CLASS OF 1970 | 2026 | FALL ISSUE

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Aloha, everyone. I’m sorry to have to begin once again with news that a classmate has died. The alumni office got word that Bob Woods died in June 2025. The obituary is here: https://www.greenwoodmyersfuneral.com/obituaries/robert-woods. Condolences to the family.

Gordon Fain wrote that all these years later, his swim team friend Gus Spohn is again his neighbor. “His wife, Sara Clark, is quite expert in our Hamden, Connecticut, politics and helped our neighbors persuade the town traffic board to add a speed bump. That protects her grandchild walking over to visit, plus lots of others. That the two of us are on the same block is rather amazing now because we were on the same floor on Foss Hill in about 1969. Also on our floor was his close friend at the ‘beach’—as they called the weight room at the gym—Al Dubrow.”

Count Tim Greaney among our class’s authors. Says Tim, “In case you don’t have a subscription to Humor Times, I thought you might enjoy my upcoming contribution in that august satirical journal. Not so incidentally, my new novel, Taking Up Life in Both Hands, published around June 1.”  Tim previously authored St. Sebastian School of Law.

“Travels with My Best Friend”

Thomas (Tim) Greaney

My Best Friend and I look forward to the last court session in July like we were still teenagers. Heading out on the open road in our sweet ride, the Le Mirage Marathon XL, is as invigorating as a cool ocean breeze on Runaway Bay, Jamaica, which, believe me, is quite overrated as that is one unbearably sticky, humid island. Truth be told, for me there’s nothing as thrilling as the view in the rearview mirror of the Washington Monument fading into the background as we set out on our summer vacay. (The missus, who most people don’t realize is quite the scamp, calls it ‘George’s Johnson’).

The idea of driving long distances may seem a chore to most people, but for us real pleasure is found in the stopovers, the freedom to change our destinations on a whim, and the opportunity to see the Real America. By that I mean the heartland, the country that most of my liberal colleagues have never set foot in and regard with thinly veiled contempt. I’ve personally heard one justice refer to the “flyover states” and another call Big Macs “artery blockers.” Well, they can nibble on their Ceasar salads at our lunches, but personally, I need some solid protein to get me through the endless footnotes my law clerks come up with.

We especially like to spend our evenings meeting up with the regular folks that make this country great. For that reason, our favorite places to park at night are Walmart parking lots.  I know, I know, for many this may seem a bit tawdry, perhaps unbefitting for one of the nation’s leading jurists. But take my word for it, those lots are alive with excitement and adventure: Youngsters racing each other with a jockey sitting in a shopping cart, skateboarders slaloming around parked cars and vans, all illuminated by the gentle blue glow of the Walmart sign. Oh, sure, some kids may be sneaking a beer or two, but most are just like us, regular folks looking for nothing more than the opportunity to soak up the pleasures of a cool summer night.

Don’t get me wrong. My Best Friend and I have travelled abroad extensively. We’ve had the good fortune to make friends who have taken us to exotic locales in some pretty fancy modes of transport. I’m here to tell you that I’ll take our comfy Marathon RV any day over the cramped, narrow seats of a small airplane or the pitching and rolling of a sailboat (even the ones they call yachts have pretty small beds). And winding up in a country where the natives don’t speak English? Not for me, amigo.

No doubt it’s been a tough year back in Washington. Not only have I been personally vilified, but some scurrilous reporters have gone after my Best Friend and of course the former President seems to be on the hit list of every left-wing prosecutor. But as long as I can get out on the road in the summer, the sacrifice of working as an underpaid civil servant is probably worth it.

Tim Greaney is research professor at UC Law San Francisco and professor emeritus at Saint Louis University School of Law. He is author of a satirical novel, St. Sebastian School of Law.

We have a little trend going on with classmates, selling homes and moving. First is Josh Barrett. Josh wrote, “Now that my wife, Julie, has retired after many years singing in the house band of NPR’s Mountain Stage radio show, we have turned our attention to downsizing. We decided to remain in Charleston, West Virginia, where we enjoy long-time friendships and a wonderful community of musicians and artists, but felt we needed to move from our pretty-spacious home in the woods to a smaller, more accessible place in the city. [Ed. note: They are giving up a driveway that only a snowplow could love.] Fortunately, we found, and recently closed on, a condominium in the historic East End of Charleston with nice views of the Kanawha River and State Capitol complex, and in the neighborhood of many of our friends. Right now, we’re overwhelmed with packing up or getting rid of 33 years of accumulated music stuff (keeping our many guitars, though), lots of books, and miscellaneous crap to squeeze into 2,000 square feet, not to mention scheduling contractors and attending to HOA stuff. We’re hoping to be in the new place by mid-September. Wish us luck!” 

Then Jacob Scherr announced that he and Carole are selling their Washington, DC, home of 50 years and “moving this summer to Los Angeles to be close to our two children and three grandchildren. We have rented an apartment in Hancock Park—the same neighborhood as Phil Casnoff ’71—and we will also be spending time in Laguna Beach with our daughter and her family there. We already have met a number of younger Wes grads in LA who are friends of our kids.”

Meanwhile, Vera and I are getting ready to market our Kalihiwai Valley, Kauai, house to enable us to retire with some savings. It’s hard to leave an amazing setting (off-grid, with just one neighbor, a nearby river to kayak to the bay, and an incredible waterfall in view up the valley), but we’re also getting too old to enjoy cutting up trees that fall in the (dirt) road and moving rocks that roll into the road. (Please send rich people our way.)

Bill Bullard reports that he’s been basically in New York City for 20 years but is planning to return to Marin County. He sent the following with the instruction to “slash and burn as needed: Our endless summer was supposed to begin in 2023 with my wife’s retirement, but she failed at that, took on the headship of Collegiate School (from which I successfully retired in 2017), and is committed for another couple of years. So, we’re back in the city and I’m splitting my life between our (really, the school’s) apartment on Riverside Drive and our lovely and very antique house two hours north in the Hudson Valley, where I disappear for weeks at a time with our three-year-old Tibetan terrier (our second, but this one will undoubtedly survive us) to fix things, work the garden, and spend long hours in a kind of photography studio that I’ve fashioned in the barn. But the longer-term plan is to give it all up in two years and move back to Marin County, where our oldest friends and a number of our offspring plus still live.

“In the meantime, I am faithfully doing the photography—mostly street photography—that I retired to do. Most recently, a project about Madison Avenue; the week around May 1 in Havana (don’t quite believe the news… it’s still my favorite place for this kind of photography); a return to Oaxaca for Day of the Dead; a landscape workshop with Miami Leica in the Faroe Islands; and next week, a trip to the Okavango Delta in Botswana. I had planned my first return since COVID to Burundi, where I volunteer as a photographer for a women’s hospital, but Ebola put an end to that. Otherwise, NYC feeds my habit daily and keeps me up and about. I get enough of this in shows or magazines to convince me (if not my accountant) that it’s OK to spend a lot more than I make. In the end, it’s all vanity, but what the hell.  

“I’ve stayed in touch with Tim McGlue, who still lives in Le Havre but has spent the last two winters in Guatemala and the US. And during Tim’s last visit here, about a year ago, Dan and Cindy Rosenheim happened to be in the city and joined us for a bit of a reunion. Everyone was well and joyfully correcting each other’s memories, especially the heroic ones involving our May ’68 in Paris.

“À la prochaine, Bill.”

Guy Prevost checked in saying, “When I attended a reunion for my high school class a few weeks ago, I was the sole representative, an ominous sign of the realities of life and. . . the alternative.  But it was fun when, at the event, I throttled a current sophomore at ping-pong. I feel lucky to still be on the planet and in fairly good health and wish the same for you and the rest of my former classmates. 

“I live in the hills of LA with my wonderful wife, Adrian, sans les chiens (mortes), and continue to write and sell (or try to) my screenplays. Last film gig was ghostwriting for an Academy Award–winning screenwriter—project as yet unproduced. So slim pickins’ for me in Hollyweird (sic) at the moment, but I’ve had some success with short stories, many published in literary journals, and a couple have been anthologized. In fact, next month I have two stories coming out, one in The Empyrean Literary Magazine and the other in Audience Askew. (For more, check out guyprevost.com but not required reading!) Meanwhile I’m trying to get back to my roots, as it were: starting pre-production on a short film I intend to direct.

“Best to all. . . keep the faith, power to the people!” Guy says he often reminisces about students protesting things they felt were unjust and unfair. He says, “Where’s the outrage? Where are the student protests?”

Take care of yourselves and take care of each other. 

PS: If you feel a small quake around New Year’s, it may be me jumping for joy at retiring.

RUSS JOSEPHSON | russ_josephson@yahoo.com
P.O. Box 1151, Kilauea, HI 96754