In the late 1950s, when American society was still wrestling with racial segregation, Harper & Row Publishers selected Mr. Zafforoni, then a University of Nebraska professor, to write a series of science textbooks for kindergarten through ninth grade. His co-author was a Jersey City State College professor, John Navarra, whom he'd befriended while a doctoral candidate at Columbia University. Now 85, his health is declining, and he hesitates as he tries to summon these long-ago details -- though part of his hesitation seems to be modesty.
Peace Corps officials asked Joe Zafforoni to make films on "how to present science to children," as part of a program to expand public education in the Philippines -- a place he'd already served in during World War II with the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers
Hampton science author was diversity pioneer
Thursday, February 09, 2006
By Ruth Ann Dailey
We hear stories of heroic deeds -- firefighters rescuing babies from burning buildings, pilots landing disabled planes, soldiers risking death to save a fallen comrade -- and these tales inspire us with their larger-than-life drama.
But there are unsung, everyday heroes in our midst. There are men and women, even children, who find themselves quietly facing an unusual challenge or moral test and who stand up to meet their moment. Joe Zafforoni is such a man -- and you may have seen the result of his heroic moment without ever knowing it.
In the late 1950s, when American society was still wrestling with racial segregation, Harper & Row Publishers selected Mr. Zafforoni, then a University of Nebraska professor, to write a series of science textbooks for kindergarten through ninth grade. His co-author was a Jersey City State College professor, John Navarra, whom he'd befriended while a doctoral candidate at Columbia University.
During the writing process, Mr. Zafforoni moved from Nebraska to Penn State University. Still many miles apart, the two authors put in 80-hour weeks for a couple of years to create "Today's Basic Science."
"When the artwork came in, we noticed that the children in the illustrations were always white and blond," Mr. Zafforoni said. "It was conspicuous. One of us said, 'This isn't right.' "
So the authors took a stand: "We insisted that they show children of all races and colors," he said simply.
He was telling me his story in the sun-filled living room of a Hampton barn he bought and renovated nearly three decades ago, a few years before he retired from Penn State. Now 85, his health is declining, and he hesitates as he tries to summon these long-ago details -- though part of his hesitation seems to be modesty. After all, it was his proud and loving neighbors who contacted me in early winter to share his story.
"Harper & Row was having financial problems and they were eager to try something different," Mr. Zafforoni continued. So when he and his writing partner asked for integration in their book's illustrations, the publishers agreed.
The books' racially inclusive drawings were not appreciated everywhere. At least one shipment sent to Alabama was returned, Mr. Zafforoni said.
The cover story of an October 1967 Saturday Evening Post, titled "Schoolbooks: How They Shape Your Child's Mind," reported extensively on the Zafforoni/Navarra books.
Although the Post article doesn't recount the internal conflict between the publishing company's authors and its illustrators, it does report that the book was initially rejected by a New Jersey school board for its lily-white drawings but that subsequent, racially inclusive volumes were rejected by several school districts in Georgia.
Despite these struggles, by the late 1960s and through the '70s, the science books were the nation's top-sellers.
And despite his failing health, the humor and charm of the professor's admired teaching style still infuses his speech. Recalling his studies at Central Washington State College, he quipped, "I always say a cow got me through college."
Mr. Zafforoni's parents were Italian immigrants who settled in Washington State. Although his father was a coal miner, they kept plenty of animals on their rural homestead and sold a cow to pay for their son's final year of college.
Many years later, with the success of his science textbooks, he was able to take his mother back to Italy for the first time. "That was a treat," he said.
It was in college that science became Mr. Zafforoni's passion. He soon found that teaching children was very gratifying because "they love science."
Although his desire for education -- instilled by his parents -- equipped him to teach at the college level, he was able to nurture young children's passion for science by writing textbooks and by teaching teachers in the Peace Corps.
After he moved to Penn State, Peace Corps officials asked him to make films on "how to present science to children," as part of a program to expand public education in the Philippines -- a place he'd already served in during World War II with the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers.
Long divorced, his only son, Craig, lives out West. Craig's paintings are among the artworks that fill the barn's every surface.
Although his book royalties "provided a good living in and of themselves," Mr. Zafforoni never gave up teaching.
He also never gave up the farming he knew as a boy. Three beautifully planted acres surround his renovated Hampton barn. "If Joe had his way, all of Allison Park would be a flower bed," said Ed Pasquarelli, his long-time companion.
The extensive grounds also used to hold pens of rabbits, sheep, ducks, pheasants and turkeys. The men bred Sharpeis and Bedlington terriers and had flight cages indoors for many colorful birds -- "lady gouldians, Australian finches, cockapoos, 50 at a time," Mr. Pasquarelli said.
"We have fantastic neighbors," he added. "They never complained about the animals we had here" -- not even the peacocks.
The animals are mostly gone now, sold off as Mr. Zafforoni's life has been simplified, but the story remains.
(Ruth Ann Dailey is a Post-Gazette staff writer and can be reached at rdailey@post-gazette.com.)
