| WOBURN --
He was resplendent in a black robe and mortarboard, an old farmer
with a back crooked from years stooped over lettuce plants. John Marion,
surrounded by well-wishers at New Horizons
at Choate retirement home, became a high school graduate yesterday
at age 87.
The Depression cut short his first
attempt at a high school diploma. The kindness of a Woburn high
school student waiting tables at his retirement home led to Marion
finally getting his diploma.
Marion grew up in Woburn, raised
by parents who were among the last of the city's greenhouse-lettuce
growers on Route 3. The eldest of five boys and two girls, Marion
spent weekends and afternoons harvesting with his siblings. His
father and the field hands instructed him on how to pull lettuce
from the soil when he was still a toddler. By the time he was in
school, growing seasons marked the months. In the winter and spring,
they boxed lettuce; during the summer, they harvested cucumbers,
then tomatoes.
"I was three-quarters on the
farm and one-quarter in school," he likes to say.
When the Depression began, farmers
nearby began losing their land to banks and larger farms. The Marion
family hung on, selling the large-headed Bell May lettuce crossbred
by the Wymans in Arlington. But by 1934, the father needed help
and asked his oldest son, a high school junior, to leave school
to help out full time. Marion was fond of history class, but he
agreed.
He wasn't angry or regretful. "I'd
been on the farm all of my life," he said. "I had a good
time driving the truck."
Each day Marion drove the unheated
Walker Johnson truck to Quincy Market, delivering the produce for
sale. Each afternoon he watered row after row of plants, helping
his family stay one step ahead of the creditors. He stayed on the
farm long after his brothers and sisters enlisted in the war effort.
Marion -- unmarried and without children -- sold the farm in 1970.
He took a job supervising a local
Christmas tree farm for 15 years. In 1995, he moved to New Horizons,
where he lives independently but gets help with meals and transportation.
He soon began gardening on the grounds. Every day, residents saw
the barrel-chested man with the neatly combed gray hair tending
to his tomato plants. Management built raised beds, allowing Marion
and other seniors to plant and till without stooping over.
At New Horizons, he started studying
again, enrolling in Spanish class, an activity that helped him get
to know Krystal Burgos, a student at Woburn High School. As a freshman,
she started working at New Horizons after school, serving dinner
three nights a week.
Learning the teen's parents were
Puerto Rican, Marion would usher her over and try out sentences
in Spanish.
"He'd talk about anything.
He'd talk about tomatoes," said Burgos, 17. She tended to his
dining needs. He's not supposed to have much fat or sugar, she said,
so he asks for a teaspoon of those things.
Last year, Burgos read John Steinbeck's
"The Grapes of Wrath" for English class and her teacher
assigned students to conduct an oral history with someone who lived
during the Depression. Burgos thought of Marion instantly.
"John loves to talk,"
she remembers thinking. "I'll get an A."
In the following weeks, Burgos and
the other students who work at New Horizons learned about Marion's
life and that he never finished high school. Burgos decided to give
something back to the elderly man. She asked high school principal
Robert Norton if Marion could graduate with the rest of the seniors.
Norton initially declined, but changed his mind. He and the staff
decided to award him an honorary diploma at a special graduation
ceremony at the retirement home.
Yesterday, Marion sat in his black
cap and gown alongside the five young women, including Burgos, dressed
in white graduation robes. Resident Helen Deyst picked out "Pomp
and Circumstance" on the piano.
"John," Norton remembered
saying, "we give credit at Woburn High School for work study,
and 40 years of working at the Marion Farm qualifies you for sufficient
life credits to graduate."
Norton presented Marion with an
actual diploma, not an honorary one, just as the school has done
for the World War II soldiers who left before graduating. The crowd
gasped. "I got teary-eyed," Burgos said.
Marion stared wide-eyed, Norton
said. Then, the old farmer remembered the school mascot as he gave
thanks.
"I'm proud," he said,
"to be a Tanner."
|