Greetings, Class of 1949 (and earlier years too)!

I’ve conditionally agreed to be the new Class Secretary for our class, as long as you have some news to share. You can call me or write to me—two or three sentences about what you’re doing would be great.

A little about myself: After Wesleyan, I raised a family and spent 10 years as a professional Boy Scout executive and World Book Encyclopedia manager, and 23 years selling high school textbooks in Connecticut. In the latter half of my life, I was an advocate for LGBTQ+ issues, especially as it related to the Boy Scouts of America and to creating open and affirming church relationships within the United Church of Christ. There was an article recently written about me that talks about this:

Any Wesleyan alumni from this era who would like to talk with me about anything (other than politics), feel free to contact me by phone or email (see below). I have lived a very interesting, fulfilling, and unusual life since retirement.

Thank you,



We were very sorry to hear of the passing of Edward J. Huth on November 2, 2021, at the age of 98. His wife Carol wrote to us to say, “Ed always spoke very highly of his years at Wesleyan. He was particularly influenced by Fred Millet who thought highly of Ed’s writing ability, using him to copy read a book he was publishing. Millet also included one of Ed’s papers in his Christmas greeting. Wilbur Snow was another teacher Ed remembered with gratitude.” Our most sincere condolences to Carol and their family.

My birth came in July 1922, so 2021 was my 100th Christmas and still no pony. That sobering thought set me thinking about “time’s wingèd chariot.” There was a time when the focus in the high school classroom was on teaching the fundamentals—reading, history, English composition—and setting an example of what it meant to be a good student and decent human being. During the early 1950s, Bill Cunningham ’47 and I were teaching at Chicago Latin and were eager to send good young men to Wesleyan. With the help of Don Eldredge ’31 and Jim Wood 1915, we first persuaded David Noble ’56, followed by Jack Dearinger ’57, Bill Wallace ’57, and Norm Wissing ’57, to attend Wesleyan. Over the past dozen years, Dave and I have corresponded occasionally, and currently Jack and I are in contact. Sad to say, Norm has died, and of Bill, I have known nothing since he entered Wesleyan. They were good students and good men. In 1986 the University of Chicago named me Outstanding Secondary School Teacher. You four taught me how to become that teacher. Thank you. I miss the classroom.

Slán go fóill.


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CLASS OF 1945 | 2021-2022 | WINTER ISSUE

This column marks the beginning of my 99th mortal year, my 32nd year of secretarial jottings, and I’m nesaki (Mohawk word meaning “standing on a high hill, looking backward”). I have climbed and stood, walked, even slept atop numbers of the Rockies, bits of the Alps, all of the gentle old Adirondacks, and several of New England’s White and Green heights. Always, the view, were it at dawn, midday, or sunset, was an inspiration, sometimes an admonition, occasionally a windblast scare; but it never failed to lift the horizon to the level of my vision. And that’s why we go high. My walking the top of the world is years gone and my visions are memories; clear, keen, and colorful memories. The eye of the mind is indeed a treasure.

Returned to the Hill of Class Notes, I look backward to September of 1941, when a generally happy, sometimes boisterous collection of youths were buying affordable textbooks, completing class schedules, visiting fraternity houses, trying out for teams or music groups, and making new friendships that were sure to hold forever, according to the Wesleyan songs. The Depression was fading; Hitler, and occasionally Mussolini, were newsreel interludes at the movies. But that was there, we were here, and the class of 1945 settled into planning four years of the Wesleyan adventure. Seven weeks later the explosions at Pearl Harbor blew the class of 1945 into fragments that scattered graduations all the way through 1949. We went to the war to end all wars, and some of us never returned to Wesleyan—some too damaged, some to other colleges, some already at rest in honored cemeteries, or in unknown places in other parts of the world. We were one class for a brief time, but our fragments have added luster to the entire 40s decade of the Wesleyan adventure. So, from my secretarial hilltop I look out and back, and I see that scattered, tattered class again a whole force, the like of which will not be seen again.

Slán go fóill.

CLASS OF 1945 | 2020 | ISSUE 3

In memory of my 1940s faculty masters Cowie, Millet, Snow, and Spaeth I lament: Why is our English spoken so clearly and correctly by Japanese television personnel, but so carelessly and incorrectly by their U.S. counterparts? Why do Japanese interviewers question and challenge guests without the rude self-serving interruptions so frequent on U.S. TV programs? I am horrified daily, even hourly, at the atrocities being passed off as acceptable English in today’s uncivil and vulgar society. I miss the well-modulated tones of Lowell Thomas, Edward R. Murrow, Walter Cronkite, and their kin (Lester Holt included).

Language is a powerful tool, a tool more influential than the lung power and muscle power that dominate today. Television’s prominence places it in a position to present programs with a most positive impact: a more literate audience. Failure to use this tool has obvious consequences: witness the generally sorry state of today’s public school education; the shrill-toned or lip-lazy (folksy?) utterings of congressional luminaries; the inept reading and flagrant misuse of and abuse of language by our president. Well, as someone I value once reminded me, “When anything goes, everything goes.” Is anyone in TV Land actually able to bring it back? Alex, Fred, Wilbert, John, you are sorely missed. Slán go fóill.


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