BOARDING SCHOOL BASTARD 1: A Memoir. My First Year at a Boarding School for Fatherless Boys: Boarding School Bastard, #1

By Alan Sharavsky

"A gripping and emotional memoir ... sure to leave as big a mark on the reader as it did on the writer. Unforgettable."—Jon Clinch, Author of Finn and Kings of the Earth.

A deaf widow leaves her eight-year-old son at an orphanage, hoping he'll find a better life. She dreams that Girard College, a boarding school for fatherless boys, will be his Camelot.What she doesn't know is that emotional abuse, corporal punishment, bullying and pedophilia are the norm. And her son doesn't know whether his mother is ever coming back, or if he'll have to run away. Boarding School Bastard is the memoir of a child's first year at an orphanage in 1962. Leavening the tragedy with humor, Boarding School Bastard reveals a world we'd prefer to avoid but is too riveting to ignore. To understand how a child survives the loss of his father and the abuse of his guardians, this stunning debut memoir is essential reading.

PRAISE FOR BOARDING SCHOOL BASTARD

"Alan Sharavsky's Boarding School Bastard is a 'Me Too' manifesto from a male perspective. Writing in crisp prose, laced with humor, Sharavsky immerses a reader in the travails of childhood and adolescence. But his is not an ordinary coming of age story." -- Annette Libeskind Berkovits, Author of In the Unlikeliest of Places & Confessions of an Accidental Zoo Curator

"While aspects are reminiscent of Oliver Twist, especially the deliberate cruelties inflicted by many of the adults on those in their care, Sharavsky's story is also a testament to the resilience of children who travel through painful events. Touching, and at times, humorous, this memoir will linger long in the reader's mind." -- Nancy Christie, Author of Traveling Left of Center and Other Stories and The Gifts of Change

"I was rooting for the pint-sized protagonist from the first page, gripped and fearing for him by the 10th. This modern-day Oliver struggles to find his way in a well-intentioned but troubled institution, founded at a time when 'orphan' equaled 'fatherless'." -- Valerie, M. Jones, CEO, Speaker and Author of Non-Profit Hero

"Sharavsky's experiences, as depicted in this moving book, provide an important lens into the loneliness and fear felt by children who feel vulnerable and unprotected. Boarding School Bastard eloquently portrays the trauma experienced by victims and witnesses to child abuse."

-- Debra Schilling Wolfe, MEd, Executive Director, University of Pennsylvania Center for Children's Policy

"This memoir is a brilliant exploration of our humanity through the eyes of a powerless boy and his lonely life, illustrating how he coped with brutal, institutional guardians. His inspiring story of resilience demonstrates how creative adaptation and sheer will can overcome emotional deprivation. A tour de force." -- Bruce J. Levin, MD, Psychiatrist and Psychoanalyst

"Sharavsky pulls off the remarkable feat of drawing us into a page-turner while sharing the true story of his abused yet fascinating childhood. This powerful book provides necessary insights for people who have not experienced child abuse, abandonment, and anti-Semitism, while bearing witness for those who have." -- Liz Dow, CEO, Leadership Philadelphia

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alan Sharavsky
• Release date: Apr 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223025207

Alan Sharavsky

About the Author Alan Sharavsky is a writer, editor, marketing executive, and musician. In addition to "Boarding School Bastard," he co-authored the best-selling business book series “HeadTrash.” He’s also edited numerous books, including the software developer's bible, “SAFe Distilled.” In addition, Alan has written and produced shows and articles for Nickelodeon, Discovery Channel, The Philadelphia Inquirer, NPR affiliate WHYY, and AdWeek. In his advertising and marketing career, Alan has generated buzz and business for many of America’s most best-known brands: Tylenol, McDonald's, DuPont, Splenda, Johnson & Johnson, and Bosch Power Tools. He has won numerous creative awards. Before forming his company, Alan was Marketing Director for the Philadelphia 76ers, working with NBA legends ranging from Wilt Chamberlain to Dr. J. to Charles Barkley. In his spare time, Alan is the lead singer and harmonica player of nine-piece R ‘n B dance band, The Bassboards, which performs at concerts, private parties, weddings and juke joints from Philadelphia to New York. 

Book preview

Welcome to Girard

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When Mom and I got off the trolley, I felt like I was going to throw up.

I saw the school ahead of us, a city behind a black gate and a stone wall that went on for miles. A campus that greets you with a fifteen-story replica of the Parthenon would stand out anywhere, but in the middle of a North Philadelphia slum, the soaring white building and landscaped plaza rolling up to it were disorienting.

Mom took my hand and tugged, and even though I wanted to run away, I hunched forward and walked on. The events that led us here were too large to overcome. Three years earlier, Mom and Dad were moving into their first home, the crowning moment for a deaf couple who had escaped the coal towns of Pennsylvania. Their courtship, which began when they met in Atlantic City, rapidly led to marriage, a baby boy, and a modest row house in a respectable blue-collar neighborhood of Philadelphia.

Determined to complete the move, Harry hid his labored breathing and a fever from his young wife, Molly. Until he passed out while carrying furniture, neither of them knew he was harboring an advanced case of pneumonia. Several hours later, the morning after we were supposed to move into our new house, my mother became a widow.

There would be no adjustment period, the shit hitting the fan instantly and daily for the next three years. Mom would juggle factory work from eight to five while running a house and managing my deteriorating school and social life. Class clown and last for daily assembly, I spent almost as much time on suspension as I did in school. Mom would alternate between screaming at her elementary school delinquent and telling me how much she loved my father, recalling him saying, You have to be strong.

No one was that strong.

So, in the weeks leading up to this day, Mom tried to prepare me. Girard College, she explained, was a school for fatherless boys, and I would live there just for a while. In my hopeful, youthful mind, that sounded like a few weeks, maybe a few months at most. She said the school would provide everything: food, clothing, a place to live, and, of course, my education.

To a deaf widow working in a sweatshop, it must have sounded like a sweet deal. It even made sense to me. If it made Mom happy, and relieved some of the stress of supporting us, I could survive anything just for a while.

The script written, destiny ordained, my job as I saw it was to be Mom’s good boy, to accept my fate and win over the staff and kids. I loved my mother and felt sorry for her. I didn’t want to disappoint her.

As we walked through the gate, a man wearing a captain’s hat with a big maroon G on it stepped out of a guardhouse and waved us toward him.

Ma’am, can I help you?

She can’t hear you. She’s deaf, I said. I’m starting school here today.

He seemed surprised that an eight-year-old boy was handling his own admission. Then he walked to a desk, leaned over, and opened a book, running a finger down the page.

Shavarsky?

"It’s Sha-rav-sky," I replied.

He picked up the phone receiver and dialed a few numbers, mispronouncing my name again to the person on the other end. He looked up, the phone at his ear. Someone will be here to pick you up in a few minutes.

I translated for my mother, who turned toward him. Thank you, she said in her thick voice. That nudged a smile and a nod out of him. We sat down on two chairs across from his desk. I was eager to talk, but the guard opened a newspaper and buried his face behind it.

It was late afternoon when we arrived, gray and rainy, but still daylight. Now it was getting dark, and no one seemed to be in any hurry to get us. I began to think that maybe I had gotten a reprieve, that we were going to go home. I was warming myself on the fantasy when the door opened.

I’m here to pick up Shavarsky. A boy about my age was standing in the doorway. Slight and short, he looked like a baby-faced old man in his sports jacket and tie.

"Sharavsky, Alan Sharavsky," I said, smiling and extending my hand.

After some hesitation, he stuck out his hand, and then walked away as if to pull us in his wake. In full charm mode, I overlooked my guide’s snub and started filling the air with words. I was a prepubescent vaudevillian, putting on a happy-face show, chattering in the twilight as we passed gray buildings that looked centuries old. Tall, mature trees and trimmed lawns lined the road. Surely, we had left Philadelphia, 1962, and were walking back in time into a different era. And no matter how I tried, my frantic monologue had no effect on my silent guide.

We crossed the street to the sidewalk, stopping in front of a formal-looking granite building, the first in a series, connected like a compound.

In here, the boy said, struggling to open a massive metal door. It looked old and dreary inside. A long hallway, tinged mustard yellow by weak overhead lights, linked all the living areas, which he called section rooms.

Walking into Section 1, it appeared that my mother and I were the only people from modern times. I saw a group of boys dressed just like my guide, in vests with white shirts and ties, heavy black shoes, and cuffed pants. Around the room, old wooden desks and Windsor chairs—furniture torn from a Dickens novel—were clustered in study groups. The room had a musty smell.

A gray-haired woman who looked much older than Mom turned to us. She was by far the tallest person in the room, and even though she was wearing a dress, she was definitely the most masculine.

Hello, Mrs. Sharavsky. Hello, Alan. I’m Mrs. Strum. Everyone, introduce yourselves to our guest. I’ll be right back. Her tone was all business, but the word guest gave me hope.

Distracted