by Jeffry Folino '75

I was introduced to the Central Catholic “Mystique” as a small boy in the spring of 1963. My father and I were working in our yard at the side of our house. My brother reached the hilltop on which we grew up in Greenfield, carrying his books in one hand, and announced to my father that he had gotten into Central. My father let out a laugh of pride and embraced him. He could see my brother’s pride and dreams in his eyes. A moment to be proud, of grand achievement in his youth. The world beginning to lay itself out in front of him. He told my brother to go in and tell his mother. I was not yet six years old.

My brother was a quarterback and defensive back at Central. In his sophomore year my father would take me to watch practice from time to time on Tuesdays, his day off. It was my first encounter with the game up close. I always felt it was the game I was born to play. I love it like no other. So to stand up close and watch from the sidelines was awe-inspiring to me. I recall standing there watching Coach Apostolico shout instructions, Coach Wheeler scaring the life out of someone, a whistle, then hearing the quarterback calling out signals. Sudden movement and an explosion of power and effort, of bodies slamming into one another, the grunting, the sound of pads and helmets colliding, then seeing this tall, lean stallion emerge from the madness and sprint towards me with the ball under his arm and the defense in pursuit, chasing him like a pack of crazed animals. I can still see how, from beneath his spikes, he dug up and spit back chunks of earth, his head bobbed up and down as he grunted and pounded the ground with each powerful stride. My father reached down and took hold of my wrist and pulled me away from the sideline. Watching that kid run up-close was frightening. My dad told me the kid’s name was, “…Gunno Markowski, he’s the best player in this city. He’s a big time player.” A few plays later I watched Pudgy Boal do the same thing, though a bit different, with a little style. My dad looked down at me shaking his head laughing and said, “That Pudgy can go, too. He’s pretty darn good. Darn good.” He had a bit more flair than Gunno, and the movie star looks, but I wanted to run like Gunno. With all the power, and speed and anger. That day, on the back field at Central Catholic High School, I forgot about the Pittsburgh Steelers. Central Catholic became my team. They did not disappoint.

After practice my father and I stood by the doors to the gym as the players walked off the field. I wanted to see this kid they called Gunno up close. I wanted to be him, to be like him. I can remember the sound of the cleats on the asphalt as they walked into the locker room. I couldn’t believe how many of the players knew my father and said hello to him and showed respect. Everyone of them. There wasn’t one hard guy among them. George Karabonis, quarterback of the 10-0 team, stopped to talk to my father and called me, “Little Folino.” I was on cloud 8 by then. Pudgy walked by and winked and rubbed the top of my head and laughed when he looked at my father. I was a big shot. On cloud nine. Gunno walked by laughing at something and said hello to my father. I felt I was in the presence of the NFL champions. I began to dream of future glory. When I got home I grabbed my football and walked out into the back yard, tucked it under my arm and tried to run like Gunno. As we waited for my brother after practice I noticed all the players walking out with shirts and ties and sport coats. A few of the Brothers, a couple still dressed in their robes, a few now in casual dress, waited for the players afterward and mingled with them momentarily. To me they didn’t appear strict or holy but more like guardians of the future. Talking, joking and laughing with the student-athletes as they left for home. Each seemed comfortable in one another’s presence. I couldn’t believe it, I was in second grade at the time and school was so difficult for me. I hated school like I have hated few things in my life. The majority of my teachers never seemed so kind."

At that moment I began to recognize the allure with this place, the feeling of belonging to something without equal. I saw the respect one received simply for being counted among its numbers. I came to know and understand this as the “Mystique.” I longed to go to Central, for time to pass by quickly, to wear the Blue and Gold.

Football was my introduction to Central. So the guys who come to my mind are the guys who I saw and embraced as my very first heroes. No one could match my “Central” idols. Central players were among the best in western PA. But when I finally arrived at Central I was overwhelmed by the caliber of the athletes in all the sports and the maturity and professionalism of the individuals in all the other organizations. Champions in track and cross country, a dominant swim team, basketball, wrestling, draft choices in baseball and National Championships for perhaps Centrals greatest and most dominant of teams, the Forensic Team. Regardless of what team fit you best, there was an unspoken requisite to belonging, a legacy to be claimed from one class to the next, a tradition to carry on. Tenacity, toughness, relentlessness was our inheritance. It is what united us. Is it any wonder why other schools resent us, why they want the chance to defeat us? An “all boys” school in the heart of the city. The “Mystique” required us to answer their questions and challenges with honesty and raw toughness. To boldly state our purpose, who we were and that we embraced the challenges in front of us with anticipation and excitement. We were never soft, if anything we were the hardened ones. We stuck together, we became a fortress. We knew what was required of us. To set a standard and to uphold it. Showing those who do not share the “Mystique” that an “all boys” school can be tough and renowned at the same time. Make no mistake, the “Mystique,” among all that it represents, it also represents toughness. Is it any wonder really, why the graduates of Central Catholic are so successful?

Ours is a toughness born and raised within the confines of a tough, gritty city like Pittsburgh. There is something special, something worth learning from the kid who grows up in the city with a family focused on the right values. Sons of men and women who had steel dust run through their veins. In the city, more than any other, that saved America’s bread. Let us make no mistake about that. It gave us all pride we still wear today. Where the old world philosophy of dedication to your craft will pay off if you work at it. Learn right from wrong and that there is a difference between the two. Respect others. Don’t hurt anyone. Play hard and move forward when its over despite the outcome. Learn from defeat and correct your mistakes. Stay focused… Add Central to the mix. The young man begins to feel like somebody. A little different from the kid on the corner, than the kid who just wants to get out of school. You begin to feel a little refinement, a personality emerges, expectations rise. Your character is forced into development, every dimension of it. Life is simple really, when you nail yourself to the right way of doing things. To have duty, family, love, truth, justice, honor, integrity a part of you, pounding with every heart beat, bolted to your soul. And Central as a part of your life reaffirms those values that were pounded into you from the day you were born. Because, that is the best way. The only way. A mix of class and toughness, the perfect combination, ready to lead. A Central graduate. Whether at the top of the class or the bottom, it matters little, to emerge from Central you emerge a cut above.

It is perpetual, handed down from class to class, to respect it and honor it. As a freshman I looked up to the seniors. Never smart mouthed them or thought I was better. I knew, as we all did, we had to earn that rank. You don’t last in a place like Central as a smart mouth punk with no respect for position. But now, after all these years, what some outsiders like to label the “Central Mafia,” I realize that the “Mystique” is just another word for loyalty. To most, an old outdated value replaced by greed but that continues on in the Central graduate.

We came from all over the city, from every type of background, some struggling to make it through. Our own melting pot of sorts. It is a loyalty earned by giving unstinting aid to fellow classmates, treating one another with a hungered-for respect no matter how humble our lot in life. Because, no matter what part of the city we lived, we all merged in the Central melting pot and began on the path to manhood together, stride for stride, and were expected to keep up. And each inspired respect in our own way which made us equal. And we did it with a great deal of affection for one another, too.

After enduring eight years of misery in grade school the guys I spent four years with at Central made life special for me. They inspired a fierce loyalty in me, to each other, to our teams, to our school, for those who make it from beginning to end. It was a friendly yet intense competitive environment. Silently against each other, and proudly against our world at the time. And we always seemed to accept life with enormous appetite. And, even now, those who have achieved the highest rank, always seem to be aware from lessons learned, that to be human is to run the constant risk of appearing ridiculous.

So, after 75 years, yes, let us remember Central Catholic with affection. But, also, let us celebrate the “Mystique” as well. Let us recall it for what it means to us. We know it as something that can’t be explained in words, but something that one comes to feel, and know, and call ones own. It was our guide. Our conscience. It was our Round Table. It assured us that there was a right and wrong and that there was a consequence to our actions. That not to put forth your best effort was a sin against yourself and a disgrace to Central Catholic. It dared us to dream, to compete, to scorn mediocrity, to grow. And not fear succeeding or the responsibilities that come with it. It made us believers in something inexplicable. And because of it, we didn’t know what couldn’t be done, we simply went out and mastered it. Making the uncommon performance look common. The “Mystique” grows in us and sets a new standard to those who follow as they watch each class exit prepared to advance in the direction of their dream, to make their success. Answering to a voice that only they recognize. A voice that is their own. The “Mystique” assured us of our individuality.

Over thirty years ago I walked through the front doors of Central Catholic to find that to dream big was worth it. I played football, played on the great ‘73 team, was one of the captains my senior year, yet, despite my greatest efforts, I never ran like Gunno. I wasn’t in his league. But he and all his teammates inspired me to try, to have pride, and to play hard. To want to tread where they had. I believe that my class did the same for those that followed us. The place exceeded every expectation I ever imagined in the years before. I believed then, as a young man, that the place drew only the finest young students, student-athletes, and teachers. I believed it then and I believe it now, the place with the “Mystique” is special. I believed it because it was wonderful to believe.