Tag: 1967

Classmates,

Fewer obituaries this time around (but warning: there is one). Mostly, however, I bring you news from the living (at least, they were living when I wrote these notes).

Walter Beh wrote the following: “After Wes, I went to University of Pennsylvania Law School in Philadelphia and [afterward] practiced law there for a year. Then headed to Honolulu, where I practiced real property law for 44 years and was vice chancellor of the Episcopal Diocese of Hawaii for close to 30 years. By then I no longer owned a suit but was the proud owner of 50-plus Aloha shirts and was the grand old man to four children and 11 grandchildren. Kids were fine, but grandchildren are the best. Looking forward to our 60th Reunion.”

Bob Runk sent me his books about golf, designed to make people laugh rather than improve their game. They have titles like How to Line Up Your Fourth Putt and When to Regrip Your Ball Retriever. He did not start to play golf until the 1980s when he was working in the aviation and aerospace insurance and reinsurance business. One of his company’s biggest clients was Japan Airlines, and Bob’s boss and the Japanese director of their New York office played golf together. Bob’s boss told him it was “mandatory” that he, too, play golf, so he did. He started to jot down notes based on his observations of the game. The rest is literary history. The books sold well (over 70,000— a number unheard of in the academic circles in which I move) and even include a blurb from Rick Reilly, a Sports Illustrated writer of considerable renown.

Punch Elliott checked in from Wisconsin. Now retired, he practiced plaintiffs’ law for 51 years and was a judge for 15 years in the 1970s and 1980s. He has a wife (Pam) of 55 years, three children, and eight grandchildren. He and I are on the opposite poles of the golf spectrum. He plays 200 times a year and has shot his age five times—as those of you who read my class notes carefully know, I play once a decade and struggle to make double bogies on a par three course. He even coaches the local high school boys’ golf team: “The high school kids are the best to coach and the best to be around.” He got his nickname at an early age, and it stuck: “I universally use my lifetime nickname, Punch.”

And, sad to say, there is another death of a classmate to report. Bob Callahan died New Year’s Eve in Florida (he had been dealing with health issues for a number of years). Bob noted in his entry to our 50th Reunion book that he was the first in his family to attend college. In the 1970s and 1980s he was the president of a large labor union (7,000 members) and then shifted into fundraising for various universities in Florida. John Andrus shared a memory that reveals something about both Callahan and Andrus as freshmen at Wesleyan: “I’ll go on record for giving him credit for keeping me in school freshman year—we had Spanish 101 five mornings at 8 a.m., and if Bob hadn’t rattled my door each a.m., I’d have slept my way back to New Jersey.”

Andrus passed Spanish 101, graduated from Wesleyan, and worked for JPMorgan Chase. As he explained, in his email to me, “Spent my career in the trust business, and after vowing to stay away from the New York rush and work in a smaller pond, ended up through multiple mergers/acquisitions with JPMorgan Chase.” He and his wife, Penny, have four children and 12 grandchildren. “Most of my days are spent traveling up and down the East Coast to various athletic events so that I can give any one of the 12 grandchildren unsolicited advice.”

Finally, let me say that as a graduate of both Wesleyan (BA) and Columbia (MA), when I read Robert Kuttner’s article titled “Columbia’s Capitulation, and Wesleyan’s Pushback” in The American Prospect, I was proud to be a Wesleyan grad and embarrassed by my Columbia degree. I can say no more.

Classmates,

             Did you ever think we would use the word “octogenarian” about ourselves? Well, here we are celebrating, or soon to celebrate, our 80th birthdays. Happy birthday to those of you still here to celebrate, whenever in the calendar year your birthday comes around.

            Not all our classmates are going to become octogenarians.   

            Jim Sugar died of heart failure in Mill Valley, California, in July 2024. Jim was an accomplished photographer (he worked for National Geographic for 22 years), and his book, America’s Sunset Coast, based on photos he took after traveling the Pacific Coast from Canada to Mexico in a VW minibus, led to his being named Photographer of the Year by the National Press Photographers Association in 1979. Jim became a pilot, and he owned a single-engine Cessna that he often flew to go to assignments or for aerial photography.

            According to one obituary about him, “Jim slowed down in his last years but never lost his smile, his encouragement of others and his appreciation of life.” He is survived by his wife, Jan, his son and daughter-in-law, Sam and Gigi Sugar, and his grandson, Bo Sugar, all of Mill Valley.  

I remember Jim from our freshman year. He looked like he was 14 years old (he was 17).  Check out his photo in our freshman face book, which I’m sure you all still have in an easy-to-find place. There is baby-faced Jim, right after Jon Stover and Paul Stowe and right before Maurice Sullivan and John Suter. I also remember him at our 50th Reunion, looking rugged and handsome. Those of us who edited the 50th Reunion book (which I know is also close by your side) expressed a “special thanks to Jim Sugar for allowing us to use his beautiful photo for our book cover.” Check it out—it is a great photo!

             Fred Freije ’74 died in England in September 2024. Fredstarted with our class—he, too, is in our freshman face book, right after Howie Foster and Stephen Fotter and right before Jeremy French and John Frisbie.Fred then left Wesleyan (more than once it turns out), enrolled at Bard College (among other things), but ultimately returned to Wesleyan and graduated, I think with the Class of 1974. Bob Kesner notes in an email that at age 18, “Fred already had some impressive commercial fishing experience,” and Peter Waasdorp wrote that during his absences from Wesleyan, he worked on commercial fishing vessels out of New Bedford. At some point, he started a commercial seafood packaging firm in Long Island, and in England he was the owner of the Selsea Fish & Lobster Company. At the time of his death, he had sold the company but was still acting in an advisory capacity. 

Ted Smith, who roomed with Fred one semester, wrote that “I always had a soft spot for Fred—he was kind, funny, loyal, and appropriately disrespectful of authority that did not deserve respect.” Peter Waasdorp wrote the following to me about him: “Fred was one of those people I knew I could call anytime, anywhere, and he would be there for me if I needed him. A character for sure (he’s a member of three Wes classes, I believe), a devoted family man, friend to all, and as adept as anyone I know at laughing at himself.” 

He is survived by his wife, Celia, and two children, Tom and Kira.

            Another classmate, Jerry Smith, died in 2024. Jerry worked as a short-order cook for two years after high school before coming to Wesleyan. He became a certified arborist and a tree surgeon. At various times he worked in urban forestry, worked on projects in Central Park in NYC, and was a tree consultant for the Getty Center in LA. As a result of the work he did with one client who lived next to Marlon Brando, he became an arborist to various Hollywood stars.  He was also a part-time actor. Hoff Stauffer, Jerry’s lab partner in a chemistry class freshman year, emailed me that in 2017 Jerry got back in touch with him after a 50-year gap and came to visit him in Massachusetts. Hoff wrote: “At Wesleyan he was riding a Honda 50. In 2017 he was riding a BMW 1600.”  

            As I write about these three (Sugar, Freije, Smith), I find myself thinking about the immortal words of Mick Jagger and Keith Richards (both of whom were age 23 when the song came out in 1966): “What a drag it is getting old.”

            And a non-obituary, happier, message. I got the following email from Brooks Smith: “I was one of five from Wes in Freedom Summer. My roommate in Ruleville, Mississippi, was Len Edwards ’63. We lived next door to Fannie Lou Hamer. The Klan attempted to firebomb the church we held rallies in. Many of the civil rights workers were arrested during the summer and afterward. Our Freedom School was a great success, and we branched out to Indianola, Mississippi—home of B.B. King. This and other movements, including the anti-war movement on campus, were certainly energized by Martin Luther King’s speaking at Wesleyan three times during our four undergraduate years.  

            “Freedom Summer held a 60th reunion of volunteers and staff in Indianola in June. We rejoiced in the changes in Mississippi. Remember in 1964, 465,000 Black folks were eligible to vote—only 7,000 were registered. Now Black folks and white folks vote in about the same percentage. So great changes—but a long way to go.”

Classmates,

            I have heard from four classmates, all of whom reside in California, whatever that means.

            First I heard from George McKechnie. George grew up in Bloomfield, New Jersey, came to Wesleyan where he majored in psychology, and then headed west for graduate work at Berkeley. He completed his PhD in personality and environmental psychology in 1972. His professors included Ted Sarbin (Sarbin had been Karl Scheibe’s advisor when he was a graduate student at Berkeley, and he was one of my teachers when I did graduate work at the University of California, Santa Cruz). George taught at Arizona State, and at Berkeley, and then left academe to practice clinical psychology and “to pursue home audio”—he was the founder and president of Audio Excellence, Inc. (the company’s clients included Francis Ford Coppola, Ray Dolby, and Boz Scaggs). He subsequently founded two more audio companies, Axiom Home Theater and Sync My Home Inc. He lives in Carmel, California, on the Monterey Peninsula.  

Then I heard from Ted Smith. He was cleaning out old stuff (aren’t we all?) and came upon a photo of the 1967 Mystical Seven, of whom he and I were two. He wasn’t sure who some of those other five mystics were.  I helped him identify them: from left to right me, Barbara Davidson (who somehow mystically snuck into that photo), Sammy Nigh, Steve Chance, Ted, Bill Cooper, Tom Drew, and Mike Cronan. This led me to research, if I may call it that, what each of the seven said about themselves in our 50th Reunion book. Cronin, Drew, Ted, and I wrote things for that sweet publication (and sent photos), but nothing from Chance, Cooper, or Nigh. I then spent a pleasant hour reading the entries that many of you sent, and “remembrances” and obituaries for 19 of our classmates who had died (alphabetically from Andrew C. Ackemann, who died in 2006, to Donald D. Wolff Jr., who died in 2009). So, thanks Ted, for reminding me what a nice resource that 50th Reunion book is. Ted, by the way, has had some health issues, but is doing fine. He and his wife, Mandy, live in San Jose, and they have three children and five grandchildren, all of whom are in California so they can see them frequently.

I also heard from Don Stone, who is living in the Bay Area. He writes that as a Jew-by-choice, active in his synagogue for 35 years, he is part of his synagogue’s reparations alliance partnership with a Bedouin village in the West Bank. As he explained, the residents “are nonviolently trying to survive the brutal efforts of a nearby, recent prosperous, Jewish settlement to expel the villagers.” According to Don, these Jewish settlers have used “terror, interrogation, arrests, beatings, home demolitions, seizing grazing land, and cutting off water, electricity, and intermittent access to medical and food sources . . . etc.” Don fears that these expulsions will end up as “not good for the Palestinians or good for the Jews.” 

Don reminded me that, should we be so lucky, we are approaching what will be our 60th in 2027. I had not thought about it, but it is now on my list of things I might do if I live long enough.

Finally, in the California correspondence category, Paul Nibur wrote a thoughtful response to the email I sent to many of you after the last set of class notes appeared. He also wrote the following: “I have been happily retired for 20 years from flying for United Airlines. I keep very busy with volunteering with my Rotary Club, hosting youth exchange students from Australia and Thailand, serving on a few local boards, maintaining my five acres near the Sierra foothills, and loving my family and grandkids. I’m happy to still be able to workout and stay fit although I had to give up running after nearly 50 years due to a complaining knee. I’m still very happily married to my first and only wife since 1970, and highly recommend that path (although that advice is a little late for many of us now).”

Also, on the ever-increasing obituary front, I got this email from Ned Preble: 

“Dave Reynolds ’71 died on Sunday June 30, 2024, at his home in Hampden, Massachusetts, after yearsof illness stimulated by Agent Orange during his service in Thailand. His wife, Heather, his son, Nat, and his wife, and Dave’s sister were with him. He and I stayed in touch from September 1963 until he died. He was a doctor, having pursued his MD and career conscientiously, from postgraduation through his ER tech job in the army, more pre-med courses and health care jobs. There will be a celebration of life October 6 featuring Steely Dan music. I will never forget his wise laugh and his broad shoulders that once kept NYC subway doors from closing on me.”    

Ned has lived in Portland, Oregon, since 2013, but before that he lived in Mystic, Connecticut, Westchester, New York, the Bay Area, Concord, Massachusetts, and Hanover, New York, among other places. His five children were born in four states, and his ten grandchildren, as he puts it, are “scattered from LA to Dallas to Nashville to southern New Hampshire.” He was in the Peace Corps in Ceylon (now Sri Lanka), the army, worked in admissions (as assistant dean of admissions at Connecticut College from 1970 to 1974), earned an MBA at Wharton, and for more than 30 years worked in “International Consulting in Strategic Innovation and Creative Problem Solving.”  He now teaches courses in “Change Management and Business Ethics.”  

Ned also shared the following information about some classmates: “Here is some information I have regarding the guys I have been in touch with over the years. Phil Corkill (freshman year roommate) and Suzie, his wife, are longtime Tucson residents, where he was superintendent at a big high school. She was a teacher, but not in his district (probably her idea). Jim Guard—retired architect and LONG-time resident and property owner in the San Juan Islands outside of Friday Harbor. He built his own house and came on the grid just 10 to 15 years ago. He owns a lot of land and is often clearing/creating roads and cutting his own firewood. Mary, his wife of many years, makes sure his chores do not exceed 22 hours per day. Dave Butler and his wife live in Saint Augustine, Florida, and play golf together. He watches WesTech football on his computer. He was an international lawyer for many years. I talked to Howie Foster the other day and he was heading off to play squash. His career is as a therapist. I think he is a psychoanalyst.” Ned also noted that he shot his age in golf two years ago (I did not ask him if it was miniature golf, a par three course, or if he only played nine holes).  

In exchanging emails with Ned, I told him a story from my limited golf history. He wrote back that “even though I read your golf story 10 minutes ago I am still laughing! I vote to have it included in the class notes—boldface type of course.” Given that these notes are online, and I am not limited by the usual 800-word stricture, I have decided to do so.  Here you go.

I play golf once a decade, no more, no less. On December 31, 2019, I finally got over to our par three course for my once-a-decade round. I had a three iron, a seven iron, and a putter. It was a chilly, but not too cold day, and I was the only person on the course. I double bogeyed the first eight holes, and ended up on the ninth hole, with a fairly long putt for the double bogey (maybe five feet). I could not believe how much pressure I felt. I did not want to end my string of double bogeys. I sank the putt, and it was like hitting a three-pointer for a win in my regular geezer basketball game (better actually). Definitely a sports highlight of the decade for me. (It is now only 2024, so I don’t plan to play for another four or five years).

Tony Gaeta wrote that Tony Conte was able to visit his sister and brother-in-law (who was turning 90) in Hilton Head Island, and Tony Gaeta was able to join him for four days. If you read my class notes carefully (in which case you’ll be more likely to pass the final exam), you may recall that in April 2022, Tony Conte, who lives in Walnut Creek, California, was hit by a car while walking home from dinner and almost lost his life. As he explained to me in an email back in November 2023: “Both Tony Gaeta and Tony Caprio have been fantastically supportive to me from the first minute. They are in part responsible for my recovery. I don’t think I could have made it through the trauma center, the ICU, the two hospitals, and the care facility without their constant contact and encouragement.” It was thus special that he could travel across the country to visit family, and special that the two Tonies could spend time together. As Tony Gaeta wrote, “He’s lucky to be alive, much less walking but it didn’t deter us from throwing down a few brews but not as quickly as in olden days.” 

Many of you responded to the email that I sent describing the decision of the editors to leave out a paragraph about Bernie Steinberg in my last set of notes. It was great to hear from you, not only about the deletion of the paragraph, but about other related and unrelated issues (golf! Walter Johnson High School! Unitarian ministers! UNC athletics!). Your supportive comments really meant a lot to me.          

—Richie