams. As a fitness guru Moe was unrelenting. He was a member of the Michiana YMCA for 79 years and was, physically, the stuff legends are made of. It is said that he used to ride his bike to Benton Harbor, used to jog to Elkhart just for the fun of it. As a man, he was tougher than leather, softer than suede and a loving husband to his wife, Marty. But as an educator and coach, Moe reached the highest pinnacle. He touched the lives of young people who knew opportunity and he saved the lives, literally, of underprivileged young people to whom "opportunity" had always been just another word. "I tell everybody that I know that had it not been for Moe Aronson I would be either dead or in prison," said Norval Williams. With Moe's help, Williams went on to serve his country in Vietnam and to then spend nearly 28 years serving the community with the South Bend Police Department as a Lieutenant and public information officer. "Moe was a good, good man and he coached me all the way down to the (wrestling) state finals my last two years at Adams in 1962 and 1963. He rode herd on me as if he was my father and I always looked up to him as if he was my father. Even though my own father was a fine, fine man. Moe was it. "I think what Moe did was that if he had seen somebody who had the potential to go off in the wrong direction, he would always kind of step in. He wanted you to be tough on the mat, but not to be a tough guy on the streets because you could get killed on the streets. And you were not going to get killed on the mat. Any frustration you had, he wanted you to take it out on the mat and use that energy for something." According to Williams, Moe looked for potential in kids where others might not see it and had a style all his own, based on toughness and measured doses of intimidation, in trying to bring it out. Moe's self-described "Mean face" was an educational tool, and he knew how to use it. "He caught me and a friend coming out of a liquor store one night, as teenagers would do back then," said Williams, "and Moe caught me in the hallway at Adams and, right in front of all my friends, slammed me up against the wall, hard, real hard, and he told me, 'If I ever ever see you coming out of another saloon, I will beat you. You understand that? I will beat you.' All I could say was 'Yes sir.'" Probably safe to say that this type of disciplinary action would not fly in today's educational climate. But for Williams, in that time and place, it was just what the doctor ordered. "To this day I still don't drink," said Williams. "I am proud to have been associated with him. I loved him with all my heart and I miss him. He was like part of my family." John Mosby's story is strikingly similiar. Mosby, a South Bend native who attended Jefferson Middle School and Adams, heads his own private law practice in Denver these days. But it was not long ago that he was, in the eyes of some (not to Moe), just another black kid from the streets. "I would re-write the Bible if I could and in place of 'But for the grace of God, there goes I,'" said Mosby, "I would write: 'But for the grace of Moe, there goes I.' He is the most instrumental person in my life. As you go though life you think back on the people you've met. And some people are just an afterthought. But there are other people who become institutions in your life. And Moe was that type of person." Mosby, who a couple of years ago won the largest class action suit in the history of the federal government (Glover/Albrecht v. Potter), won a state wrestling championship in 1966 under Moe's tutelage. But Moe's influence, he said, extended far beyond the mat. "He was just a breath of fresh air," said Mosby. "He loved the underdog and he was always trying to help you. He always tried to convince you that you had the ability. Moe could see your capacity and he drove you to your capacity. Never over it and never under it. "When you come through life, before you can believe in anything you have to believe in yourself. And he motivated you to believe in yourself. Then, with that belief, you start to believe in other things." Moe not only carved Mosby into a winner on the mat, but into an overall winner; someone who learned to believe in himself where others did not. And there was nothing hands-off when it came to Moe's mentoring. Moe hit the mat with Mosby and his other wrestlers in practice and he hit the road with them when they needed his help. "He actually drove me down to Indiana State University (in Terre Haute)," said Mosby of Moe's post-high school influence. "He drove me down there and helped me to get in to college and that's where I graduated. He was just such a special person." "I think Moe felt that everything in life had to be addressed," said local attorney Jim Groves, who wrestled for Moe and grew up with his son, Michael. "If he thought you were someone who would help yourself," Groves said, "then he would help you help yourself. (Norval and John) are two classic examples of how a good teacher can take a young man and mold him into his potential. "Nobody to Moe was a stranger in the halls where he taught. If he thought someone drew his attention and something needed to be corrected, he stepped in and corrected it. Now that takes guts. That type of guts is something that we all could use a little bit more of today, instead of always looking over our shoulders and wondering, 'what are going to be the repercussions of my standing up for my own principles?' Moe never worried about the repercussions. He knew what his principles were and he felt it his duty in life to convey those principles to others." "He just had a great heart," said Moe's wife, Marty, who also served as a local educator for a number of years and shared Moe's passion for physical fitness. "And he cared for people. I admired him because of his ways; his tenacity and intelligence. He was just a wonderful person to live with. I loved him to pieces." So did many others. There are not enough columns in the newspaper or words in the dictionary to describe a guy like Moe. Which is of little effect to Mosby, considering that words have little to do with his story. "Moe's life spoke for itself," Mosby said. "He said it all by the way he lived." |
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| Moe was tough, but tender, too Bill Moor, South Bend Tribune Jan 5, 2007 I learned early on not to sneak up on Moe Aronson. As a young sports reporter more than 30 years ago, I sauntered into the Adams High School auxiliary gym to interview Moe, the longtime Eagles wrestling coach. His state finals-bound heavyweight was on top of another wrestler and Moe was on top of both of them. "Get off him, you big (something-or -other)," he shouted while pounding the heavyweight on the back. I walked almost right up to them before halting. Moe's limited hearing must have picked up my knees knocking together. He suddenly looked over his shoulder, gave me the once-over and growled, "You're early. Get out of here." So I did. This tough old coot -- probably not much older back then than I am now -- scared the heck out of me and probably did the same to a lot of his wrestlers and math students at Adams. But most of them loved him, too -- including the heavyweight on top that day and the wrestler on the bottom and eventually me, too. Moe knew how to get the best out of you, partly by challenging you with his gruff voice and partly by showing you with his own regimen of fitness. It was only a few months ago that we had our last conversation down in the Michiana YMCA locker room."Hey, Moor," he said. "You haven't written anything about me lately so make sure you say something nice about me when I'm gone." And so I will. Moe died at the age of 90 just before Christmas after his body -- a hard case of gristle and guts -- finally gave out on him. Longtime South Bend teacher and coach Moe Aronson, who died at the age of 90, could still do some pretty good sit-ups just a few years ago. He was a man's man and also one who dearly loved his two wives -- first Sally, who died in 1970, and then Marty, whom he met while trying to stay up with her in the YMCA pool. He had a rough exterior but also a soft heart befitting a man born on Valentine's Day. When I would see Moe in the locker room in recent years, I remembered my lesson from long ago not to sneak up on him. He liked to meet you straight on and look at you eye to eye. We always took a minute to talk -- him usually giving me a good-natured hard time and me bellowing back at him so he could hear my replies. His ears were shot ... his hips were shot ... his knees were shot ... his shoulders were shot ... but he would still get on the exercise bike and pedal one slow mile after another. Ten years ago, he could still do 70 push-ups with a body that once looked as hard as a sackful of coconuts."Can't do 100 any more and that's a disappointment," he said. For years, Moe could knock off those 100 pushups -- or even a few more if he had to keep ahead of one of his Adams wrestlers. And even into his 60s, he would pick one day in the summer to ride 100 miles on his bike -- a bike more like the one that Miss Gulch rode in "The Wizard of Oz" rather than the kind that Lance Armstrong made hum. He loved his handball, too, and was a city champ before his legs gave out. He also officiated several sports and umpired local softball games with integrity and an iron fist for 28 years."Aw, come on, Moe," I whined one time when he called me out on a close play at home plate."Another word and you're gone, Moor," he said. Friend or not, I knew he wasn't kidding. I shut up. Much of his legacy is about being an institution around Adams, where he was an outstanding teacher, a hard-core disciplinarian and a longtime wrestling coach who led the Eagles to the 1966 state championship. A graduate of Central High School and Purdue University, Moe played football and wrestled at both schools before serving in the Army during World War II and then teaching in his hometown for 46 years. Along the way, he also became a member of the South Bend City Hall of Fame and the Indiana Wrestling Hall of Fame. But mainly he was just Moe to so many people he helped over the years. A long time ago, he shared his coaching philosophy with me: "Kick a kid in his butt but scratch his back. Be rough, be tough, but let them know you care for them. Let them know you love them." Tough love but true love to be sure. When Moe was honored with a retirement party in 1987 (he would substitute teach for several more years), former Adams state champion John Mosby told how Moe had helped him get a scholarship to Indiana State and had even driven him down to campus. Mosby, who became a lawyer, remembered later visiting Moe at Adams and that his old coach ended their conversation by saying, "John, I love you." Mosby choked up that day. But at Moe's retirement party, Mosby turned to his old coach and said, "I couldn't say anything that day, Coach, but I will now. Coach, I love you." Moe tried his best not to cry. Last week, the tears belonged to others who both knew and loved the Mighty Moe. |
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| I wanted to write about Moe Aronson, who died recently (Tribune, Dec.
26). He was the best teacher I had at Adams High School, and there were
many fine ones there in the early '70s. In geometry, we came to class
knowing of his fearsome reputation as a disciplinarian. He was that and
more, driving us to do our best, and instilling in us a work ethic that taught
us talent alone was not enough. You didn't show up for class unpreparedwith the day's assignment a second time.
In our senior year, he was asked at late notice to teach calculus. Though not his bread and butter, he worked harder than we did to stay a day or two ahead of us. We had a bright group in class, but he was seldom without an answer, and made sure we worked to meet our potential. The bigger lesson that year was showing us to be ready to serve at a moment's notice and not complain about it. He is one of many reasons I am proud to say I graduated from John Adams. I will miss him and remember him a long time. He was a teacher in every sense of the word. Peter Goerner Greenwood, Ind. |
