Version B

May We Always Earn Her Blue

R. Dixon Bell

This book is dedicated to

Billy Peebles, John Lathrop, and Sue Scarborough, Who really weren’t the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost But who were more like what the Trinity embodied Than any of us had a reasonable right to hope.

Former Heads of School John Lathrop, Sue Scarborough and Billy Peebles at Powhatan’s 70th Anniversary Celebration

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Table of Contents 1.

Preface. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . v

2.

Peggy Mahaney Rhoades, ‘54 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

3.

Phil Porterfield, ‘63 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5

4.

Barbara Clagett, ‘64 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11

5.

Dave and Theresa Donovan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17

6.

Ruth, ‘58 and Betsy Pritchard. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23

7.

Susan Golladay, ‘62. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27

8.

Susi Bailey, ‘61 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31

9.

Jane Caspar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35

10.

Carolyn Morgoglione . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39

11.

Eliza Niemann, ‘72. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43

12.

Paula Myer. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49

13.

Carol Chapman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59

14.

Jennifer Willey Burks, ‘85 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66

15.

Jeff Buettner, ‘82 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71

16.

Jeff Buzzoni, ‘83. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75

17.

Robin Houck Coutts, ‘86. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81

18.

Chris Willey, ‘89. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85

19.

Tom, ‘67 and Jean Gilpin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89

20.

Richard Farland . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95

21.

Jeff and Celie Harris. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101

22.

John and Maxine Willey. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107

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23.

John Tyson. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1113

24.

Franny Crawford, ‘59 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117

25.

Billy Peebles. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123

26.

Harry F. Byrd, III. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 131

27.

Nature and Campus. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137

28.

Paula Bryant. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 143

29.

Sue Lee . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 149

30.

John Lathrop . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155

31.

Adie and Beatrice von Gontard . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163

32.

Ray Legge, ‘75. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169

33.

Charlie McIntosh, ‘71 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 175

34.

Anne Bell, ‘94 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 183

35.

Nathan Zuckerman, ‘94. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189

36.

Ann Robb. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 193

37.

Anne Williams, ‘95. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 199

38.

Alison Hessberg, ‘93 and Natalie Greenhalgh, ‘93. . . . . . . . . . 205

39.

Jenny Kronfeld. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 213

40.

Jennifer Warren and Julie Scheulen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217

41.

Chris Clark, ‘10 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 223

42.

Clare Ferrell and Bev Edwards. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 227

43.

Kathleen Hobbs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233

44.

Katherine Viti, ‘13. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 239

45.

Antietam . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 245

46.

Sue Scarborough. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249

47.

Mary Roxer, ‘96, Eileen Davis, and Betsy Stafford, ‘55. . . . . . . 257

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PREFACE I don’t know where the idea emerged first. But it was initially kited to me as a memoir. Seemed like a good idea. I would sit there and bang out all of the stories I could recall. The stories would illustrate the magic that was Powhatan and fill in the edges we all feel when dealing with an experience as deep and profound as Powhatan School.

Amy Sluss, then Development Director, encouraged this project in its vision and supported me in its accomplishment. Experiencing my final year at Powhatan, I soon got weary of hearing myself say, “I…, I…, I…,” as I related various anecdotes about my years at school. I realized the whole book would sound like that. So I offered an idea to Amy right back, “What if the book consisted of interviews with various people from Powhatan’s past?” We both agreed that if we had a representative cross-section of people, all of whom focused on why Powhatan was such a magical place, we could tell a valuable story, a beautiful story that would be authentic.

We’d bounce names off of each other. Both Amy and I wanted the selection of candidates for the interview to be as broad and as organic as possible. We wanted to interview those whom the universe led to our door.

I got almost everyone I asked – but not all. Also, it took a long time to synthesize what they were telling me, and, of course, I had a retirement to enjoy as well as a busy set of other commitments I had to honor. So, here we are, two and a half years after beginning, turning over a manuscript to Sue Scarborough, just a few days before she retires.

This is a slice of Powhatan’s history as seen by some of the principal participants of the times. This is a ‘good news’ account. All institutions have bad moments, but this book is not about them. These glimpses are ones of laughter, of deep respect, of education as a doorway to successful life.

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I apologize to those whom I did not get to. A pandemic, my life, and the events of a whole world intervened. I’m sure this will not be the last refuge for stories.

Present tense represents any time between October 10, 2017 and today – when the interviews took place.

R. Dixon Bell December 28, 2020

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Powhatan School Song In the Blue Ridge of Virginia, Is a school we hold so dear.

We will ever heed her lessons, Strong endeavor and good cheer.

May the challenge that she gives us Keep us constant on our way.

Oh, how fond will be our memories Of our Powhatan far away.

May we ever be her children, Gentle-hearted, kind, and true.

May our stature do her honor, May we always earn her blue.

Let us pray for our tomorrows, Let us work for them today.

In the company of equals, Lifelong learners we will stay.

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James Moyer Mahaney, Powhatan School’s first Headmaster

Peggy Mahaney Rhoades, ‘54 It was the summer of 1950. Upcoming fifth grader Peggy was riding with her father James Moyer (Mac) Mahaney through the back roads and farm lanes of Frederick, Clarke, and Warren counties in Virginia and Jefferson County, West Virginia. They were canvassing large farms and rural homes, not to promote any grand political cause, but to find and enroll new students, students who would be the beginning of a long train of girls and boys who would make up the accumulated legacy of those who learned at Blue Ridge Country Day School and, later, Powhatan School.

Typically, young Peggy would stay in the car while her father knocked on the door and made the first call. ‘Mac’ Mahaney first learned that the founders of the new school were interested in hiring him at a dinner at Sutton Place in New York, home of legendary OSS head and CIA founder, ‘Wild Bill’ Donovan. Mahaney was then head of Fairfield Country Day School in Connecticut. Subsequent visits to Clarke County had Mahaney and family meeting Marie and George Greenhalgh, the 1

Watkins of Annfield, and school founder Isabella Gilpin. In June, 1950 Mahaney resigned as Fairfield Country Day’s head and moved to Twin Gates, Mamie Byrd’s former home in Millwood.

So all the lanes, roads, and byways surrounding White Post, Millwood, Boyce, Berryville, and as far north as Charles Town became the recruiting area for the new school. The ‘powers’ had told Mahaney that if he opened that first year with 35 students that would be grand.

When Blue Ridge Country Day opened in September, Mahaney had recruited 75.

The question occurs: what happened between 1948, when the school was incorporated, and 1950, when Mahaney came on board?

Charlie Burwell referred in a 1990’s visit to Powhatan discussing the school’s origins of an informal school headed up by two tutors, one of whom was Gladys Lloyd, which met at various homes and served the needs of those youngsters who were looking for a bridge between local schools and boarding schools, both in Virginia and in New England.

In the same visit, Gertie Watkins explained how during that time she founded the Little Red Schoolhouse, a local area kindergarten, which later became incorporated with Blue Ridge Country Day School.

Young Peggy Rhoades and her Dad, James Moyer Mahaney

Peggy recalled Locke’s Store, then a true general store, that sold everything from shovels to socks.

She remembered schoolmates Pete Dunning, Andy Guest, Amanda Mackay-Smith, Trish Donovan, and Diana Watkins, whose grandparents lived at Annfield where the Mahaneys often took their Sunday dinner. Her father’s office was on the right when one entered Blue Ridge Country Day’s front door. She also recalled the community’s quirky phone system where you called the operator and told her when she came on a number-letter combination like ‘13J’

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(I believe that was my grandparents’ old number) and she would connect you with the party. She didn’t always get off the line. Mrs. Mahaney was talking one evening on the phone wondering why her husband was late.

At that point the operator broke in and said, “Don’t worry he’s on his way home.” There were no secrets on Boyce’s old phone system.

James ‘Mac’ Mahaney believed in the ideal of the student athlete, but the fundamental concept he brought with him was the notion of lifelong learning, the keystone of Powhatan’s motto and philosophy.

Scholarship was always framed in action. Academics were taught in traditional methods, but days were rich in sports, activities, and programs. Teachers at Blue Ridge Country Day challenged and then supported their students.

Mr. Mahaney was busy too. He was constantly helping the faculty and mixing with the students. He designed the shield of the school with the split rail fence supported by the lamp of learning. The split rail fence became the basis of the Posts and the Rails, the new school’s intramural teams. Intramural teams came about as a way for the kids to engage in friendly competition and learn team sports skills – especially when small, independent schools existed in self-defined cul-de-sacs where it was difficult to find and get to other schools of a similar size.

Mahaney was taking a ton of pictures too. At the end of the year, Peggy – like every other student – received a red folder with her initials on it. Inside were pictures her father had put together that showed her engaging in the various activities throughout the year. The beginnings of later school year books were foreshadowed in those red folders.

Sadly, Mac Mahaney was suffering from Bright’s disease, a kidney disorder that is now eminently treatable. Then, it took his life after the end of his first year. The trauma of his early passing must have rocked our nascent school community, but his stamp is everywhere. Every year in early spring I would receive a variation of the following: “The Mahaney Memorial Cup was established in 1959 in memory of James Moyer Mahaney, the school’s founding head. It is awarded by the vote of the faculty to that boy or girl in the 8th Grade, who through his or her integrity, good conduct, scholastic effort, good sportsmanship, and school spirit, has contributed most to the life of the school. Because of

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Powhatan’s commitment to mind, body, and spirit, the person receiving this award captures the essence of the hopes and dreams we have for all of our students.” This is the rubric we have used to decide every past and future winner of the school’s premier award.

Mac Mahaney was remarkable in how he translated his vision into the school we see today. As a member of the Religious Society of Friends, I was often reminded of the philosophy and mission of Quaker schools when I taught here. A quick look at Mahaney’s resume reveals where that influence may have come from. He taught at Haverford where he ended as Head of their Lower School. He then went to head Montgomery Country Day School and later Fairfield Country Day School in Connecticut. His vision of a student athlete with an unimpeachable mastery of core academics, writing, and the arts has evolved and been refined throughout the school’s illustrious history. Today that vision stands for the self-image we hope every student carries from his or her time here. Peggy told me that her forward thinking father had already spoken to Mrs. Carter about the future of her house and farm as Blue Ridge Country Day School inevitably grew.

After sixth grade Peggy and her mother went to live with Miss Cook, wealthy patron and former head of Dana Hall. Peggy attended Dana Hall and then went to Wellesley College. Her mother became resident manager of Dana Hall. Wellesley, one of the premier women’s colleges in the United States, is famous for the number of doctors and lawyers it graduates. Peggy credited the background she received at Blue Ridge Country Day School, particularly in the area of writing, in helping make her career at Dana Hall and Wellesley such a success. She went on to a distinguished career in government service.

Peggy Mahaney Rhoades provides a direct link with Blue Ridge Country Day School and its beginnings to the Powhatan we see today.

Her presence and insight underscores and sheds light on the maxim, “What is old shall be new again.” Lately she has been a principal guest at many of the school’s ceremonies, chiefly graduation. She is the living epitome of “We learn not for school, but for life.”

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Blue Ridge Country Day students in front of the ‘Little Red Schoolhouse’

Phil Porterfield, ‘63 Whether it was riding to school in the Blue Goose, a van with three unbolted benches in the back, exploring the hidden recesses of the Boyce Parish Hall while awaiting his turn to practice Sir Andrew Aguecheek in Twelfth Night, or cleaning out the school coal chute on a Saturday while serving a demerit, Phil Porterfield was an immense and active presence as a student at Blue Ridge Country Day School and later after it moved, Powhatan. As the ultimate hail-fellow-well-met, Phil is the kind of classmate who makes it clear why so many people loved Blue Ridge Country Day and the Powhatan which replaced it.

Phil characterized Powhatan when he was here as “much smaller.”

Each grade only had one section, and there were only 11 in his eighth grade. “You knew everyone well,” Phil said. He named Hal Oxenham (science), Gladys Lloyd (fourth grade), and Carlisle Spencer (Head) as adults who had a major impact on his education. He told a charming story about John F. Kennedy, in the 1960 West Virginia primary, holding a rally at the Charles Town Race Track. Somehow Charles 5

Town students going to Powhatan obtained a poster from that rally and brought it to school because everyone agreed the photo of the thencandidate resembled Mr. Spencer. Of course, there was a little edge about featuring the poster because no one knew how Mr. Spencer might take it. We adults all have experienced such high jinks from children and know how lovable and complimentary such ‘impish’ acts are. I’m sure Mr. Spencer was touched by the tribute.

Once while in the seventh-grade homeroom – right next to the old office and later turned into the art studio – a ‘kerfuffle’ (one of Mrs. Jaffe’s favorite words) broke out. Mr. Spencer swooped in, stopped the action and said, as only the head can, “Stop it! Each one of you has a demerit.” Phil remembers the whole class came in the next Saturday and served an hour’s demerit. That’s when Phil discovered how it was to sweep out the coal chute. Personally, I always thought that Saturday demerits certainly and after-school detentions generally punished the parents more than the kids. If you happened to live at Scaleby, near Millwood, or up the Millwood Country Club Lane, you could walk to your ‘consequence.’ If your family lived outside of Charles Town or Front Royal, major plans had to be made just to get you to the school and home. I’ve always thought I was glad I wasn’t sitting in the car for one of those dreary treks. Demerits became detentions solely in the early ‘80’s. Before detentions were an hour after school for a ‘minor’ infraction, and demerits were for ‘major’ infractions and also cost your Post/Rail team five points. We dropped the demerit because for some kids that was their only impact on the team – the guy who lost you points. After-school detentions also changed. They became exceedingly rare and over my last five or so years I can’t recall awarding one. Bad behavior, though not entirely absent, was never a significant problem at Powhatan. Keep the kids engaged in learning and practice classroom management, classroom management, classroom management.

Phil said that Post/Rail competition was huge during his time at Powhatan. His team, the Rails, were the big power then. (Such cycles tended to occur over time. First, the Rails would be dominant and then the Posts would make a run for years.) The highlight would be the weekly Post/Rail soccer games on the Upper West field. He said they used the old barn as their basketball court; its floor was uneven and the baskets were not the same height off the floor. Porterfield related how 6

they started playing other schools in games when he was in the seventh grade. He recalls the team all showed up in tee-shirts, some from camp, some with hand-written lettering, a real motley crew. I told him about us reinstituting basketball in the 80’s with me as coach (I had studied my ‘craft’ by watching ACC games). However, we had some real ringers, including Frank Armstrong, William Houck, and Dean Smith. But our star was Patrick Ramey, who – unknown to me – was a junior all-state basketball player in West Virginia and an expert on orchestrating the fast break. We ended up in our debut game running away (literally) from a veteran Hill squad. By the time we had broken 80 and Hill was still in the low 30’s I began playing every sub we had, and our starters spent a whole lot of time watching from the bench. Phil loved the story (what Powhatan alum doesn’t love a story of us whipping Hill?) and went on to tell me about his Powhatan football team which was undefeated and beat Hill and Highland. Phil also added how he knows Patrick Ramey, who even now is a volunteer coach for his Shepherd University Rams.

Go, Powhatan!

Mr. Porterfield loved the Blue Goose, the van which brought Charles Town and Berryville kids to school. His sister Susan told me every stop and who they picked up. The culture of the bus seemed nearly perfect with big kids setting strong examples of good behavior and guidance for the little ones. Not to say there weren’t some situations.

Phil remembered a time when he and another student were suspended from the bus for a period of time. The other student’s parents angrily drove him to and from school for the time of his suspension. Phil’s ‘punished’ him by making him stay home. That was when he discovered a bag of clubs and practiced golf all day. His verdict was, “I didn’t suffer much of a punishment.” I was listening and thinking, ‘He remembered he was suspended from the bus, and he acquired a lifelong outdoors sports interest. I bet he never got suspended from the bus again. Sounds like an ideal outcome to me.”

Phil Porterfield said the reason he ended up here was when his family contrasted the great year his sister Susan was having at Blue Ridge Country Day with the lackluster year he was having in his Jefferson County. Almost immediately he could sense the difference: the smaller classes, the wide range of classmates and their abilities, and a curriculum he said that only could be described as ‘upper end.’

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He was challenged at school, he could not hide in the smaller setting, he loved the competitive academic atmosphere. He cited Powhatan’s emphasis on writing and books, the books he read, the books they discussed, the books they wrote about as its great strength. All of this made his attendance and career at Episcopal High School, which he attended with fellow Powhatan alums Blackie Davis, Bill Tupper, and Ian Williams, a breeze.

Phil also remembered his Chapel Talk which he gave on his ancestor George A. Porterfield (VMI), who died around 1914. Eighth graders gave Chapel Talks and led chapel once a month which was held in the old front hall (chapel began every day). History remembers Porterfield for two reasons: as the commander of the Confederate forces in the Battle of Phillipi, the first acknowledged battle of the Civil War, also known as the Phillipi Races because of the rapid way rebel forces withdrew from the battlefield after first being surprised by Union advances during the stormy night before, and as a member of the Richmond Raiders, a distinguished American unit which fought during the Mexican War. Near the end of his life, Col. Porterfield was one of the last three veterans alive from that conflict. Phil told me that only one of those distinctions made it onto his ancestor’s tombstone – his Mexican War record. From early on, eighth grade Chapel Talks were an important part of a student’s time at Powhatan.

The Old Building at Powhatan was an eclectic blend of architecture and utility. The story is that Dr. Mayo, the owner, loved to build and every year or so added a room. Certainly, this did not lead to unity in architectural design, but it did lead to a great space with many small rooms, ideal for housing a small, independent school. The grounds provided room for adequate, if not ideal, athletic fields, then situated on the western side of the campus. School-wide programs such as “Carol Sing” were held at the Boyce Parish Hall of Cunningham Chapel Parish along with, as Phil recalls, performances from Shakespeare. Phil remembers being Sir Andrew Aguecheek in Twelfth Night. The part of the experience he remembers best is exploring the nooks and crannies of the Parish Hall, the bowling alley, and the library. He also recalls how shaky he and his fellow actors were in their parts until actual performance, when they were fine. I had to laugh. Things haven’t changed much right through until today.

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Phil’s tales about Shakespeare were a revelation to me; for, I had always thought Shakespeare had arrived at Powhatan with Don and Cornelia Niemann. Later, Tom Gilpin would clarify the Shakespeare question for me. Tom told me that before the Niemann’s students would sometimes do scenes or segments from a Shakespeare play. The Niemanns ushered in full dramatic programs of selected histories and comedies by Shakespeare.

Phil Porterfield characterized the academics and school life at Powhatan as ahead of its time and classically liberal arts. Its primary focus was a heavy emphasis on reading and writing. Some of the advantages Powhatan had were small classes, which allowed new students to catch up, and an atmosphere where kids worked together.

The classes were made up of close-knit groups of kids from all over.

He remembers attending dances at the Winchester Country Club with DJ’s. One highlight was the time he and Kathy West won the ‘mashed potatoes’ contest.

A terrific aspect of Phil’s interview was his rich store of asides.

One was how Kathy West’s father and Phil’s dad would often pre-pay their tuition to help carry the school over the summer. Another was about Miss Blessing from Charles Town, whose grandfather was cook for John Brown and his party. A third was the phone trees everyone used to let area kids and families know when school was closed for snow. Mr. Porterfield pointed out how Powhatan’s expectations often percolated through families even onto kids who didn’t follow their parents here.

He illustrated that aside with a summary of the rich accomplishments of his daughter, an ordained Episcopal priest. Finally, he noted that many times the families of Powhatan kids often became best friends.

That was true in the past, it’s still true today, and I’m sure it will be true tomorrow.

Phil Porterfield is the kind of happy presence schools count on to enhance their legacies. He was the kind of student who loved school, not because it relied on fancy bells and whistles, but because it required you to rely on your imagination. To him it was an inherently better education. Phil Porterfield got an education at Blue Ridge Country Day and Powhatan which is still growing, and still rewarding him with new lessons and insights.

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The Robinson siblings ready to board the ‘Blue Goose’

Barbara Clagett, ‘64 All sorts of “Whee’s” and “Ooohs” rolled in from the back. Books and lunches tumbled. Stomachs turned. Benches quivered and slid. The Blue Goose, one of Powhatan’s two north/south buses, was travelling Old Chapel Road to Powhatan, and the sudden small rolls of the terrain which the locals called “bumps” caused the back of any vehicle going over 30 to flip up, leaving the passengers to fly straight up while their stomachs rolled and then crash down – just like they were kids on a carnival ride. Barbara Clagett, class of ’64, loved it when the bus took that route to school. So did every kid who ever rode that road in any vehicle, including me. Barbara and her older sister Susi were early attenders of Blue Ridge Country Day and, later, Powhatan School, and the Clagett family, whose parents were Mr. and Mrs. William B. Clagett, counted in the number of founding families, now has graduated three generations of alums from “the school we hold so dear.”

When I sat down with Barbara in October, 2017, she started by saying that she remembered Powhatan before the Crocker family 11

donated the building, fully furnished and a visual delight to any youngster with its mounted heads of trophy animals, its light-filled and homey nature, and a yard planted with some of the world’s most exotic trees, including a gingko, a larch (both still there), and two copper beeches – as beautiful as if they had come right off the pages of a grand Victorian novel. She can still recall sitting in the old house’s front room for morning chapel and listening to Chapel Talks.

Barbara shared her best memory of the school: good teachers.

She singled out Hal Oxenham for special praise. Hal wore a variety of hats. Principally a science teacher, Hal could do almost anything.

When I arrived, he was also teaching English grammar and usage in the seventh grade. I understand from past conversations with Don Niemann that Hal was willing to teach anything – and teach it well – and singled him out for special commendation. Independent schools do best with polymath teachers who can do well in any discipline. They are the important personnel who fill in the cracks and create a great model for multi-disciplinary kids. Hal Oxenham, an Englishman by birth and education, hailed from Front Royal, and besides doing nearly every teaching job, drove the Front Royal bus for many years.

Barbara said she benefited because Powhatan was small, and she was able to get help from our then in-house tutor, Judy Dougherty. Those sessions supported her development. I have challenged the notion my whole life that just because a kid hasn’t mastered a skill by a certain age she doesn’t belong with her grade. Yes, there are many kids whose entire life story has been changed for the better because “they have had the gift of another year.” I commend every parent and educator who has made that decision. But I also point out that none of us were ever ‘graded’ or ‘judged’ by when we cut teeth or when we learned to walk.

David Elkind, author of The Hurried Child, whom trustee Judy Landes and I heard in the early ‘80’s,’ famously related that he did not begin to read until he was in second grade – when he was ready, but he had the luxury of attending a school which recognized that kids develop at different rates. Powhatan is that kind of school. Push or leave unsupported a kid who is still developing, and you risk creating a cycle of frustration and bitterness toward school and learning. When I look back on the adults who attended Powhatan and were supported or not crammed

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into a course for which they were not ready, I find stories of competent, successful former students who are balanced and positive. We longtime teachers all have stories of students who were ‘lagging’ in reading or writing who seemed to catch fire before our eyes and closed deficits of years in weeks and months. Just as Judy Dougherty could attest and Barbara Clagett affirm, helping a student through difficult moments with a gentle word or smiling face and real strategies on how to cope with those difficulties is a virtue that strong, successful educational philosophies share. No race is a single leg; it is how you finish. It came across to Barbara as, “All teachers took an interest in kids. The teachers would help you.” Caring for children and their individual development is a bedrock quality of any great school.

Other teachers Barbara recalled were Mrs. Portia Gosnell, legendary first grade teacher, who was known for her rigor and comprehensive, full-discipline approach to everything she did; Miss Drury, who expected you to write cursive in small neat letters; Mrs. Gladys Lloyd, an icon of the fourth grade who expected you to write cursive in large, legible letters; Mrs. Price, who taught fifth grade and gave a lot of work, but it was manageable because Mrs. Lloyd had given you so much, and Jane Caspar, the ageless and inspiring art teacher who is still very much with us. Gladys Lloyd is a fascinating figure for me. According to Charlie Burwell, she was tutoring area kids from her home for years, pointing them toward boarding school. At some point she joined the Powhatan (BRCD) faculty where she set the bar for years in the fourth grade. Mrs. Lloyd was strict, had high expectations, and worked as hard as her students. She sounds as if she was well-organized as most teachers of her kind of reputation prove to have been. Barbara still could remember learning all the Presidents and every state and each state capital in her class. I couldn’t help think of our current fourthgrade’s state fair, echoing and expanding her long ago legacy.

Barbara Clagett summed up her education at Powhatan by saying, “The kids were challenged and also encouraged.” They still are.

“Powhatan,” she says, “gives its students a sense of well-being and leaves them with a sense of self-confidence.”

It encourages them all to be what they want to be – though sometimes it takes being an adult to see better what all the lessons

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were for.” Barbara acknowledged that the tradition of creating great writers was evident then and continues today. (Her great-niece Lucy Martindale won the Nancy Talley Writing Prize.) She went on to praise the music and arts program here now as something special, programs which encourage students “…into finding their creativity.”

Barbara also had praise for Don Niemann, whom she styled as “…a great man.” Don brought great energy, rigor, and high expectations to his position as well as movie-star good looks. She confessed having a great crush on him – something she shared with many of her schoolmates.

She was surprised when he wept at graduation, but she got used to it.

We all did. Don loved his school and its students and was almost always moved to tears at great moments.

Barbara noted how important parental involvement was for the Powhatan we knew and know. I couldn’t agree more with her. She characterized that involvement now as more active and pervasive than it was in her memories. We both acknowledged what a good thing that was.

Of course, kids share their deepest bonds with their family, particularly moms and dads. Kids naturally bond with adults at school too. When students see how closely their parents and teachers work together for their benefit, it sets a marvelous example of support and safety that undergirds their development. I used to judge the success of any year by the number of times students mistakenly addressed me as “Dad.” Three times in my career I was addressed as “Mom.” Every time one of these ‘mislabelings’ occurred the student invariably turned bright red and got subdued. I always assured them it was ‘just a slip of the tongue’ and proceeded. I then made sure to mention to the student and sometimes even the class how honored I was to have been mistaken for a parent – no matter how casually – and how normal it was for early adolescents to do so. Psychologically, I knew the student was actually saying, “I feel safe and myself here.”

Micheline Clagett, Susi and Barbara’s mother, was one of those parents who as well as being part of one of the families which started Powhatan was always looking for ways to advance the school. She told Barbara once that there were months early on when the parents would call around and figure who was going to finish funding faculty payroll.

We shall never know all of the virtuous sacrifices past parents have made

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for the prosperity of the school. But we certainly are grateful for each one of them.

Barbara shared great anecdotes about her classmates and friends.

My favorite was ‘the dancing hot dog.’ It seems first-grade classmate Preston Moffett’s mom had worked out an incredibly clever way to keep America’s greatest dog hot until it was to be consumed at lunch. She’d lower the ‘dog’ with a string around it into a thermos of boiling water.

At lunch Preston would pull the string and “Voila” a ‘dancing’ hot dog, hot and ready to eat would emerge. Barbara said that she went right home and told her mom she had to have one. What greater testament do we need to Mrs. Moffett’s inventiveness? Barbara also related that there was a ‘home movie’ around featuring Bonnie Brown, Page Mitchell, and Lucy Byrd Dorick. The feature, inspired and written by Bonnie’s mom Ann, concerned an action script dealing broadly with the theme of Pilgrims vs. Indians. It’s always amazing to hear stories about the creativity and resourcefulness of Powhatan’s students and parents. Barbara reinforced another Powhatan theme: She said most of her Powhatan friends still number among her closest, and she was delighted with how many of them stayed in The County. In case you need to ask, ‘The County’ is Clarke County.

Barbara Clagett and her sister Susi represent a generation of families that began Powhatan (as Blue Ridge Country Day) and got the school successfully on its way. Barbara, along with Susi, represents the kind of graduates every school extols. They are the kind of graduates and citizens you’d wish would wear a sign saying, “I went to Powhatan School.” Barbara is the epitome of the hopes Powhatan has for each of its students.

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Dave and Theresa Donovan The theme of this book is to try to discover and name what qualities, experiences, and memories have contributed to Powhatan being considered a magical place. I could have hardly been dealt a more revealing ‘hand’ than a cross-continent phone interview on a Sunday in late January with Dave and Theresa Donovan. Dave was the grandson of one of the founders of the school and attended the school as both the Blue Ridge Country Day School and Powhatan; his wife Theresa was one of the legendary board members, rising to the presidency, during the mid-80’s who led us through the Great Fire and oversaw the development of Powhatan during the Peebles Administration into one of the stellar affirmations of what elementary education might become.

Dave would have numerous in-house revealing anecdotes from the early years. Theresa, through her board work and the elementary academic careers of Grandin, Bryce, and Riley, the Donovan sons, was able to illuminate what made Powhatan so notable when it became the institution it is today.

Theresa addressed the question directly. To her the main notable asset at Powhatan was its community. She spoke from the perspective of entering that community as basically a stranger when she and her husband moved into the area. She noted that through her work and position she moved to a place where she was able to help shape the community and the school. Theresa and Dave had decided that they were going to focus on, as a top priority, the foundation of their sons’ education. It was a decision they heartily affirm today. Theresa cited Powhatan and its community for the level of commitment to its students and for creating an exceptional community for learning, for creating an environment which accentuates the selection and studying more deeply academic disciplines. It was a method of education which promoted in students the identification of a passion: for Grandin, writing; for Bryce, intellectualism and the outdoors, and for Riley, art.

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Dave entered Blue Ridge Country Day School in the third grade and attended Powhatan until the sixth grade. He had a storehouse of rich memories. He remembered starting kindergarten under Gertie Watkins, whom he characterized as the first of a line of Powhatan teachers who were kind and understanding. He loved her creative emphasis on recess. Dave also recalled a great many saltines and tomato juice. He remembered specifically friend Bill Watkins and his sister Wendy who was a classmate to his older sister. He talked about being part of the transition from the Little Red Schoolhouse to the Crocker property of Powhatan. He was able to answer my question of whether or not students aided in that physical movement of the school by saying, “I don’t have any recollection of students helping with the move.” He remembered morning choruses in chapel of “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” When he moved, he sure missed his buddies Bill Watkins and Gordie Joost.

Dave next remembered going into the school office at Powhatan whose odor was the lingering scent of mimeograph fluid. He said the most significant teacher for him was Hal Oxenham, a British polymath who taught here for decades. He recalled with excitement a time at which Mr. Oxenham asked him to read aloud for the class. David also reeled off a list of other teachers he loved: Mrs. Stapleton, Mrs. Drury, Mrs. Price, Mrs. Lloyd, and the legendary Portia Gosnell where he read from the primer, “See Spot run.” I had learned from the same primer.

Here and elsewhere the story of the legendary “Wild Bill” Donovan, Dave’s grandfather (also, director of the OSS and founder of the modern CIA – a giant of World War II era history) intersects with the founding of Powhatan; for, it was Donovan and his wife who had James Moyer Mahaney and his wife over for dinner one evening at his home in New York and offered him the position of Headmaster of the Blue Ridge Country Day School. It seemed from the beginning that this was not going to be an ordinary country day school.

Theresa stated that it all began with the faculty, which characteristically served many years at their positions and generally had a nice mix of women and men, which suited her all-boy family well. I noted that it was easy for the faculty to seem so exceptional considering the talented nature of the Donovan boys, all of whom were top-notch performers.

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David noted that at the end of the week each BRCD student took home a white matrix card which noted various foci of academic accomplishment and performance with color-coded checks. The goal, according to Dave, was to get as many blue marks as possible and to avoid browns and blacks. At this point he noted that his memory was full of friends and teachers as he looked back on his time at BRCD and Powhatan.

Theresa then asked, noting the depth of the community and adding one of her sons had married a Powhatan alumna, how many times had I run across two graduates marrying. I told her from my experience such marriages were rare. I could only think of three instances.

Years ago I read an article about the sabras, children born and raised together on Israeli kibbutzim. Israelis were confounded about why so few married within their kibbutz. They settled on the explanation that the sabras looked at each other more often as siblings and chose their marriage partners from outside their ranks. I speculated that a similar phenomenon might be at play among Powhatan grads. I certainly felt there were many of the same dynamics at school as there are in families, especially considering our small class size.

We talked about how kids loved to go to Powhatan. Even those who groused about their friends all going to Daniel Morgan (a middle school in Winchester) later look back and say how much they were formed by the marvelous experience of Powhatan. Both Dave and Theresa extolled the fact that their boys and their peers all loved to read and to write. Theresa underlined the whole creative writing process, writing workshop, promoted and led by Laura Robb. Dave said that his own experience was still fresh and alive and he could still see Mr. Oxenham and his friends. Powhatan grads love their friends. Many actively keep in touch. Many attend reunions.

Theresa spoke about the strength of the curriculum and the methods used. She noted that cooperative learning and collaboration were strengths perfectly attuned to the challenges of life in the 21st century. She also recounted the effect of being a trustee and observing Harry Holloway teach an algebraic method to his students. I had a similar experience with colleague Laura Sirbaugh, who at the time shared a homeroom grade with me. She had one section of the seventh;

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I led the other. A message had come from the office about a schedule change. The office asked me to share the news with Laura, who was teaching at the time. I slipped into the back of her room as she began an exposition on the quadratic formula. Like a coach breaking down skills, she tore the formula down into parcels and carefully explained each element. At the end I delivered my message and left the room awed by the teaching I had witnessed. I was convinced there was not a student who didn’t have the best possible introduction and grasp of the quadratic formula.

Theresa talked about the Great Fire and how she and others had just finished setting up an emergency phone tree. This was crucial in getting the news of the disaster out and avoiding the trauma of kids arriving and watching their school burn. A quick turnaround saved that year’s auction which was able to recreate and restock lost items and ended up raising double its goal. Another fortuitous aspect of the fire was the fact we were already beginning a Capital Campaign and had the machinery and procedures in place to raise funds. We were suddenly looking at raising a whole lot more than originally planned.

Community was the theme with Theresa. She noted that the Powhatan community was always tight and mutually supportive. It was not always easy for new families to feel totally comfortable in the face of such solidarity. She organized a buddy system for new parents, pairing them with older more veteran families, effectively promoting open community over closed.

Dave shared a memory of watching Marshall, the live-in caretaker of Powhatan who resided in the white house now the location of our pre-kindergarten, driving a three-gang mower pulled by two horses, one white and one dark, across the lawns.

Theresa brought up the close relationship we have always had with local public schools. She talked about a gifted youngster who was able to attend school tuition free and experience our community and academic offerings.

We ended on an explosion of quick bits about events, rummage sales, sports, and Shakespeare plays that both declared magical –

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experiences which covered all aspects of a good education, experiences which always seemed to match students with needs.

In the end Theresa said it right out loud, “What makes a Powhatan is a community with a common culture, and Powhatan then forges a common commitment with all the members of its community. That gives the community ownership.” And, oh, can that ownership be glorious.

Dave and Theresa Donovan are Powhatan parents who bring ties to the very beginning and experiences of the latest evolutions of Powhatan. Their memories and observations were fresh and vivid.

They came to Powhatan expecting the best for their three sons. They look back on those expectations now as wholly realized – and more.

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Blue Ridge Country Day School

Ruth, ‘58 and Betsy Pritchard When viewing the Blue Ridge at night from the west there is a curious phenomenon. From an area just south of Shannondale, WV to the large wireless tower north of Snickers Gap there are virtually no lights evident. It’s like a vast segment of the mountainside is asleep. Or never woke up.

That’s by design. Because, beginning in 1952, Henry and Mary Cushing Niles, Quakers from Stony Run Meeting in Baltimore, bought a small parcel of land on the Blue Ridge at the end of Mission Road with a farmhouse on it. They replaced the house with a cabin and began buying adjacent parcels of land through 1979. The Niles lived in that cabin until well into their 90’s. They founded the Rolling Ridge Conservancy, which gave around 300 acres of land to the Appalachian Trail Conservancy, and put the rest under easement (over 1400 acres) to keep it perpetually wilderness and used for spiritually-aligned purposes. For one family, the Smiths, later Pritchard when Ruth married, that view has stayed virtually the same since when Smith farm 23

first existed. According to them, that darkness is a great comfort to them each night when they retire.

Ruth (then Smith) and a sister and brother attended Blue Ridge Country Day and Powhatan – she began as a sixth grader in 1955. In 2018, there are still six descendants of the Smith family attending Powhatan – now in its third generation. The reason the Smiths came to Powhatan was two-fold: they got a group-rate for sending their three age-eligible children, and Ruth was stuck in a two-room schoolhouse (her room had three grades in it) in Kabletown, WV. Ruth said that sixth grade at Blue Ridge Country Day School was the place “where the lights came on.” She loved her new school right away. One major difference was the number of men there: Mr. Robert Evans, the Headmaster, was ubiquitous; Mr. Hal Oxenham, who taught both science and English, taught her study habits, was a whiz at sentence diagramming, and could be counted on every Friday to test his students on his weekly 50-word spelling list; Mr. Pochon, the French teacher, inspired Ruth to a lifelong love of his native tongue. Ruth said that every Friday Mr. Evans awarded the weekly Powhatan Blues, an event the students looked forward to zealously. It was the highlight of their week.

She remembered vividly when Blue Ridge Country Day moved from the Little Red Schoolhouse in Millwood to Powhatan. Ruth was amazed how spacious Powhatan was compared to their past location.

Two points she made were she couldn’t believe that the school building lasted 30 years with all the traffic and pounding the kids provided, and she was also amazed that the entire school was moved over the summer.

Ruth Smith was a Rail and fiercely so. Her grandson Linus Pritchard and five cousins are still Rails. She recalled riding the (in) famous Charles Town bus, the Blue Goose – loose benches and all, with fellow riders like Randy Funkhouser and Phil Porterfield.

It was in the area of intangibles that Ruth really took off. She recalled the joy of playing field hockey and the thrill of ice-skating on Scaleby’s pond. Ruth underlined the fact that Powhatan sheltered children from an unpredictable and sometimes hostile world. There the students were “allowed to be children.” And she said that graduates emerged with a readily recognized assuredness, an élan that set them apart from others their age. For her, Powhatan was a place that “inspired 24

you to want to do all your homework.” It also left her with the lifetime gift of “reading for pleasure.” Because of these assets, Ruth felt that adding a second section to each grade was an inspired move, giving more regional children the gift of a Powhatan experience and providing every student with a larger pool of kids with whom to form friendships.

Ruth loved her teenage years which began at Powhatan. She is eternally grateful to the school and institution which opened the world to her. It has opened the world to her children and grandchildren too. Besides unsurpassed academics and preparation in study skills, Ruth remembered that her son Forest formed some of his strongest friendships there – friendships which still endure and still define her son’s ‘best buddies.’

Accompanying Ruth was her daughter Betsy Pritchard, who because of the vagaries of family moves when she was a child never actually attended Powhatan, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t keenly aware of its strengths and its opportunities. She also was versed through the legacy of her family’s generations of the unique strengths and community Powhatan offered.

When her son Benson was born, Betsy worked for four and a half years to get David Weidemer, her husband, who had been very happy with his public school career, to agree to send their son here. Both Dave and Betsy became, over the nine years Benson attended Powhatan, two of the strongest advocates of the school I have ever met. (Dave, a nationally famous macro-economist, authored the New York Times bestseller Aftershock, a book detailing how to avoid some of the more egregious damages of the Great Recession. Writing runs in the family; Forest Pritchard, Betsy’s brother and Powhatan graduate, wrote another Times best-seller, Gaining Ground, about his efforts to turn the played-out family farm into an organic powerhouse.)

When young Benson enrolled in kindergarten, Jennifer Warren, then teaching that grade, gave Betsy and Dave this advice: “Read to him every night. Make sure he gets decent sleep.” Betsy related that beautiful advice and noted that they still read to Benson nightly when he comes home from boarding school. Betsy added that Benson was well-prepared for Woodberry Forest, which he now attends. She noted that the seventh and eighth grade years are crucial years academically, 25

socially, and emotionally for getting kids ready for the rigors, challenges, and opportunities of boarding school. Betsy maintained that “How the magic happened” at Powhatan was through expectations for excellence, an atmosphere which wholly supported achievement, and modelling provided by older students and hard-working faculty. Ruth synthesized it all by saying, “Powhatan makes them accountable.”

Betsy went on to mention that Woodberry now separates the ninth and tenth grades from the 11th and 12th for purposes of giving the teens a later morning to sleep in than the rest of the world. To me this shows them being responsive to the latest research and doing what is best for the student. It is a fact that we at Powhatan have been discussing for years.

She also mentioned having heard on the radio an interview with Drew Gilpin Faust, President of Harvard University and Powhatan graduate, who credited living in the Shenandoah Valley with its rich history particularly during the Civil War, with inspiring her career in that field.

We looped back to an earlier theme: the virtue of teenagers. We all agreed that teenagers could be the most exceptional folks. Throughout my life, I have dealt with people who expressed dismay or concern over the fact that I had spent 43 years teaching 12 – 15 year-olds – practically spitting out the term ‘middle-schooler.’ Almost none expected the vigor of my reply. In truth these students usually enter formal operations during this time of life. They have the intellectual hardware of an adult and the innocence of children. They usually are not jaded to the world and are superb about forming their own opinions. A class of sharp eighth graders can be a hard audience to play – which is just the way we like them. This country, now as it is about to finish the first fifth of the 21st century, needs more than ever strong-minded citizens secure in their beliefs and open to the promises of the American ideal.

It’s families like the Pritchards (Smiths) and all their descendants who have realized the possibilities and gifts that Powhatan has presented them. To me, they stand with other families whose loyalty has seen this school through the good times and the lean times. It is a family that literally walked out of a two-room country schoolhouse through the doors of Powhatan into lives of character and success. They epitomize the New World Enlightenment notion that education builds and ennobles the robust citizenry of this republic.

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Susan Porterfield Golladay, ‘62 Hanging in the McIntosh building is a bronze plaque with the title of Mary B. Porterfield Award. On it appears the name of a teacher in a particular year who had taken special training in mathematics or the sciences. What made this annual award so special was that it affirmed Powhatan’s commitment to STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics) principles long before it was the latest hot thing in education, and the award was conceived and endowed by one of the school’s distinguished alumnae, Susan Porterfield Golladay.

It all began when Mr. Porterfield was trying to help his thirdgrade daughter Susan study for her spelling test, and he realized that when she was stuck she could not sound out the word to figure out the spelling. That was it for him. Two weeks into Susan’s third grade year, her family enrolled her in Blue Ridge Country Day School. To hear Susan tell it, that move was the best thing which could have ever happened to her.

Susan ended up spending two years at the Little Red Schoolhouse, as BRCD (Blue Ridge Country Day) was sometimes styled then, then moved to Powhatan in 1957 where the school adopted that name. She recalled fondly her time with Mrs. Drury and Mrs. Lloyd. But her principal memories were from Powhatan where she spent most of her academic time on the second floor. Susan remembered science and Mr. Oxenham’s English classes in the basement lab, which once had been Dr. Mayo’s office, and she also had to travel for French. The two teachers who affected her most in those sixth through eighth grade years were Mr. Oxenham, whom she found to be tough but understanding, and Madame Slavin, whom she characterized as an inspiring French teacher. She recalled playing basketball on the uneven barn floor. She also played field hockey, soccer (where she was goalie), and specialized in high jump in track.

Some highlights included winning the mathematics award in the eighth grade in which she was a member of a five-girl, three-boys 27

class – almost all of whom she could name. It was an innocent time where the students’ idea of high jinks was one of them hiding awaiting the teacher to enter (I confirmed that modern Powhatan students still think the same thing). The two Heads during her attendance were Mr. Evans and Mr. Spencer. She recalled the tight fellowship among the students and how every one of them had a party at the Berryville Roller Rink to celebrate birthdays. The Charles Town kids all rode in a van called the Blue Goose, which picked them up at the Episcopal Church, and stopped at Smith Road (for Ruth Smith, later Pritchard), Gaylord (Franny Crawford) and Berryville’s Old Safeway (for Barbara and Susie Clagett and others) on its way to Powhatan. The van had three benches, unsecured, in the back, which paralleled the length of the bus, running front to back. There were no seat belts.

Some of the headaches of living in another state at the time included Daylight Savings Time, which West Virginia used but Virginia didn’t. This affected Susan’s after-school activities including girl scouts and choir.

School life included playing games with Hill in Middleburg and Highland in Warrenton and the friendly competition between the Posts and Rails, which she described as frequent. A highlight of the community was the awarding of ‘Blues,’ blue cards acknowledging “…something little you did.” These also earned Post/Rail points.

Powhatan Blues had disappeared when I joined the faculty in 1973, but John Lathrop reinstituted them in the 1990’s in a more formal way. The card featured the school crest and motto and was signed by the Headmaster and Board president. These awards, unique in my experience of schools and school-life, promoted kindnesses and positive acts of personal generosity and ensured that Powhatan looked for the good in her students rather than promoting public notoriety for misbehavior. I characterize Blues as a major way to address minor growth. Of course, occasional misbehavior was acknowledged with a demerit, which was served on Saturday, usually for an hour, usually involving doing small jobs like raking leaves or cleaning erasers.

Demerits did affect Post/Rail totals, subtracting points from your team. Demerits died out, for among other reasons, because they punished often busy parents (having to devote part of their weekend

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for their child’s misbehavior) and penalized your intramural team for something the collective did not do.

Susan explained that her understanding of how Posts and Rails got their name came from the local wooden fences and their two components. I asked specifically about the role Mrs. Spencer had played. The year I retired (2016) Powhatan parent Betsy Pritchard shared with me a letter she had just gotten from Carlisle Spencer’s daughter discussing school life. In it the daughter had written that her mother played a large role involving the Post/Rail competition. Mrs. Golladay was not able to tell what that role was. But she did speak about the significant role Heads’ spouses have played; e.g., Mrs. Mahaney writing the lyrics to the school song, Mrs. Niemann an integral part to Shakespeare plays with lights and costumes.

The Boyce Parish Hall of Cunningham Chapel Parish of the Episcopal church served as Powhatan’s early auditorium before the New Building (now Lindsey Library) was built in 1967. There the school would hold Carol Sing and occasional class plays and serve as the contingency site for graduations in case of rain.

Susan Golladay cited the school for having very strong academics when she attended. She characterized her own pre-Blue Ridge Country Day preparation as weak. Through tutoring and individual help from faculty such as Mrs. Lloyd, Mr. Oxenham, and Madame Slavin she was able to close the gap and excel. She felt that their work and the curriculum at Powhatan enabled her to succeed in college. Susan credited the small class size and the support as securing learning. She finished her education by attending St. Anne’s in Charlottesville, which she found to be high-charged and stressful, Penn Hall in Pennsylvania, and Bethany College from which she graduated.

Susan went on to have a distinguished career as a teacher in Frederick County public schools, and so we spent our last part of the interview talking about education and our mutual philosophies. We talked about individual assessment versus collaborative learning. Both approaches to classroom lessons reveal strengths in students with differing learning styles. We both agreed that parents who do the work for, or over-assist, their students risk sabotaging their learning and their potential. We both

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acknowledged the power of modelling. And that the genius of a school like Powhatan is that it focuses so much of the support and best practices of teaching into earlier parts of a child’s education where the brain is more plastic and less fixed. We also agreed that drill and memorization have their place in securing and enhancing memory.

Susan Golladay is an alum who has never left her school. She has continued to share her love of her time here and demonstrate that love with visits and a distinguished award named for a member of her family. Her story shows how similar the Powhatan that emerged from the old Blue Ridge Country Day and its modern-day version really are. Her story stands testament to the abiding effect education has on children – how Powhatan is the loving, strong third parent in many of her graduates’ lives.

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The house given by the Crocker family which became Powhatan School after the move from Blue Ridge Country Day.

Susi Bailey, ‘61 It was several minutes into the interview when Susi Bailey suddenly stopped, overcome with great emotion, “It was so sad.” She was talking about the Great Fire that took Powhatan’s Old Building that dramatic morning over 30 Februarys ago. “It was like losing part of the family.” She could remember getting the phone call from Jean Gilpin explaining that school was closed and why. She remembered seeing the column of smoke from her house in Berryville. Later that day, she and her twin daughters Robin and Micheline rode over to the site: to see what the fire had wrought, to see what they might do to help. This was one of many rich memories shared about her family’s deep involvement with Powhatan since its formation through to the present.

“The over-arching feeling about Powhatan is you’re part of a family.” Susi was talking specifically about the close relationship between the faculty and the students, but generally she said it applied to everything about the school. She told how her mother, the estimable Mich Clagett, an early school board member, and Betty West founded the original 31

Powhatan Shop in Berryville where she recalled getting a wonderful pair of riding boots which originally had belonged to Mrs. Christopher. The shop later moved to Winchester where it provided a support platform for clothing items rescued from closets and sold to local residents; also it raised funds for the school and contributed toward extending Powhatan’s mission into the region. But that little shop did more than provide a few much-needed extra bucks: it provided a venue for Powhatan families to work together and form a tighter community; it provided a means for sharing goods within the school and was an important outreach to those in need, extending a generous hand to others.

Susi Bailey spoke lovingly about the gifts Blue Ridge Country Day and Powhatan have given her, her sister Barbara, and three generations of her family. She touted the great preparation Powhatan, particularly study habits, gave her in her own education. It did for her sister, her daughters, and later granddaughters, Lucy and Annie, as well. She quickly added the Smiths from just north on the border between Virginia and West Virginia as another family with a three-generation history with the school.

Far from being a dreary recitation of facts and information, Susi remembers school as exciting and vibrant. For instance, the day in second grade when she caused quite a stir by bringing in one of her father’s magazines for ‘show and tell.’ It seems the magazine she had grabbed featured a little more in the way of exposure than one would ordinarily expect from a ‘grown-up’ magazine. This anecdote led her to recall that there were a few joint classes at Blue Ridge Country Day and when she was in Mrs. Gladys Lloyd’s room she could remember packing up boxes of National Geographics, the magazine which led generations of Americans to learn more about different cultures and their dressing habits than many others, for the move over to Powhatan. Susi thought it was great that Jane Caspar, her art teacher is still going strong.

She loved Mr. Oxenham, who directed her class while in the seventh grade in The Mystery of Moldy Manor, where she got to solo and kiss young John Barns for whom she had a special interest. Mr. Oxenham, who principally taught science, (one of the main features of whose lab was a box of bones called Homer, the skeleton) also taught English grammar, and like many independent school teachers, undertook a host of duties, including driving the Front Royal bus.

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Susi wins the prize for remembering the name of the Front Royal bus was the Black Maria, which along with Charles Town/Berryville’s the Blue Goose formed the backbone of Powhatan’s early transportation system. Whether the Black Maria also had three unsecured benches like the Blue Goose is yet to be determined. Mrs. Millie Hummer drove the Blue Goose, and she must have been gentle. There are no reports of flying kids like cruise missiles.

Susi Bailey remembered the time her eighth grade class played football in the classroom and being discovered by a not-too-pleased Mr. Spencer. The large barn served as a gym, and of course there was the white clapboard house right behind the science lab where Marshall lived and where allegedly a baby had died years earlier due to smoke inhalation from a fire. Marshall was well-known for mowing the yard with a mule-pulled gang of mowers. She credits Mrs. Gladys Lloyd’s emphasis on drill with providing her Jeopardy talents. She loved playdates with her schoolmates, especially visiting Drew Gilpin. She also recalled as a special reward leaving Mrs. Gosnell’s classroom and going to thirdgrade teacher Miss Drury class to learn cursive.

School life was rich in her graduating class of nine, three boys and six girls. Susi recalls Beth Myrin joining her class in the eighth grade and she and the others immediately electing her president (her college-aged brother Billy became the soccer coach). I could recall the same dynamic playing out in some of the homerooms I had had.

Neither of us could decide if the dynamic was reluctance to serve on the student council or Powhatan students were especially sensitive towards integrating new kids into the fold. Susi said that snow days were rare, relating the story how she and her sister along with the Weisses, with whom they often carpooled, having the tractor get them down to route 7 so they could meet the Blue Goose. On winter days they often went across the road and skated on the Gilpin’s pond at Scaleby. Posts/Rails were important, Susi noted that she was a Post and her younger sister Barbara came in as a Rail – but they got that straightened out soon.

There was a great deal of parent/student interaction then including fun events like parent/student soccer games, involving parents like her mom and Mrs. Lucy Gilpin. I could remember some of those too, but we decided to discontinue them after a particularly energetic group of dads wearing field boots nearly wiped out our varsity boys team.

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In the end Powhatan could have hardly prepared her better for high school. It was a place that, among other disciplines, produced many great writers, including her granddaughter Lucy, who won the coveted Nancy Talley award. Powhatan laid a great foundation which later opened many doors. Susi Bailey feels fortunate to have experienced the feeling of being supported here, a place that met you where you were and assisted you in your development. She noted that if you were a good student this was a simply excellent school. She was proud to be part of a model community which prepared her academically and socially for the world, experiences like her later debutante tour of Europe with schoolmate Karen West, complete with their own hairdressers.

Susi Bailey maintains, “The parents put together a top-notch school.” Powhatan mirrored the theme of family: your family, the Powhatan family, and as Warren Hofstra so ably put in A Separate Place: The Formation of Clarke County, Virginia, the county you lived in. And that feeling, that special acceptance that has echoed over and been secured by generations, has served to connect and sustain all of us privileged to have come through her door: We learn not for school but for life.

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Jane Caspar When I first joined the faculty, one of the real treasures to discover was backstage. There were painted flats of forests, palaces, inn rooms – all towering in the darkness. There were the forests of Arden, Illyria, the streets of Ephesus, the magic woods outside Athens. And virtually all of them had sprung from the mind of Jane Caspar and were largely painted by her – and her students. Almost all of that wealth of scenery now has been reworked, painted over, and assimilated into new backgrounds. But generations of actors and audiences witnessed and appreciated Jane Caspar’s hand and vision.

Jane Caspar was the art teacher at Powhatan for sixteen years, hired by Bob Evans and finished under Don Niemann (It had looked like Jane’s family would be moving down state, following husband Alan’s job. Meanwhile the transfer fell through, but Mr. Niemann already had hired a replacement teacher.). Jane still stayed in the periphery because of her connection with the Blue Ridge Players, the local theatre group which used Powhatan as its stage. Jane is multi-talented. I recall her producing a fiddle once while singing in the Cunningham Chapel choir and playing a lilting rendition of Bach’s Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desire. Ms. Caspar was a Fine Arts Major at Cornell University and is still fiddle playing, now in the Winchester Celtic Circle. She previously had played for square dances, Civil War affairs, weddings, funerals and anything else you can think of.

Jane and her family were from the Troy, New York area. When she and her family arrived – first living in the Double Tollgate area, where the immediate school option was a two-roomed schoolhouse in Armel – she learned about Blue Ridge Country Day School in Millwood. She got to know the new Head Bob Evans, whom she described as a fine arts person who was a strong visionary. (Son Alois said he didn’t want to go to BRCD because they ‘played baseball with iron balls’ – young Caspar had witnessed the kids practicing shot put for Field Day.) In 1956 Evans hired Jane, who had never taught before – though she did come from 35

a family of about five generations of teachers. Evans wanted to give the students a hearty dose of the visual arts. So Jane joined legends Hal Oxenham and Madame Slaven, both of whom were semi-retired and were teaching at Blue Ridge. Jane said many of the teachers there then fit that description. Jane said she started the kids off with them finding colors, drawing border pictures, and pictures of Easter. A hallmark of her philosophy was everyone does everything. Just as today, students were involved in all aspects of the art experience. Everyone had his or her art shown. Later Don Niemann asked Jane if she wanted to give art awards, but Caspar declined, saying she thought “that everyone’s work was his own expression and done for his own self, not as competition which would have made it too self-conscious.”

Another aspect of her work at Powhatan was being the soccer coach for the four/five girls. She had learned the game from a cousin and ‘reveled’ in teaching the basics: ball control, good defense, and passing. Because of that approach the ‘Middle School’ girls won a great deal. Jane said she was very proud of her work with the team.

Jane was also interested in the Dramatic Arts and a big draw for her was the Blue Ridge Players, which was tightly associated with the Niemanns and, therefore, Powhatan. Jane could recall a performance of The Potomac English Handbell Ringers, a world-class performance group, which did a fund-raiser for the Players at school in a Spring evening of 1974. I recalled that benefit performance too because I played on that team. The point was that the Blue Ridge Players and the school seemed to be intertwined. It was an organic connection that tied together the world of learning and the world of public speaking.

Powhatan’s reputation, justly earned and underlined, of integrating the arts into every kid’s education was a winner. The process of putting on a play, making active use of students for every possible aspect of production, and maintaining an active connection with The Blue Ridge Players was, according to Jane, “a great adjunct for the school.”

Another aspect of the Powhatan experience Jane loved was the school seemed to admit kids with differences. What made this so fundamentally nice was the culture of the school was such that everyone took care of everyone. “I saw no meanness or bullying,” Jane noted.

She talked about one student who basically had her own program at

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Powhatan, was notably unique, and was fully integrated into all activities.

“The other kids always helped watch her and included her.” I certainly noticed the same kind of kindness shown on countless occasions. Jane ended, “Always the kids were nice.”

Jane talked about lining the fields with people like John Johnston and Paula Myer, whom Jane especially liked. Jane and Paula also connected through Paula’s husband Fred and Eric Myer, Paula’s brotherin-law, who also, like Jane, attended Cornell where she graduated in 1949.

Jane affectionately remembered her ‘first’ students: ones she mentioned were Franny Crawford, Drew Gilpin, Nicky Dunning, and Tucker Wilson. She added “all the Porterfields from Charles Town and Ruth Smith.” She also reminisced about friends she made at Blue Ridge, particularly Gertie Watkins and Janie Harrison.

Jane became the semi-official artist of Powhatan, producing several iconic paintings of the Old Building. One she did for Powhatan icon Portia Gosnell. Another hangs in the main office of Powhatan.

Another successful project meant to raise money for the school that Jane was a crucial part of was the Powhatan Cookbook, ‘Cooking for Company.’ The book was illustrated entirely with student drawings.

Jane showed me examples from Trigg Talley, Liddy Damron, Tom Baughan, Caroline Lee, David Weiss, Anne Hyde, Robin York, and Brad Brondstater – among many others.

Next, in words, Mrs. Caspar painted an almost Currier and Ives scene of her and Powhatan kids skating on a pond at Scaleby, which they often did for sports during the winter. She noted that she was often with the kids, in some activity watching them, rather than the adults. Jane added that they became her friends as they did fun activities together. I knew just what she meant. The same effects and feelings rolled over me time and again when the students and members of the faculty played games or worked on projects together over the years. Jane summed up her experiences as: “We had fun. Nothing bad happened.”

Jane said that for her it was great fun also teaching in the old house, Powhatan, which had been converted into a school. She said the ambience there was “informal, different – lots of space. Apparently 37

her initial studio was in a part of the house with extensive stone walls (making it a challenge to display art). Later it was moved to the ‘old dining room,’ where it was when I became a member of the faculty in 1973.

Mrs. Caspar did return to the extensive library of set flats she left at Powhatan as a legacy. She added that she had done largely the same thing for Wayside Theatre. Speaking of families which had sent large numbers of children she brought up the Bozells. She listed John, Michael, Brent, Maureen, Eloise, and Patricia. She mentioned each child in light of something she or he had accomplished as part of a project or team they were on associated with Jane.

Jane was great for remembering minutiae, small facts, from her era.

She knew Farland house (now with the Ferrell expansion) as Marshall’s house, where the property caretaker lived. But Jane remembered he had a mule named Jake that, tying in with Dave Donovan’s recollection, paired with a white horse and pulled a gang mower over the Powhatan fields. Jane also remembered the move from the Little Red Schoolhouse to Powhatan as basically a non-event. Something that happened over the summer. With everyone arriving at the new school in September.

Jane remembered the picture of the U.S.S. Powhatan which hung in the hall. She also remembered after Blue Ridge Players’ performances returning with the Niemanns and company to The Briars and later, The River House where everyone would gather around and sing World War II songs. She also recalled long winter evenings at Lakeville, Tyson Gilpin’s property, where everyone would skate, illuminated by the headlights of cars.

Jane Caspar is another example of someone of great talent and abundant ability who happened to follow the signs and end up at Powhatan. Like almost all of them her contributions are still there to recognize and appreciate. Jane is a personification of the arts community which has flourished because of Powhatan’s mission. She like others is part of the tapestry, academic and regional, that Powhatan School, a place she has styled as the ‘change academy,’ has woven as its history.

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Beloved teacher Carolyn Morgoglione at Powhatan School.

Carolyn Morgoglione A graduate of Salisbury State Teachers College, Carolyn wanted more than public education for her children. She and husband Dino enrolled their young children in parochial schools for their first few years. When Dino’s career took him to Virginia’s northern Shenandoah Valley in the early 1960’s, they located Powhatan School and made an appointment to visit. As fortune would have it, they followed a Nash Rambler station wagon into the Powhatan driveway. They parked behind the Nash under the port-cochere, got out of their car and met “this man with movie star good looks”. That man was Donald Niemann, who was just beginning his time at Powhatan. Don and his wife Cornelia were moving some of their things into the school that day.

Discussions with Don quickly convinced Carolyn and Dino that Powhatan was the place for daughter Terri and son Greg. They recognized that the white schoolhouse was a special place for kids and enrolled them.

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While the children started Powhatan, Carolyn found a position teaching second grade at Boyce Elementary, where among other students she taught my first cousin, Susie Kagey. When years later my cousin discovered I was teaching with Carolyn, she emphatically avowed how Mrs. Morgoglione had been her all-time favorite teacher, a sentiment she shared with tons of students then and later.

Carolyn also made quite an impression on Don Niemann, because he soon recruited her to teach at Powhatan. Carolyn, now Mrs. Morgoglione to the Powhatan family, joined the faculty as a fourth form (grade) teacher where she taught one of her first ‘favorite’ classes, one which included her daughter Terri and Page Monahan. The next year she moved to the third form (grade) where she stayed until she ended her career as Assistant Head and Head of the Lower School. Her move meant that she missed teaching her son Greg. But the move did mean that she got to be next door to the equally legendary Portia Gosnell, her beloved mentor who informed Carolyn’s career with a flood of great ideas. Their collaboration underlined what we who spent years at Powhatan know, that lessons learned span careers and generations, becoming the communal legacy of “the school we hold so dear.”

Carolyn sang the praises of the man who hired her, Don Niemann.

She pointed out how he always supported his faculty and carried with him an innate respect for the children who made up our school community.

She noted that her son Greg was always forgetting his belt, and that forgetfulness was on the verge of becoming a family irritant. One day while shaking hands with Greg, Don made mention of his missing belt and offered a few pieces of sage advice for remembering to wear it.

Carolyn said that Greg and the forgotten belt never were an issue again.

Mrs. Morgoglione noted another strength of Mr. Niemann. She characterized him as always supportive of his faculty and a head who held great respect for the kids of the school. Carolyn rued the ‘horrible’ accident, the infamous car accident in Waterloo, which came awfully close to killing Don and left him with significant physical challenges the rest of his life. She described that entire period as ‘not Powhatan.’

That difficult era came to an abrupt end with the accession of Billy Peebles, whom Carolyn described as ‘a gift from heaven.’ Billy Peebles, whom Mrs. Morgoglione also labeled ‘the real deal,’ led the school

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through its literal trial by fire, the Great Fire of 1988, which almost everyone of the then Powhatan community recalled as a wonderful team-building, community experience. This legacy of working as a strong team was continued under John Lathrop and later embraced in the administration of Sue Scarborough.

Carolyn described two of her all time ‘funniest’ moments at Powhatan. Her first one was when she looked out into the library one day and saw two notable scamps (both of whom turned out to be the most wonderful adults) chasing each other through the stacks. The other one was when she was carrying the Virginia Company’s container of lemonade to the library sink to be rinsed out at the end of the day, and she tripped over a recumbent second-grader who was freereading in the library, soaking everything around, including her hair, with lemonade. Carolyn’s saddest memory dealt with Don Niemann’s accident and his subsequent reluctant retirement.

Both Carolyn and I agreed that it doesn’t get much better than returning to Powhatan for a visit. Carolyn said, “I just love the little kids!”

– a sentiment with which I heartily concur (the big kids too). Carolyn stands in awe of the multitude of ‘new’ teachers who have moved in and begun distinguished careers here. She also noted J. T. Anderson, whom both of us taught and for whom both of us have exactly the same reaction, was ‘terrific.’ Carolyn, who was deeply moved by J.T.’s dynamism and love of the school, shared with me that she almost always had an “I am part of that” reaction (the same with me) when she witnessed him in action.

Mrs. Morgoglione said that her favorite day of school was Opening Day, when the whole school would convene in Ibit’s Courtyard. To her it was her favorite ‘Powhatan Day.’ To Carolyn, Powhatan was all about preparation, promoting kind and gentle ways, and graduating great writers, giving her own two children as proof. Her standard advice to all young families, whether Powhatan grads or not, is “move here so you can send your kids here.”

Carolyn also mentioned the incredible positive nature of the Post/ Rail competition, which her kids who were Posts loved.

She also remembered fondly the field trips the third grade took to Williamsburg and later in the year to Monticello and Montpelier.

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Carolyn chuckled when she recalled how we used to use parents for transportation. One memorable trip featured one of our more leadenfooted parents zooming past Carolyn’s car, top down, with the kids’ hair flying amid a shrill chorus of giggles. That experience spooked Carolyn so much that she decided to rent buses after that. Definitively, Carolyn stated the issue on the field trips was always the parents, never the kids.

Mrs. Morgoglione’s class was always notable for the learning centers and themed lessons which tied all of her teaching into a unified gestalt. The Virginia Company, Writing Workshop, and Cross-stitch were all significant examples of this. Her innate organizational skills underlined the success of her project-based learning. Everyday kids could arrive at her class ready to go, confident that Mrs. Morgoglione had everything they needed staged and ready. That kind of preparation and staging is another trait that separates the extraordinary from the ordinary when charting faculty success. Carolyn set the mark, this way and every way, in securing her legacy as one of the great pillars of Powhatan faculty.

Carolyn Morgoglione ended our interview with queries about my kids (my eldest Tom still credits Mrs. Morgoglione with securing his ability to read when he transferred into Powhatan by tutoring him all summer). She also praised all of her “wonderful colleagues,” whom she led through support and by example, and whose enduring esteem is a mantle she wears with grace and pride. She wouldn’t forget the plays, which she said were so important to her kids, Terri and Greg and all the students she taught; Carolyn focused on one “Here’s to Virginia,” which was written for her class by the inestimable Cornelia Niemann.

Lastly, Carolyn Morgoglione made mention of one, in her opinion, of Powhatan’s greatest strengths: “Kids can make a mistake here.” No expectation of perfection. Just a deep recognition that everyone is trying to do his or her best.

When the roll is called “way up yonder,” we all know Carolyn Morgoglione will be listed in the principals. One year when she was heading up the Colonial Fair and walking across the campus in her beautiful colonial dress, colleague Paula Myer caught sight of her and quipped, “There goes the Virgin Queen.” She wasn’t laughing. Carolyn Morgoglione and great teaching are synonyms uttered in the same breath.

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Beloved former Headmaster Donald Niemann.

Eliza Niemann, ‘72 The ubiquitous briarwood pipe always secured under the curl of Don Niemann’s left index finger, Portia Gosnell saying there were doughnuts in the library work room, the table filling up with others: Judy Dougherty, Paula Myer, Hal Oxenham, Jane and Holland Clarke, Carolyn Morgoglione, Frances Everly, Evelyn Barley, Madame Staub, Jay Test, Camille Cira, Noelle Cummings, Ann Wheeler, and Laura Robb – among some few others. My first faculty meeting was about to begin.

Determined to appear casual, Don Niemann wore a button-down Oxford, open-collared without a tie along with belted khaki trousers.

You could have sliced bread with the crease. He looked like a glossy ad from Gentleman’s Quarterly. It was the week after Labor Day 1973.

Don started crisply. He began by saying he would be out for several weeks while he was having a lesion removed from one of his lungs (blessedly, it turned out to be nothing at all serious). He then proceeded to review the year before. Beginning to review graduation,

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Don and Cornelia relaxing in front of The River House

Don was interrupted by someone congratulating him from the table on his daughter winning the Mahaney Cup along with Caroline Clark. I turned back to face him.

Mr. Niemann grew still; then his face began to contort. He was overcome, and he was weeping. I learned that day that Don Niemann was an emotional man who sometimes wept – particularly if it involved a student he admired or it was one of his own children. His tears revealed a father whose beloved daughter Eliza had earned an honor he may not have expected, but about which he was immensely proud.

It was the last day of November, 2017, 44 years and approximately three months from that long-ago day, and I was talking to Eliza – whom I’ve always called Liza – about her time and her family at Powhatan. Of the four Niemann children (Drix, Nemo, and Nela are the others) Liza is the youngest, the only one who went all the way through Powhatan. So, her memories were filled with always being at school with her mother and father. Sitting in the old living room doing homework and having dinner. The aroma of pipe smoke drifting from her father’s office. His booming voice.

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For Liza, it was a challenge dealing with classmates who were always aware she was the Headmaster’s daughter. But then there were the joys of winning the Latin Prize, the almost uncontainable excitement of Field Day, and the simple privilege of being allowed in the light booth.

Ultimately though Liza loved being with her mom and dad – helping prepare and serve at the elegant faculty cocktail parties her parents hosted, assisting her mother as she put together incredible picnics for the faculty at Field Day. I can still recall the jugs of yummy Bloody Marys, each individual drink served with a crisp stalk of celery.

Imagine that today. The vice squad would be there to impound each of us. Every once in a while, the good old days really were good.

One of Liza’s memories dealt with a fellow actor who had the role of Prospero in The Tempest. Seems as if this young sir had neglected memorizing his lines. So, Cornelia, Liza’s mom, had him over as a house guest the weekend before, drilling lines. The memories of 14 and 15-year-olds are prodigious, particularly when supported by maternal reminders such as, “Your parents will be in the audience;” “Surely, you’d never want to embarrass yourself or your classmates.” The one-two of drill and persuasion worked, and Prospero was just fine. Sometimes our young teenagers have to be reminded just how capable they are.

Liza also recalled the field trip to Gettysburg where the great panoramic painting of the three-division attack known as Pickett’s Charge was featured, capturing the very moment when the Confederates had broken through the center of the Union line and the Union reinforcements were arriving to secure victory in the greatest battle of the Civil War. Because of small class size and the constant presence of parents, Powhatan field trips then always seemed like exquisite family outings full of fun, experiences, and good information. They still do. I know from my trips taking the seventh grade to Antietam that the more parents who came along the more fun we had, and the students were calmer and more focused.

In fact, Liza made the case that Powhatan was synonymous with parents. Parents started the school, served as trustees, chaperoned field trips, presented guest lessons (I can still recall Nancy Friant intoning, “I’m nobody. Who are you?” introducing students to the joys of Emily

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Dickinson), led capital campaigns, manned sno-cone booths, cheered from the sidelines, applauded class plays, drove for field trips, and bridged the gap from living rooms to classrooms. It was a grand passage from family, to school, to community, and to the world – a continuation which ensured healthy, vital children.

The period following her father’s automobile accident in 1981 was a difficult time for Liza, her family, and for the school community.

The accident started a chain of events which led to Mr. Niemann being replaced with first interim, then permanent Head Bill Old. This was an extremely painful time for the Niemann family and the school. However, Don Niemann went on to found, along with supporters, Jefferson Country Day School, where he served as their initial Headmaster. When Billy Peebles was hired in 1985 one of the top priorities he had was healing the breach between Don Niemann and Powhatan School. There were few dry eyes when Billy led Don Niemann into the library during a faculty/trustee reception. Our long institutional nightmare was over.

Don Niemann entered Westminster Canterbury, a rehabilitative and retirement facility, in 2004. It was then that the family uncovered a trove of memorabilia which has mostly all made its way back to Powhatan. Don served as guest of honor at our Shakespeare plays (and, the truth will out, one of our acting award judges) for years. In fact, one year we took, I believe, Much Ado About Nothing for a road performance to Westminster Canterbury. What a thrill it was to highlight Don, who was sitting in the front row, in our introduction and tell his fellow residents what a grand tradition he and his wife Cornelia had brought to Powhatan and its community.

Tom Gilpin noted, “When Don Niemann arrived, the school graduated to another tier academically.” Mr. Niemann was quite traditional in some regards: the boys all wore coats and ties and the girls wore dresses. Students shook hands with him every Friday for dismissal and were expected to display exceptional manners every day. Every day began with Morning Chapel, to which Mr. Niemann frequently arrived late. Don was progressive as an educator: his tenure marked a strong commitment to the arts, academic field trips, and a full slate of sports – not to overlook his role in bringing full-length Shakespeare plays to the stage starring every eighth grader. Academic subjects were also enhanced and taught at a high level.

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Mr. Niemann was also known for his booming voice and immense personal demeanor. Indeed, he could be quite intimidating. Naturally, students were sometimes fearful about going to his office. Liza related the story of one of her classmates, a young man who graduated as one of the all-time stars of the Powhatan community. It seems the young man cheated on a French quiz, and Madame Staub sent him to Mr. Niemann. I’m sure his life flashed before his eyes. But in the office Don became the compassionate father and counseled the young man about the incident and its outcome. I have a similar story about a young man who made some bad choices with a Polaroid camera he had secretly brought to school. In Western culture, the highest form of justice, the most difficult one to attain, is mercy. As Don Niemann showed from time to time, it is also the most effective.

Liza loved everything about the Post/Rail competition: the bees, the soccer games, and the “Magic of Field Day.” Her favorite event was the obstacle race. Rte. 723 would practically be impassable during Field Day, blocked with parked cars, just as the fields were swarming with kids, cousins, parents, and aunts. The day would end with a spirited softball game usually involving students and parents while the faculty would settle into a picnic lunch prepared by the incredible culinary talents of Cornelia Niemann. Liza recalls being inseparable with her friends, Caroline Clark and Susan Lee, who were constantly being shepherded around by Susan’s dad, Barry, who called Liza “my darkhaired daughter.” Lee’s are famous for ferrying around kids. My mother, then Anne Ridgeway, fondly recalled Barry’s dad Ed hauling her and her teammates all over Jack’s barn and back to attend games or go to picnics.

Liza recited her Lower and Middle School teachers without a blip: Mrs. Gosnell, Mrs. Everly, Mrs. Morgoglione, Mrs. Parks, and Mrs. Robb. She named Mr. Schreiber and Mr. Oxenham as significant Upper School teachers and Madame Staub and Madame Slavin as inspiring her in French. Mrs. Myers taught Liza field hockey which she played well into college, along with other sports.

When the Niemann’s arrived in 1963, Boyce had its old phone system, and Powhatan’s number was 9. You’d get on the line, the operator would say, “What number?” and you’d say, “9.” With any luck Odie Yowell would pick up the phone and say, “Powhatan School.” My 47

own grandparents’ number was “13J,” which meant you had to get an operator, have her connect with the Boyce telephone exchange, and tell her “13J.” Liza also shared her father’s early morning ritual. Don Niemann every morning before he left his room flipped a silver dollar he had.

Then he rubbed a little statue of Buddha’s belly. All of this was for good luck.

Lastly, Liza returned to the theme of parents and their community support. She touched on their role in securing manners, how they underpinned and enhanced academic lessons, and how they chaperoned field trips and were part of big field trip dinners like the DC area Italian restaurant Gusti’s.

Eliza Niemann, Mahaney Cup winner and youngest member of one of the most storied families in the school’s history, epitomizes a successful Powhatan graduate out in the world. I couldn’t help but see strong echoes of her father and mother in every aspect of her demeanor and her story. Liza carries a unique perspective of life at Powhatan, being a Niemann child. With her and her strong memories every aspect of Powhatan and its inclusive, embracing community is extolled.

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Beloved Coach Paula Myer with her Field Hockey team in 1991.

Paula Myer This interview ought to be written on the fairest stock in gold ink; for, nothing, in my opinion, epitomizes more the magical Powhatan ethos than the career of Paula Myer. My first year I knew Paula as my senior colleague and division head (sports). She was coaching field hockey. Every day I could see the girls drilling. Every time I talked to her she shared her anxiety. “I have no idea how we’re going to get past Highland’s (her opening opponent) back field. They are huge, aggressive, and fast.” I always commented positively and hopefully. She always countered with a new concern. I found myself wondering if the game was already lost, and Mrs. Myer was preparing her team for the inevitable loss. Flash ahead several weeks. I was down with my team, 4-5 boys soccer, practicing on the big field because the Upper School was away, when the Powhatan bus carrying the teams returned. The windows were down and the riders erupted into a loud, sustained cheer.

I assumed ‘the boys won and the girls may have pulled off a tight win.’

I saw Paula after dismissal and she recapped both games. The truth was

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the boys lost 2 – 1 and the girls had romped something like 13 – 2. I was incredulous. I questioned Paula, “I thought you were so worried…”

Lesson one: great coaches prepare thoroughly, focusing first on what the worst could be. It seems players like Anne Marie Devereux, who that day scored multiple goals, Susan White, Liddy Damron, Liz Wright, and Jocelyn Teats, among others, had dominated the field and run all around and over Highland’s immense lineup. I was at Powhatan for five years before Paula Myer’s teams had lost five games. Total.

Before she enrolled her sons Kevin and Philip at Powhatan, Paula Myer had been the girls’ field hockey coach at Sidwell Friends in Washington, DC. She had been born and raised near Chester, PA, a hotbed of field hockey lore and participation. After she, her husband Fred, and her family moved into the area, it only seemed natural that she offer her services to Powhatan. Don Niemann was a visionary, but even he could not have foreseen the full impact this hire would have on sports, her colleagues, and the legend of the school.

Paula was always ready with a kind word, a helping hand, and wise counsel. Her remarks were filled to the brim with concern and insights about the children. But the greatest virtue she held, in my opinion, was her candor. If Paula had an issue with you, she told you face to face. Paula Myer did not gossip. And if you were her colleague, then she was your friend. If you were her friend, she had your back. Every time. Every day.

Paula Myer was always talking, telling you about an alum she had just seen, planning the next athletic event, discussing the latest school news, and always eliciting your opinion, your insight. One day I was in the Old Building faculty lounge when Paula cornered me about a skein of issues. She was methodically working through her list when I had to excuse myself to the restroom, right next door. She followed me, never stopping her discourse. Finally I entered the bathroom and closed the door. Paula was right there just on the other side, still talking, “I want to tell you that I’ve ordered the sawdust for the broad jump pit…” At that point I lost it and burst out laughing. Paula laughed too. We still laugh about it. Ah, a family school…

When I interviewed her, she left me with pages of notes and great quotes: “When my sons went there, Powhatan was such a wonderful learning experience;” “…like an extended home;” “The culture there 50

The dynamic duo Paula Myer and Carolyn Morgoglione at an annual meeting of the corporation.

was outstanding; the kids were special, fun and focused out to the world;” “…outstanding culture;” “…so many fun experiences we had together;” “…so many special stories;” “I can’t wait to come back for the 70th anniversary;” “…the school was so personal;” “I reminisce about the school and the kids;” “…so much like a family;” (about St. Tim’s open field hockey tournament) “We won – wiped ‘em out;” “…still love the school – always;” “I just loved the new gym;” “…all those wonderful times together;” “…gathering around the Grandfather tree, where the Lower School…;” (about a departed colleague) “I just loved her and how much she loved the school.”

Paula Myer worked for over 30 years at Powhatan School. She was Head of Athletics and she helped in the office. Paula produced a contract for 1976 – 77, explaining the breakdown between the two jobs.

You could have tripled the total amount and not gotten to $15,000.

There are other reasons why people choose education as a career.

Gaining wealth is usually not one of them.

In the office, Paula assisted Camille Cira and, later, Helen Fox. Paula’s main task in the office was paying bills. This was pre-xerox so everything used was mimeographed, a process in which stencils were 51

‘cut’ on a typewriter then placed onto a cylinder. An acetone-like liquid, a strong solvent, then dissolved ink which printed the stencil on to a single piece of paper. Every time you turned the crank a copy was produced. It was usually a mess. A long mimeo run would suffuse the office air with enough acetone odor as to make you wonder whether you were passed out, or not.

Paula and I would almost always talk about our former students (we still do). It was amazing how often she would see them out in public. She’d always catch me up. Of special note were stories about students who had died. Paula would always get choked up, then blubber, “I swear, I’d bawl at Idi Amin’s funeral,” referring to the then muchmaligned Ugandan dictator. I’d always nod and pat her on the shoulder.

One of our ‘kids’ was gone, and it hurt. It hurt worse than anyone could imagine.

She noted how sad it was that the Old Building burned in 1988.

She recalled the moment when she and I arrived almost simultaneously and stood with Billy Peebles before we departed to my house to call the board members. Paula had been sound asleep when the phone rang. It was Billy Peebles. He had arrived in the early morning at the back door and could see flames – Paula said, “Thank God, he didn’t open the door.

He could have been engulfed in a backdraft.” Billy then entered the front door and called at least Harry Byrd, Board President, and Paula Myer. She urged him to call the fire department. Paula jumped into her car at Westfield Farm. But she was stopped by a 100-car train, which blocked their long lane. Powhatan alum, her son Philip, came with the Boyce Volunteer Fire Department. The fire was working from the back of the building to the front. With the front windows cracking, Philip was the last person to leave the building. The fire was tragic, but Paula noted (she was not the only one to do so) that “the fire brought us all together.”

The fire cost the loss of many things, including a shipment of brand-new lacrosse helmets. But the firemen were able to save the New Building, now Lindsey Library, and Marshall’s House, now the Farland Building, by dousing both continuously with hoses.

Even goddesses have their foil, and for our Paula it was snakes. Of course, we only saw black snakes around the campus, but Paula usually didn’t stay around for an identification. Her famous snake story was 52

that McDonald’s was delivering lunch one day when she and Helga Goodyear, a former bookkeeper, noticed a big black snake crawl under the McDonald’s van. Helga had the presence to reach into the van and start it. Paula just ran. Another time, when the only way to the lower fields was on a small footbridge over the creek right next to Rte. 723, Paula and I were walking down for sports. Right next to the entrance was a huge, vine-covered tree trunk. I noticed two intertwined black snakes sticking out of the ivy. We were right there. I purposely made a remark which caused Paula to look over her shoulder back at me. We sailed on by. At the end of the sports period, I felt honor-bound to tell Paula what I had seen. To this day I can’t recall how she got past that tree bole. You can bet that old tree trunk was soon gone.

Powhatan won the 1976 Quadri-School Track Meet, the first time in many, many moons. It would start a four-year run that ended up changing the event forever. But because we had won and had beaten the field at our principal rival’s (use your imagination) home field we took the Tri-School Champion’s cup (named for an earlier iteration of our league). Paula and as many of us as we could gather took the cup to the Lone Oak, Waterloo’s only watering hole, where we toasted ourselves from the cup extensively. Later we adjourned to The River House where we stayed until the wee hours of the morning, drinking many toasts to sweet victory. Don Niemann honored the win with a Headmaster’s holiday, the only one we ever celebrated over my entire career.

During my second year at school, I began driving the Berryville bus route, and we would enter Boyce on Old Chapel road. This particular morning Page Brook had flooded over the road. A flood sign indicated the water was one foot over the pavement. I knew this was quite passable from my own family’s experience, but I thought it would have been better to turn around. That’s when the voices from the back of the bus began to chorus, “Mrs. Yowell always would cross it.” O, the fallacies of seduction! I revved up the engine and plowed across.

Almost.

Twenty feet from the far edge (it was a very broad flood pan) the bus died. I tried the ignition.

Nothing.

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So I began ferrying kids on my back to the dry road. A driver appeared and offered to call the school. Within minutes here was Paula and another bus. The kids all climbed into the spare bus, and I, feet sopping wet, rode with Paula. With Paula there was no such thing as one stop shopping, so we went west of Boyce along 723 in search of Ethel Troupe, who had also tangled with some flood waters and hit a telephone pole. We made it as far as Bill and Martha Cook’s house before the waters stopped us. The only one there was the maid, whom Paula knew, so after we found out that Ethel was alright too, the maid gave us both coffee and got me a pair of Bill Cook’s socks.

Later that day Billy Thompson and his crew, our bus mechanics, went down to retrieve the bus.

They said it started right up. Apparently by trying to zoom across I had thrown water up into the distributor, shorting it out. The heat of the engine dried out the distributor. When they got there, it started and they drove it right out. Lesson: if you have to cross flooded roadway, drive slowly.

Another adventure was the time Paula and I, during a break in my schedule, drove to Bill Miller’s Foremost Furniture on the north end of Winchester. We were using my pickup truck to go get boxes of foam trimmings he had saved for us that we were going to use in our high jump pit. Returning to Powhatan we crossed the Rte. 7 bridge over 81. Either air from the highway or from traffic passing us in the other lane caused the biggest of the boxes to rise and deposit itself – and its bazillion pieces of foam – right onto the road. I stopped the truck, Paula directed traffic, I shoveled foam into the box, and after what seemed to be hours of scrounging for pieces of foam and near misses of traffic, we got the box back into the truck. As we crept off Paula turned to me and said, “Guess who I saw while the mess was its worst?” She then named a county supervisor and former Powhatan Board President. I can’t tell you what I then said.

One spring we were traveling to Warrenton to the Highland School, and our bus began making ominous sounds. We stopped on rte 17 near a rural realty office. This was well before cell phones and the office kindly let us use their phones. Paula called Highland and

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arranged for their coach Barbara Wilkes to come pick us up. I arranged for the bus to be looked at and for another Powhatan bus to come pick us up. As I remember, we won both games and returned safely. But I recall most how nice the staff was at the real estate office: letting the kids use the restroom, letting us use their phones, offering to help us any way they could.

There were other notable bus incidents too: When Billy Peebles ferried the girls and Paula to St. Timothy’s Open Field Hockey Tournament (which Paula summed up as, “We won. We wiped them out…”), and the little bus kept dying. Billy and his wife Penny were entertaining a newly dating young couple who would go on to wed and produce three distinguished Powhatan alumni. Billy called Penny, apologizing for his lateness. Of course Peebles was beside himself, evoking one of Paula’s landmark descriptions, “…he looked like he was doing St. Vitus’ dance.” The culprit this time was the bus fuel filter.

Another incident included a rendezvous with a tombstone in a cemetery, when a new driver – because he was late – decided to save some time dropping a team off and made an ill-fated decision to take a short cut through a cemetery. Naturally they were having a funeral at the time, which meant backing up the entire bus all the way across the cemetery, full of kids. A small tombstone got knocked over; the tailpipe of the bus got knocked off. Lord knows if the ‘dearly departed’ and his family fully appreciated the final send-off he got. Paula said it was a quiet bus ride home. Well, not really quiet, the bus tail pipe was still in the cemetery…

Under Bill Old several of the senior staff decided it would be a good idea to get us together in one place to plan the next month out until the end of the year. Paula stepped up and offered Fred’s and her place on Westfield Farm for an early morning meeting with a full country-style breakfast. We all got there very early on a late April or early May morning. The morning was crystal clear. Paula and Fred lived in a beautiful grove. It was a spring morning like only the Great Valley of Virginia could supply. Paula outdid herself: eggs, bacon, sausage, waffles, jams, maple syrup, fresh coffee. We planned out the special events and timetable for the rest of the school year. We all were in such a wonderful mood that it was a struggle to tear ourselves away to go meet the children at school. Paula had worked her magic yet again.

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Paula and Fred were always doing things for the school. We got the lower field – the one nearest Millwood – around the time she joined the staff. Fred would mow. Paula and crew would clear cow pies. Once a student from Highland with the most beautiful white shoes entered the field and found a fresh cow pie instantly. Funny how that happens.

We’d also put the lines for the fields down, using a hand-pushed limer.

The lime would drift up and I’d start sneezing. I would ‘achoo’ myself around the track.

Paula and Fred had a great Ford station wagon, which they named Harrison. After the years Harrison acquired his own set of quirks, all great cars do. John Lathrop was visiting the school before he was hired, and Paula offered him a ride down to the fields. At that moment Harrison decided to put on a show. Amidst the finery of athletic equipment, rosters, clipboards, spare jerseys, and a menagerie of balls, John sat in state, waiting for Harrison to decide to start and engage in gear. Paula chuckled when she related how John politely declined her offer for a ride back and walked.

Paula also was our de facto school nurse. I can still recall her jerry-rigging a window shutter so we could safely cart Beth Dawson up to the main school building when she broke her arm. At Upper School retreat she and Harrison took young Harry Byrd to the clinic to have a fish hook extracted from his finger. Also, at another retreat she and Dr. Rosie Cannarella took Amy Mahon, who was having an asthma attack, all the way from Yellow Springs, WV to Winchester Hospital. Once at retreat at Front Royal’s Four-H Center, Paula and I took sixth-grader Sam Mayfield to the ER to have an allergic reaction checked out. Sam was fine by the time we got there. But we made sure to stop and get Sam an ice cream cone at an all-night Dairy Queen before we returned.

Being with Paula was always like being with your family.

When Sue Scarborough was hired, we put together a picnic lunch with some recent retirees for her to meet and get some deeper background about the school. Sally Megeath was there – and me too.

The stars were Carolyn Morgoglione, Carol Chapman, and Paula Myer.

I remember there were five of us, and Sue quickly named the collection, The Pillars. She could not have found a better name – to honor that splendid group, or to recognize and name the heart of the school.

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Because it was folks like Paula Myer, day in and day out, who worked through their natural genius to make Powhatan what it has become. They didn’t do it for money or fame. They did what they did because that’s who they were. The kind of people who work our polls, who make sure the fields are mowed, who plan every detail of every event, who lament the loss of brand-new lacrosse helmets, who spend their Saturdays taking their young advisees shopping at the trendiest outlet malls, who remember in the dead of night that a little boy could sure use an ice cream cone after visiting the Emergency Room.

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Mrs. Chapman with one of her 2nd grade students.

Carol Chapman In the fall of 1977, Powhatan got a new second grade teacher, the third attempt to replace Frances Everly, who had been an institution at the school. The third time was the charm. When I saw Carol Chapman, I recognized her immediately. In coloring and facial features she was a female twin of my younger brother Matt. I was soon to find they shared similar personalities and senses of humor. That connection meant that we were destined to be close friends. We still are.

“My-Way-Or-The-Highway” Chapman went on to become one the most beloved and effective teachers in the history of Powhatan School. I can’t imagine her delivering her famous boundary credo with anything less than a wry smile on her face – sort of like Santa Claus admonishing one of his reindeer. Carol taught with grace and love and was masterful in designing lessons and relating to her students.

I asked Carol to begin with the funniest anecdote she could remember from her Powhatan experience. She chose a Field Day during the Niemann Era. Cornelia Niemann was unequaled in laying out a 59

spread for the faculty lunch, and she had us wash it all with delicious and seductive Bloody Marys. Apparently, Cornelia was setting up and got to mixing the Bloody Marys. Of course, they needed to be sampled for taste and quality, and Sonny Chapman (you may find his portrait in any quality dictionary under the definition of bon vivant), Carol’s husband, and his good buddy, Allen Fox, Helen’s husband, decided they were the ideal people to help Cornelia out in a pinch. By the time the track meet had finished and the rest of the faculty arrived for lunch, our intrepid pair had acquitted themselves nobly and were nearly exhausted in attempting to tell us “how very, very good Cornelia’s excellent Bloody Mary’s were.”

Carol also related her saddest anecdote. One day at dismissal a parent showed up and complained Mrs. Chapman had ruined the education of her son. The woman pled her case vigorously and relentlessly. Carol listened for about 15 minutes until suddenly she burst into tears. The mother eventually left, and Carol recovered and went over to inform Head Bill Old what had happened. Old immediately apologized to Carol for what had happened and assured her she would never meet alone with that parent again. Bill Old kept his word and always joined Carol for future conferences with that parent. Carol added that almost every conversation she had had with a parent in her career had been respectful and enthusiastic (my experience was the same).

Mrs. Chapman related how one day after the Great Fire Billy Peebles had called her to his temporary office in the trailer and asked her to take on the then part-time job of Admissions Director. To help her out Billy gave her as an assistant, Bonnie Buonassisi. Carol was a terrific Admissions Director and steered many inquiring families into joining the Powhatan Family.

Carol claimed the greatest thing about Powhatan was, “the matchless camaraderie of the faculty.” She added that Judy Dougherty, faculty gadfly and overseer of traditions, approved of her after two years.

Carol noted that after Don Niemann’s accident the faculty really came together. “There was so much respect and care between us.” She added that there was such a diversity of styles among the teachers: Powhatan was practically a temple to the notion of academic freedom. As evidence to the strength of that approach she related that graduate Ellie Selzer

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had told her during an alumni reception that all of her lifetime favorite teachers were Powhatan teachers. Ellie asked Carol then, “You had academic freedom, didn’t you?” We sure did.

While every Powhatan teacher appreciated their freedom, there were administrators, policies, and cultural occurrences which encouraged it. Carol pointed out that in a dynamic classroom setting weekly lesson plans were probably inaccurate after Monday. But we were never enslaved by them; we were accommodated by them. Carol said she received nothing but positive reinforcement from her division and school heads. “I arrived at Powhatan 34 years old, and that’s where my self-confidence really began.” She added other teachers were always ready to help. Math teachers Harry Holloway and Tom Robb would often stop by and observe a lesson, and Harry would often jump up and expand it. Ray Legge and April Burke would frequently share lessons they were doing in science. When the Writing Workshop paradigm first came out, Laura Robb would come in and model lessons. After 3 – 4 weeks Carol told Laura she was ready to take the lead. She said that the whole episode was a great learning experience.

Teaching the parents in events like Parents Night was also a wonderful experience. Most parents got that their children may have different learning styles than them. Most parents got that there was a great deal coming out of new research on how pupils learned. Powhatan parents were fascinated to try their hands at the Cuisenaire rods and tangrams Carol learned about at a nine-day seminar taught at Dana Hall by Madame Charbonneau.

Carol sang the praises of Powhatan’s unequaled commitment to professional development. I joined in the chorus. In addition to the math manipulatives seminar she attended, Carol attended the Stanley King Counseling Institute (as did I), Tom Estes’ ‘Reading for Meaning,’ advanced graduate course taught at Powhatan (which I did too), and was certified to teach yoga by attending and graduating from the Krapaula Institute in Stockbridge, Massachusetts. Carol and I reminisced about Estes reading aloud from Norman Maclean’s A River Runs Through It, and how the prose sang in our ears. Professional development sent us a firstclass message that we – and our teaching – were immensely important and inspired each of us to bring the same quality of education to our

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students. It also helped our self-confidence that we knew we were carrying the latest best practices into our classrooms.

Powhatan carried other benefits too. Powhatan offered us incredible health insurance, a first-rate TIAA-CREF retirement plan, and tuition remission. All three of my kids and Carol’s two benefited from the tuition remission program. Lisa Chapman was famous for writing the most beautiful answers in college – even when she was sometimes unsure of the content. “Mom, I learned how to write at Powhatan.” None of us did it for the money. As Carol Chapman said, “We all wanted to be there.”

Other amenities at Powhatan included an office that cared. If you had been snugged up in your room for a few days, chances are you’d get a call from Helen Fox, Paula Myer, or Frances Rudacille, making sure you were okay. But the ultimate amenity was the faculty parties. From Cornelia Niemann’s suave soirees to later themed affairs at Franny Crawford’s or another staff member’s home, they were all blasts.

Saturday Night Live may have stolen OUR mojo. Mary Bruce Glaize’s MaHonney cup was the ultimate award. Both Carol and I received one during our careers. Of course, neither of us can ever tell you why we got ours. But the ultimate, THE ultimate faculty party was when Billy Peebles retired. Chris and Robin Northrup – he dressed as a chauffeur, she as a French maid – picked up Billy and Penny in one of those small, funky Powhatan buses. Upon arrival the guests and everyone else were treated to two skits. The first was Gandhi leading a morning gathering, complete with dhoti (look it up), discussing famous Billy Peebles’ quotes, principally “Press on,” and what they meant. Faculty played the students and the answers were priceless – as well as piquant. The grand finale was the recreation of an early morning EIEIO (External/Internal Experience and Insight Organization) staff meeting where everyone came as someone else. Franny Crawford came as Carolyn Morgoglione complete with matching umbrella, shoes, and lipstick; Paula Myer came as me; Helen Fox as Paul Clevenger, and I played Billy, finished off with glasses sneaked to me by, my accomplice, Penny. Carol thinks she was Franny, but no one’s sure. It was nearly 30 years ago. But, hey, I’m not sure anyone remembered who they were the next day.

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1 Powhatan was a great school for the gifted and self-starters, but there were two other groups not generally heralded that excelled at Powhatan. One was girls – Carol thinks it all started with Paula Myer; I think it started from the beginning or near the beginning of the school itself – the other was bad boys. We all know the type: little guys fixated on one topic, having more energy than a small thermo-nuclear device, and often skirting on the edge of disaster. Carol, along with Sally Hovermale, were known as the Queens of Bad Boys. Carol loved them. She learned their secret interests. She knew how to talk to them.

She could get them to do incredible things. And guess what? Girls and bad boys are great at yoga. Recently Carol and I attended an alumni reception where some of that very ilk attended. The girls – young women now – were all studying for their doctorates in medicine or science – some were going into law. The boys – now young men – were all happy, accomplished, and delightful. One, who had caused me more headache than I’d ever care to share, upon seeing me, ran up, shouted, “Mr. Bell,” and wrapped me in a bear hug while saying, “Sir, it is so good to see you.” Both Carol and I thought we just might cry. What ladies and gentlemen they all were. Carol had a term for kids that often slipped under most schools’ radar – but not Powhatan’s: She labeled these kids Elevated by the Faculty.

Carol shared the story of how she came to Powhatan. In 1971 Sonny and Carol moved to Winchester where he began a new job with Smith’s Transfer. A neighbor asked her where she was thinking of sending her daughter Lisa to school. That neighbor pointed her toward Powhatan.

Carol went down to spend a morning, and as she was checking out at the office, Don Niemann appeared, engaged her in a conversation, and had her fill out an application for teaching. Five years later Niemann tracked her down at her parents’ home in Delaware and insisted she become Powhatan’s second grade teacher. She was hesitant. He was right. The rest was history.

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Carol remembered fondly all our bus drivers, people like Millie Hummer, Spring Deavers, and Mr. Good and our maintenance/ housekeeping folk like Jack Goodlett and Jim Gorman. We agreed that all of them were part of the Powhatan family and our friends.

Lastly Carol talked about the unique part that our customs,5 played in the identity of the school. She spoke of the value of programs like Winter Tuesday, Chapel Talks, and the annual performance each grade did. She connected her commentary with a story of riding the ski bus to Bryce, driven by Mr. Good. She and Sally Hovermale whiteknuckled the winding, snow-covered roads, petrified. But sure enough they arrived safe and sound. Mr. Good could really drive.

A few years ago Carol Chapman asked if I would join her and her grandson Leif, Andy’s son, tall and willowy like his dad. She wanted me to lead a tour of Gettysburg for him, because in Florida where he lived, they learned little or nothing about the Civil War. We had a ball that summer’s day, and Leif literally danced through the park, climbing the observation towers, exploring all the stops. Who knew such a place and such a day could be so much fun? Carol Chapman did.

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Powhatan graduate Jennifer Willey Burks and friend Rebecca Mecuro in 1983.

Jennifer Willey Burks, ‘85 “The play’s the thing to catch a king…” (Hamlet, Act II, scene 2) is one of those quotes from Shakespeare that has been used in and out of context so frequently that most everyone recognizes it. But after spending a pleasant hour chatting with Powhatan alumna Jennifer Willey Burks (’85) with more than a few references to Shakespeare passing between us I realized, “The tale’s the thing to seal a thought…”

Time and again during our interview Jennifer returned to lessons she had learned while at Powhatan, each of them secured by a story. And as her memories played out, I came to realize that among the greatest gifts Powhatan has given her children is the pageantry of stories she has left them.

One that struck me was about the boy who spoke in iambic pentameter. Several decades ago an eighth grader who was learning his Shakespeare part, mentioned that lately he had been ‘speaking’ in iambic pentameter. I mentioned that that was not unusual because English had been recognized for centuries as an ‘iambic’ language, a 65

language that if you broke it into two syllable increments the accent would almost always fall on the second syllable. If a line had five of these ‘iambs,’ it would be written in pentameter. The student then said something like, “My paper’s done but now it needs a rest… Wow, I’ve done it again!” His classmates chuckled and were swept into the reverie.

The student then reeled off two or three other samples – all of them natural and uncontrived, all part of his natural classroom dialogue.

Talk about a Powhatan moment! With this group I would not be making up some worksheet to cement the idea of iambic pentameter. This class was getting a living example that Shakespeare was a poet of the people.

What made this story even more remarkable was I happened to relate it to Jennifer’s class (she was at least a grade below), and she remembered it too. She mentioned it during the interview citing, “That story always made me think clearly just what iambic pentameter was.”

Jennifer Burks, nurse and educator, writes and edits e-learning courses and assessments for analytics in allied health and post-acute care. What Jennifer and her colleagues have found is that the best way to impart knowledge is to embed it in a story. So, when she is assessing the retention of a key concept in the company’s training she asks the students about the story. She has found that that is the best way to test understanding. She recounted how fondly she remembered Mrs. Robb in fifth grade reading picture books and their stories to them. The grade level of the book never mattered. The story mattered. Jennifer added that she learned the concept of allegory through a story during a classroom simulation about the Treaty of Versailles. Reading and discussion remain unmatched as the most powerful tools in exploring the mysteries of the human experience.

In the fifth grade (called ‘form’ then) while it was still in the Old Building, the class was having lunch when one of the funniest memories from her school experience occurred. As Mrs. Robb stepped next door to confer with another teacher a food fight broke out.

Nothing outrageous, but during the melee a piece of Jennifer’s brownie purchased at the Eighth Form store got tossed and ended up stuck in the frame of the door behind Mrs. Robb’s desk. Right then Mrs. Robb returned to a room of silent but hugely stuffed kids on the verge of giggles just waiting for her to discover the brownie piece stuck in the frame behind her head. She never did. Over their tenure at school 66

the students of Jennifer’s class returned to check on the state of the brownie. It never moved. What seemed so huge and obvious to the kids was never noticed by the adults. Becoming part of the secret lore that each class accumulates, the brownie ended its earthly sojourn in the Fire of ’88.

When I asked Jennifer how Powhatan had affected her life, she immediately answered, “In all ways.” She said that every room of her house had a memento in it. In her front room she had a hand drawn framed print of the Old Building with this written under it “Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit – Vergil” (Someday it will be good to remember even these things). Jennifer also sent me her Shakespeare scripts (then students had small roles in the seventh grade and principal roles in the eighth), which were used as informal yearbooks, and poetry magazines from the Fifth grade and Upper School, fully chronicling the importance the school has placed on students sharing their experiences and voices with the world. The presence of Powhatan has saturated the Burks family and her three daughters have heard many stories about her school “…far away.”

Jennifer said the school had evolved markedly in tone during her attendance. When she first arrived, she recalled fearfully rising and standing stock still next to her desk when an adult entered the room.

Her greatest fear then was getting a demerit. But over the transition from Heads Niemann, Old, and Peebles the atmosphere changed, and she felt there was a silent permission given to be kids now, a change of weather which left her feeling free and assured. This period coincided exactly with a period of deep conversations which were taking place among faculty and between faculty and administration at the time about the appropriate environment for children, learning, and their development. The success of that transition and the strength of the academics left Jennifer and her family to measure every school her daughters attend(ed) by Powhatan. Young people need to feel free and safe and be ready to learn to achieve the most from their education, and for that kids need the total care of a good family and school.

Among the many positives and lessons Powhatan left with her was the notion that each student has a wonderful talent. And class plays and athletic contests like Quadri-School and Field Day were showcases that

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affirmed everyone was important and on the team. Events like Carol Sing, class field trips to Williamsburg, Washington, and the Kennedy Center, Upper School dances, and experiences like the Virginia Company and Mrs. Robb’s fifth grade where she didn’t lecture but imparted permanent knowledge using a panoply of strategies designed to activate student ownership taught Jennifer to love learning; Powhatan was a place where thinking was celebrated.

Jennifer thought the Post/Rail competition united and energized the school. Highlights of those activities during sports were Post/Rail games of Capture the Flag on the Crocker Conservancy especially around Roseville Run, a chilly limestone stream behind the school. Jennifer recalled an especially nice early spring day during sports when the Upper School was playing along the creek. One of her Rail compatriots, an exceptional athlete and one of the all-time best basketball players in the region, grabbed the Posts’ flag and raced toward victory. Part of that race was over a log across the creek where he slipped and fell completely submerged in the water. He emerged wet and blubbering. Both teams erupted in laughter.

A lovely anecdote I remembered about Jennifer’s class was during a field trip we took to the Terrace Theatre at the Kennedy Center. The kids looked smart all dressed in their finest. Before the performance started four youngsters including Jennifer asked to visit the restrooms.

Because they were on the floor below I accompanied them. Coming back, we waited for the elevator arriving at the panel where a short, elderly man with long white hair and a long white beard already stood.

The girls were agog with excitement and began bustling toward the door as soon as it opened. I did a small bit of verbal coaching and the girls caught themselves, stopping and letting the elderly gentleman enter before them. In my mind’s eye one of them said, “After you, sir.” Whatever they said, they could not have been more mannerly or gracious. I was immensely proud. We entered and I leaned past the gentleman to press the button, smiling, “Excuse me.” The door slid shut and the girls immediately began chattering away. The gentleman, who was beaming, could not have been more charmed. The elevator was exceedingly slow that day. I then recognized who he was. He was Richard Thomas, John Boy of The Waltons fame, who was playing the lead in Christopher Marlowe’s Edward II then playing at the Eisenhower 68

Theatre. And I knew from an article I had read that he and his wife had at least several kids whom they adored. The elevator finally began moving and opened, letting Thomas exit on his floor first. When we exited, I couldn’t help but tell the girls who our fellow passenger had been. The looks on their faces were priceless.

After more conversation the interview drew to a close, and Jennifer made a comment that elated me. We were chatting about Powhatan’s Graduation, as moving and child-centered as any ceremony I have witnessed. She said, “It didn’t matter to us who won an award. We were so close it was like each of us had won that award. It was like each of us was being celebrated.” The joy I felt hearing her countered the anxiety almost all of us as faculty have felt since I have been at Powhatan in deciding to whom to give them. No one but us knows just how many students have been considered for each of those awards from each class.

I figure in my tenure the major awards, the Mahaney, the Gilpin, and the Niemann, combined (the Gilpin Personal Achievement Award was added after I arrived, followed by the Niemann Service) were given to at least 110 graduates. Literally hundreds and hundreds more were nominated.

Jennifer Willey Burks is yet another goodwill ambassador Powhatan has sent out to the world. Five minutes with her imparts a feeling of energy and focus that is a delight to experience. She is the personification of education realized and accomplished. She is an exemplar of the hopes Powhatan has for every child we bring into our community.

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Jeff Buettner, ‘82 Jeff Buettner was a brand-new second grader at Powhatan under brand-new teacher Linda Hamilton. He loved his new school, but there was so much going on that it was hard keeping things straight.

And things were so busy it was hard making friends. It wasn’t like Texas.

Then the phone rang. Mrs. Buettner answered and then came the sounds of steps. Mother said, “There’s a call for you, Jeff.”

It was classmate George Kessler. He was inviting Jeff over for a visit. The glass walls which had kept Jeff from getting to know his classmates had shattered.

Jeff; successful local entrepreneur, former Winchester city councilman, father of three Powhatan graduates, brother of two more, and past Powhatan board member; started our interview after my introduction of the theme, i.e. ‘Powhatan is a magical place,’ with, “Describing the Powhatan experience as ‘magical’ is as apt as any.” He had taken the time to talk about his upcoming interview with his kids Zach, Liza, and Riley before he came. All his kids agreed with him that their collective Powhatan experience had been “very formative.”

As referred to earlier Jeff had joined Powhatan after having moved from Texas to begin the second grade. He characterized his transition as exciting and busy. His new friend George helped him get to know his classmates whom he described as welcoming and accepting. The whole feeling was one of pervasive welcome (Jeff added anecdotally that the paragon of the effusive welcome was Billy Peebles). The other aspect of the atmosphere was the small class size which ensured a feeling of family, the feeling above all else which colors almost all relationships between folks at Powhatan. The culture at Powhatan is inclusive and so natural Jeff said it transcended the time in which he was experiencing it.

One peculiar aspect of the time was the loss of students from fifth grade (lower school) to sixth grade (upper school). The theory popular at the time was that moving into the public system at the beginning of 71

middle school helped transitioning. That loss of classmates, according to Jeff, caused separation anxiety among those who remained, many of whom having no idea that several of their classmates would be leaving.

He also added that when he later met those who had gone over to Daniel Morgan Middle School they expressed regret for leaving their Powhatan experience. In his own family his sons Zach and Riley successfully transitioned from Powhatan to Woodberry Forest; his daughter Liza transitioned successfully into John Handley High School where she said the greatest surprise was finding out that academic success was not highly valued.

Because of his birthday, Jeff was young in his class. It affected his achievement and academic comfort level. By the time he entered Woodberry, his maturation level had caught up with his grade assignment, and he went on to be one of his class academic leaders.

Part of the formula which countered any academic anxiety and promoted confidence and self-awareness at Powhatan was the sheer number of events he participated in: A fifth-grade unit on Egypt – complete with kids in costumes, Shakespeare productions such as The Tempest and A Midsummer Night’s Dream, a seventh grade musical, Winnie the Pooh. All of this built teamwork. Trips like the overnight to Colonial Williamsburg enlarged the classroom to include the outside world.

Sports also contributed. Jeff recalled Powhatan winning the QuadriSchool Track Meet at Highland. Of course, the big sports highlight was Field Day. Jeff, and his Post family, loved Field Day and its palpable excitement.

These experiences created bonds with schoolmates. This exquisite balance between academics, extra-curricular activities, and sports resulted in a culture of letting a kid be a kid and letting him grow where he needed to grow.

Jeff remembered his teachers here fondly. Mr. Mack, who taught fourth grade, Jeff remembered as an ace at throwing chalk. He never hit anyone, but the closely whizzing chalk pulled back in any day-dreaming student. He remembered Mrs. Robb because of her unit on religions, her unit on Greek mythology (which led Jeff to a lifetime of interest in the topic), and reading aloud Katherine Paterson’s A Bridge to Terabithia, a classic he grew to love. He remembered me for The Lord of the Rings and 72

The Hobbit, two books he still returns to. He loved Mr. Stotler’s history class, and he greatly enjoyed getting to paint his podium. Mr. Buettner characterized the faculty as a great cast.

Faculty expectations were always for students to excel. That and positive peer pressure created an atmosphere of well-being which underlined the culture of the school, a culture whose passage seemed like climbing well-spaced rungs on a ladder. It started with everyone doing her homework. Jeff said that the most influential teachers in his life were right here. More so than Woodberry Forest. More so than the University of Virginia. He added that that sense of excellence began with the Head. He talked about being terrified of Mr. Niemann when he was sent to his office for wearing his hat indoors but found the Head was avuncular and at ease explaining why ‘gentlemen’ didn’t wear their hats indoors. He went on to love Billy Peebles and had great experiences with John Lathrop and Sue Scarborough through his own children.

Bringing his children to Powhatan had to be a family decision.

Jeff’s wife Anne had had a great experience attending local public schools. He arranged for her to visit Powhatan, a visit I recall. Anne was able to see the great love we had for Jeff and to see how engaged and happy the kids here were. She was convinced Powhatan was the place for her kids. She bought in 100%. Like Jeff, Anne, who served as room mother, President of the Powhatan Parents Association, and board member, came to see Powhatan as a prime example of American exceptionalism.

Jeff also noted the diversity of kids who attend here. Not only do they represent all of the racial types of the area, but also economic and cultural identities as well.

The library and Mrs. Wheeler, who magically knew every student and that student’s reading history, was integral to the school’s identity, because Powhatan was the school where every kid read. And read. And read.

I felt like we were still refining our approach to writing when Jeff attended, but he said he learned the bones of it here. When his children graduated, they all knew how to write and write well. They also, like their father, were enthusiastic readers.

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Jeff also mentioned Mr. Good, who he described as right on time. That was versus his parents whom he described as always late. He remembered mornings where they were flying down the road, trying to catch the bus they had just missed. Jeff remembered a day where the bus slid, slowly, down a hill on Senseny Road. They came to rest against a tree. Mr. Good got the bus off the tree (no damage) and tried the hill again. This time he made it.

Jeff Buettner served on the Powhatan Board of Trustees during the time Bruce Flax was President. This was the time when John Lathrop was pushing for salaries to be more in line with public school salaries.

Happily, he succeeded. Jeff loved working on the board, coming to realize that the administrators really were good stewards of money.

Through cycles of rotating on and off he saw the board grow and change. He also saw the value of Powhatan’s educators.

No article about Jeff would be complete without acknowledging the debt our program owes him – and parent Jesse Bacon – for his passion for lacrosse, a sport he helped introduce here. For years Jeff helped coach and helped with equipment. One of America’s great sports, borrowed from the First Americans, lacrosse was yet another program which has come to be part of the character of a Powhatan graduate.

Jeff Buettner is yet further proof of the success of the Powhatan program and persons it graduates. I would be hard-pressed to find anyone who did not epitomize the possibilities of a Powhatan graduate more than he would. Jeff went on to a great career at Woodberry Forest and the University of Virginia. He became a pillar of the community and the scion of his own family – the embodiment of a successful Powhatan graduate.

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Jeff Buzzoni, ‘83 It’s summer. Two, possibly three, high school-aged young men are wrestling buckets and ladders around the Old Building. Their supplies are piles of rags, soapy water, and towels. They are washing windows.

Summers were perfect for getting plant maintenance done at Powhatan because, except for weeks when camp was in session, the campus was devoid of kids. Workers could gain access to all the hardto-get-to areas normally off-limits. Thorough cleanings can lift the dirt and grime accumulated during an academic year full of activity.

I recall being on a summer committee exploring the option of all-year school. We educators were theoretically for it, reluctantly agreeing that long summers made us re-teach or at least re-visit lessons so securely realized the spring before. But our students had so many rich experiences unique to summer, like camp and family vacations, internships and opportunities for learning abroad. And the school needed a long summer vacation for clean-up and maintenance. The truth is that was the principal clincher: the school needed to be free of kids to get all the repair work done. The window washers were my son Tom and his good buddy Jeff Buzzoni.

I sat down with Jeff the week of Carol Sing 2017 to interview him about his experience with Powhatan School. Every interview has its theme, and Jeff’s was class size. His class graduated with 14, a size which he said in a variety of terms meant family, team, and always a strongly interrelated unit. Even more importantly it meant you couldn’t hide.

Every class and every teacher had you and your team in it. Mrs. Zilch would not overlook you. The dynamic of identifying as a unit also meant you were encouraged to do your best as part of that team and that your accomplishments at school were celebrated and acknowledged in everything from Morning Chapel (now Gathering), to the newsletter, and places like The Winchester Star. The unspoken expectation was that you’d succeed from the first and move toward excellence.

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Jeff’s first experience with class size was when he applied in the fifth form (now class). Jeff could not attend because he would have been the 18th. Mr. Niemann encouraged his family to reapply because he was sure there would be some openings. There were. So, in the beginning of the sixth grade, Jeff and Dan Deuterman joined the class of ’83. Jeff said he felt welcomed immediately and realized a positive benefit from joining – almost like joining a family. Not every newcomer felt that way. Jeff was affable and open, ready to embrace new classmates. Other new students found Powhatan’s strong nucleus of ‘team’ a hard nut to crack – not out of exclusivity but in exploring openings in its seamless cohesion.

Personally, I was aware of only one or two kids over the course of 43 years who weren’t assimilated successfully by the end of their first year.

The upshot was for almost all of its students, certainly Jeff Buzzoni, Powhatan meant real community – a characteristic which carried enormous significance. Later tweaks like the Upper School Retreat and the advisor system would make the transition even smoother.

One of the funniest memories Jeff recalls was how Mrs. Morgoglione, our then third grade teacher, swore that she had taught him. He got the same vibe from Mrs. Chapman, who taught second grade. Jeff concluded it was from the intimate nature of our community.

Because then every teacher saw every student every day. Later additions just blended right into their memories.

From the beginning of my time at Powhatan, 16 was the upper limit of class or section size. From the beginning anyone who referenced that number said it was based on research. I never personally saw that research, but I never have had reason to doubt it. The Head could add a 17th on his discretion. A formal Board of Trustees vote could add an 18th. I can only recall one or at the most two 18th’s ever added.

Everything at Powhatan is predicated on that small class size. Certainly, it provides much more teacher-student interaction. For Jeff it provided continual affirmation to the class and its identity: Everyone was so tightly interwoven – as in a family – that when one won an award, such as at Graduation, all were uplifted. Everyone paid close attention to a classmate’s Chapel Talk, and the Chapel Talks were vetted at the end of the year by class in statements such as, “This year’s Chapel Talks were especially strong…”

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This small, talented class Jeff had joined studied material he had never seen at his old school: French, Latin, and Shakespeare for example. The matter and scope of all disciplines was advanced. The very personal attention you received in those classes ensured that you did well.

When I asked about strong students in his class, Jeff ticked off the names of Heather Mallory, Wallace Ellis, and Gretchen Toxopeus.

But he quickly added that everyone in his class belonged there, that everyone brought talents to the classroom academic dynamic.

Jeff talked about T.J. ‘s and his window washing business in the context of the Old Building, in which he had French, English, art, science, and music. With its loss the place of all those memories disappeared.

Sports also was an affirmation of the expectation that everyone was integral to the team. Jeff said it was another body/mind/relational connection. Everyone changed together, everyone walked down to the fields together, everyone played on the team. At Powhatan Jeff was introduced to soccer, developing an interest that he and his son now share. He had fond memories of our cross-country course, laughing when I said, “Mrs. Myer and I always felt as if we were 200 yards behind what was really going on” as we patrolled behind the pack. Track season culminated in Field Day and Quadri-School.

Post/Rail competition, to Jeff always good-natured, was like the ultimate sibling rivalry. “It was one more way to imbue competition.

One more way to compete and succeed. It was never negative,” he summed up. Jeff, a Rail, remembered being significantly behind in the tally entering Field Day. So, he was sure the Posts won that year.

Coming from a Post family, I remembered it just the opposite. In the end it didn’t matter. Think about it, what does it say about a school community whose principal, internal, and celebrated school athletic event is often remembered as the other side won?

Jeff characterized his experience with school plays as very positive.

“There was no shirking. It was a necessary experience – another block in the foundation.” Jeff played Gremio, an older suitor of Kate, in

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The Taming of the Shrew. Jeff even recalled striking through the scripts when the play was first cast before rehearsals. The play inspired him enough that he even did a little bit in high school. He remembered vividly how classmate Kevin Fox over the two years his class did Shakespeare (in those days the seventh grade came on in smaller roles and supported the eighth in the last week of production) was a whiz in the light booth and handled both lights and sound. The same spirit of everyone participating underpinned Carol Sing. He remembered distinctly singing along with schoolmates Wallace Ellis and Trey Karn a special trio section in one of the numbers. Jeff also recalled the Upper School Talent Show – then in its infancy – when my son T.J., Wallace Ellis, and he karaoked Happy Trails from Van Halen. (Wallace complained about how hot it was in the horse suit.) At this point Jeff and I discussed what I consider to be an extreme irony: why was it that at private, or independent schools, everyone was absolutely expected to do everything whereas in public schools quite often for plays, sports, and certain programs students had to try out for slots to participate.

To me it would seem that it would be the other way around. I know that part of our ‘everyone does everything’ philosophy originated from our small numbers. But to the school’s credit we found it really worked in defining the beauty of our students’ accomplishments. Students like Jeff Buzzoni proved what a valuable experience these performance actions were in fulfilling our motto.

Jeff enjoyed the class field trips. He recalled signing a class thank you, written by Gretchen Toxopeus, to his father who was an air traffic controller for the FAA and gave the kids a guided tour of an air traffic control center in Leesburg. He still has a small glass vase he bought during a seventh-grade field trip to Williamsburg.

Jeff recalled the long bus ride which, for him, on the way home went all the way to Charles Town and then doubled back along Shepherds Mill Road to Rte 7 to drop off the Flemings and him and Mallie Shaw.

Those were some epic trips every day.

Jeff also loved the old Eighth Grade Store, which was situated in the now Powhatan attire swap room. There the eighth graders sold snacks and student supplies, keeping track of goods and marketing them on their own. Seventh graders had an ice cream freezer and sold ice cream out of it in the well of the auditorium.

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Because he’d get to see the school and me, Jeff drove up during the day for his interview. It was wonderful seeing him. He told me that, like him, Annie Dunning, Chuck Longerbeam (whom he said was a teacher), and Bill Rodman all lived in the Charlottesville area, and he was still in touch with them and virtually everyone he was in class with.

He said it was great walking around the campus and being interviewed in the Alumni Room. I assured him it was equally great for the faculty seeing former students. They were our kids forever.

When Jeff sat down, I told him there was one topic I expected to hear from everyone, but that I had only heard mentioned in a fleeting aside by Eliza Niemann. I forgot to tell him at the end what it was.

It was the dress code. And I have yet to hear it. We as faculty spent days and weeks over my tenure debating things like skorts, spaghetti straps, shorts versus trousers, extra shoes for athletics, and belts. I used to think it was a colossal waste of time.

I rest my case.

Jeff Buzzoni was an example of a student we added along the way who had a huge impact on the life of the school. Among legions of kids I would call the nicest people you’d ever want to meet, Jeff stood out as a stellar person and terrific student. His contributions to our community then and now are immeasurable. Powhatan is a great school, but look at the caliber of kids we start with.

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Robin receiving her diploma from Billy Peebles in 1986.

Robin Houck Coutts, ‘86 She entered the old side stage, a structure that would be roughly where the current plaque dedicating the auditorium to the Niemann’s hangs, looking every bit as magical as Glinda, the good witch of the north, in her gown and appearance. She was Titania, her role from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Then she was Robin Houck, the person in her class who carried the highest academic average just like her brother William had done for his class the year before. Today she is Robin Coutts, the Lower School’s science instructor. Her three children, Pippa, Emma, and Jake, join her and her brother and sister in being successful Powhatan students.

Robin began our interview with praise for the Five Pillars upon which school life is based here at Powhatan: Integrity, Civility, Service, Excellence, and Respect. Robin likes how the pillars are constantly themed and explored during our school-wide gatherings. She thinks that such continuous discussions secure the pillars in the collective psyche of the school. Robin also does not remember them from her time 81

here as a student. I affirmed her in that recollection. I explained when they were formalized and how they developed into gathering topics.

Robin characterized them as values that are continually recognized and celebrated.

Ms. Coutts does remember constant discussions centered on values that appeared in class meetings, advisor/advisee talks, and during whole school gatherings. Powhatan’s values have been the fodder of persistent discussion since the beginning. Those and discussions about how we treat one another. Robin remembered that brother William’s class did Julius Caesar in modern dress (my vain and futile attempt to get rid of some funky Shakespeare costumes.) However, she loved her Shakespearean play (tights were back on the costume list) and other plays she did, among them “Cats” and “The Elephant’s Child.” She loved how the plays and Chapel Talks (hers was on her family’s trip to London) were woven together with school-wide competitions involving Posts and Rails to give Powhatan kids a full gamut of performance skills.

She remembered vividly being a little tyke in one of the schoolwide bees and answering the question who wrote the Paddington books.

Her answer was Michele Bond because at that time she hadn’t ever seen the name Michael written out before. She, of course, has never forgotten that Michael Bond was the Paddington author since. She noted that the school provided many opportunities for bonding and for friendly competition.

Naturally Robin loved the science lab, especially a ‘real’ skeleton Lower School Science teacher Robin Coutts called Mr. Bojangles. The lab had planting trees on the Crocker Conservancy also received incredible examples of with former students Eleanor Mollohan, Greta fetuses and other specimens. All of Conlon, Annie Martindale and these disappeared in the Great Fire Alaina Pastore. of ‘88. At this time we talked about

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a staff member we both remembered who had had epilepsy. Over the course of her time with the school she had several epileptic seizures. No one thought a serious thing about it; we just dealt with it. Robin made an arch observation about this staff member and Powhatan: here you were always accepted for whom you were. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Persons like Mrs. Morgoglione, who was a terrific role model, served as moral compasses for our whole community, compasses that made students like Robin feel secure about themselves and their community.

Another asset in community building was the Winter Tuesday program, a program universally popular within Powhatan and recognized by especially our accreditors as a unique manifestation of our mission. I recalled an episode from skiing in which one of the students slid from his T-bar seat, with his father right next to him, and fell, severely injuring his spleen. The little guy was from the Lower School, but when the Upper School Student Council learned of his plight, Liz Fitzgerald, president, organized an intensive campaign of card writing for her schoolmate. Needless to say, our fellow survived and went on to prosper. He also knew that he was a member of a loving school community that cared about his full and swift recovery.

Robin expressed a similar feeling about youngsters the school sponsored through international programs. Our small, monthly contributions lifted up not only the student whether he was from Egypt, South America, or Haiti but his entire family too. We could remember how, in Haiti, the mother was able to buy a sewing machine and add substantially to her family’s income. The letters would be read aloud in morning gathering, connecting us in a real way to a world far beyond maps but full of new culture and exciting experiences. Robin also had high praise for how we committed ourselves to real community service when we celebrate Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Robin Coutts had strong positive memories for how the ‘rigor’ of Powhatan’s academic curriculum prepared her for high school.

Together we acknowledged what a close and mutually beneficial relationship we have had over the years with Clarke County schools. She expressed Powhatan’s academic mantra as ‘high expectations’ supported by a good amount of homework. She described the standards here as ‘high’ (and definitely part of the school’s culture) and ‘flexible’ (in her

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case, generated along the lines of students’ interests). I also believe the school takes good account of a student’s development when teaching appropriate skills. Using one of her own children as an example, she pointed out how the Powhatan “way” builds and fosters confidence.

From lighting up the stage as Titania, to leading her class academically, to returning as Lower School science teacher, Robin Coutts reveals so much about how a successful Powhatan graduate lives in the world. For her community values are as important as the academics she so clearly commands. We learn not for school but for life.

Whole learning means so much more than academics: It is a legitimate way to relate one’s life to the world in which we live.

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Powhatan graduate Chris Willey ready for Field Day.

Chris Willey, ‘89 It was a beautiful fall afternoon at Powhatan and the team I was coaching, Upper School Boys Soccer, was playing our arch-rival (use your imagination). Our rivals had a reputation for taking their athletics very seriously and for putting a great deal of their resources into their athletic program. At that time we did not have a gym.

But we did have a good team, featuring players like Jon Toxopeus, Glen Hovermale, and Chris Willey. That day we broke out into a quick lead, scoring three goals early on – all fed in from the left. The other team began to panic. We methodically worked the left and added two more goals. At this point I began putting in the substitutes and moving players to other positions – I knew we probably had the game won and did not wish to pile on.

We just kept scoring.

In the end we won 8 – 0. I do recall one of the prettiest goals was Chris Willey charging a cross from Jon Toxopeus and popping the ball right into the goal mouth.

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We talked about that game when I interviewed Chris about Powhatan. He had a good perspective on schools from his and his son’s experience with fine California public schools. They both have strengths, public and private. Our nation will forever benefit from universal education in which public schools take everyone and try to educate an entire population through to adulthood. Private, or independent, schools also have strengths. Chris pointed out that at Powhatan all the teachers are good and 95% are “stars.”

Some other assets independent schools have, according to Chris, are the community of achievers who all do well and reinforce each other, a united parent body behind their students’ accomplishments, and, generally, more opportunities for socialization. Mr. Willey also talked about special teachers he had while at Powhatan, those who exhibited what he called “consistency by choice,” which I understood to mean units which were presented because of interest or passion felt by the teacher.

All of this hearkened back to the notion hotly argued at the time Chris was in middle school, the argument between those who championed standards, i.e. standards of learning, versus those who believed in the ideal of academic freedom, the idea that curriculum defines broad themes and goals, leaving their realization to the arts of the teacher. Powhatan has always championed academic freedom.

Anecdotally, we have heard from graduates that when they took SOLs as they entered other school systems they aced them. I’m sure that outcome was not universal, but we believe in the fundamental integrity of our approach. Late in my career I attended a number of excellent U.S. Park Service seminars on the War of 1812 – three of them to be exact – each one a week long. I realized early on that I could have hit all of the major themes of American history: states vs. federal government, the questions surrounding slavery, westward expansion, the constitution, Native Americans, and the rise of mercantilism – by studying in depth that period. But I would have had to have given up the American Revolution or the Civil War, and I was not ready to do that.

Chris Willey characterized his time at Powhatan as ‘unique.’ There he made friends such as the aforementioned Jon and Glen. There he came to school with bus driver Mr. Good, whom he described as

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skilled as a Nascar driver. He positively glowed over Mr. Good’s driving prowess and with enthusiasm noted “he was really good.” Mr. Good also was very friendly.

Chris said Powhatan was a good place to grow your emotional intelligence. Field Day was the most fun. For him a highlight was the highly competitive tug-of-war. He also loved soccer. He loved the adventure led by Mrs. Hoffman, the science teacher, of crawling under the Old Building. He also remembered the trails, one step above goat paths, of the Crocker Conservancy. Chris fondly remembered the fun of Shakespeare, the practices and the performances of Twelfth Night. He also acknowledged the importance of Chapel Talks, which he styled as individual although, to him, some were artificial. He listed as a strength of the program “having all kids play all sports,” which was the case when he attended, but has changed as the school grew. Now students have more choices over the sports they play.

Chris Willey returned to his earlier theme of comparing Powhatan to the public schools he was aware of in California. Writing at Powhatan got a big thumbs up from him. The teaching was clearly excellent.

Students were encouraged in this ‘valuable skill.’ He remarked that it is glaring if you do not know how to write well. It is a critical function in self-realization and professional success.

Continuing his comparison, Chris said that math and grammar were the subject areas you could do in any setting.

He saved his kudos for the Lindsey Library, which he described as ‘great.’ He said the summer reading program was fantastic. “Mrs. Wheeler knew every student…” and every student’s taste. Chris had a great story about Mrs. Wheeler steering him toward Daniel Pinkwater’s Yobgorgle, a young adult novel about a mysterious ‘monster’ of Lake Ontario.

Whether in sports or academics Chris Willey is the kind of graduate who can relate his experience at Powhatan with education he sees today.

His judgment is as keen and insightful as his abilities were as a boy.

Powhatan can compare favorably to many of the best Bay-area schools.

Just another reason, even nearly forty years later, Powhatan seems such a special place.

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Flames erupt from the original schoolhouse during the devastating fire of 1988.

Tom, ‘67 and Jean Gilpin Imagine returning from boarding school your first year for Christmas and finding out that your prized baseball card collection was gone, having disappeared into the maw of the Powhatan School Post/Rail annual toy drive? And then finding out that it was your two younger brothers, one the Rails’ co-captains and the other a future co-captain, who had engineered the transfer? Such was the case for Kenneth Gilpin. His brothers John, Powhatan’s original Richard II, and Tom had given their all, and their brother’s too, to help the Rails win the toy drive. Tom went on to become a member of the board and later its president during some of the most difficult and exciting times in Powhatan’s growth. No family has given more to the establishment, maintenance, and quest for excellence of Powhatan School than the Gilpin family.

Tom and Jean Gilpin sat for a thoroughly delightful interview and discussion about Powhatan School and what it has meant to all of us. The interview, characterized by profound insights, rollicking good 89

humor, and skeins of personal stories, painted a portrait of a school and a family whose paths and fates have been happily intertwined.

Among the tales, all invested with a wealth of background, Tom related the story of the hiring of Billy Peebles, Powhatan’s seventh Headmaster. First Tom explained the succession order then used by the Board of Trustees: first a trustee became board secretary, then was named vice president before ascending to the presidency. Tom was also co-chair along with Celie Harris of the search committee to find the replacement to out-going Bill Old. Bill McCoy, Nancy Talley, and Carlton Mallory finished out that stellar committee. That committee settled on what at first seemed an unlikely candidate, a first-year admissions director of VES, the Virginia Episcopal School, a recent graduate of Princeton and UVA’s the Darden School of Business, and member of a lively, talented southside Virginia family which owned a regional department store chain, Peebles, eldest son Billy. Tom recalled a fateful meeting in January at The Boar’s Head in Charlottesville in which he and fellow trustee Richard Farland pressed Billy hard to accept Powhatan’s offer to be Headmaster. Billy countered by asking if he could consider the offer thoroughly and reply by mid-February. Both Gilpin and Farland worried, because if Peebles rejected the offer, then the search committee would be late in the year offering the position to a new candidate. Later, while driving to his office at Clarke County Supply, Tom gained clarity, “If Peebles is the one we want, then we should do everything we can to hire him.” In mid-February Tom Gilpin received the call he had been waiting for. Billy Peebles called and said, “Tom, I want to be the next Headmaster of Powhatan School.”

A storied chapter in Powhatan’s history opened.

Billy hit the Powhatan community with a vitality and forwardlooking vision that shook the cobwebs out and revitalized the mission and program of the school. I readily recall the final day of those opening faculty meetings when Billy escorted Don Niemann, whom he had invited, into the library to visit us. An explosion of emotion swept over us. The dismal years since Mr. Niemann’s debilitating accident fell away and instantly were replaced with a future of reconciliation and hope.

Jean Gilpin, also a trustee and board officer, including serving as President, shared that among the highlights of her Powhatan 90

Seven Powhatan graduates from the Gilpin family, seated around school founder Isabella Tyson Gilpin.”

Standing L to R: Lucy M. Gilpin holding Betsy Gilpin, Kenneth N. Gilpin, Jr., Catherine M. Gilpin and M. Tyson Gilpin; Middle Row: Drew G. Faust, Powhatan ‘61 and Isabella Tyson Gilpin; Seated L to R: John M. Gilpin, Powhatan ‘65, Kenneth N. Gilpin, Powhatan ‘63, Thomas T. Gilpin, Powhatan ‘67, Lawrence M. Gilpin, Powhatan ‘70, Donald N. Gilpin, Powhatan ‘64, M. Tyson Gilpin, Jr., Powhatan ‘57

association was a stint as seventh grade Latin teacher as well as being K-8 teacher of French. Her association began with the admission of Tommy, Tom and Jean’s elder son. Coming to Powhatan was no slam dunk decision for the Gilpins in enrolling their child. Tommy had excelled in a wonderful Montessori program in Winchester and was two years ahead for most kids his age in mathematics. In addition, they had just finished a terrific visit to Wakefield School in Huntly, whose kindergarten was taught spectacularly by Bill Lynn’s (the school’s head and founder) wife. Jean recalled saying to Tom on their way home, “How can we not send Tommy to Wakefield.” Fate then presented Carolyn Morgoglione, Powhatan’s legendary third grade teacher, lower school head, and assistant head. Carolyn invited the Gilpins and Tommy to spend the day in third grade since that’s where Tommy would begin mathematics. The Gilpins saw an extraordinary classroom experience full of depth and innovation, complete with one of our remarkable students, Joseph Farland, and his briefcase, which he carried with him constantly, embossed with its dollar-sign insignia 91

signifying him as the Virginia Company’s treasurer. That visit cinched the Gilpins’ decision.

Their arrival coincided with the arrival of whole language instruction, advocated by visionary Laura Robb, which added sight recognition to the teaching of phonics, the introduction of the writing workshop, and the author’s chair. Already noted for its emphasis on good writing, Powhatan became even more famous for its instruction and practice of the most artistic of the three R’s.

“There is nothing little about our ‘little’ school,” concluded Jean. She and Tom pointed out with my enthusiastic agreement that Powhatan, though comparatively small in numbers, has always been a big-hearted school with a big vista. It is a dynamic learning place where academics and their expression are celebrated. It is a place where Isabella Tyson Gilpin’s original vision of “elementary academic excellence” (to quote Tom Gilpin) thrives. The record of our graduates supports the conclusion that Powhatan students are successful, confident, able, and curious. The record of our faculty showcases numerous appointments to regional and state-wide boards, national committees, and book authorships. The school that devotes so much of its energy to kids being outdoors, learning the arts, and enjoying the benefits of athletics, getting along with your peers, and actively serving your community enjoys an unparalleled reputation for inculcating academic excellence.

Human education, particularly the part about liberating and promoting the potential within, is so much more than pencils and paper, books and curriculum.

Tom and Jean Gilpin and their two sons were experiencing Powhatan during some of the most exciting and tumultuous times in Powhatan’s history. Don Niemann’s accident and the resulting upheaval were replaced by the larger question of Powhatan’s size and the catastrophe of the 1988 fire which razed the Old Building of Powhatan to the ground. The destruction of Powhatan’s main facility added unprecedented urgency to its replacement and for the future expansion of the school. Jean Gilpin remarked, “The rebuilding of the school was an amazing activity. The current group of parents has no idea of what went on.” Tom Gilpin, who was the chair of Powhatan’s Building and Grounds committee, had the unenviable task of showing

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up every morning to coordinate with the team and workers of the Lantz Corporation – over 100 men. This crew broke ground in March 1989 on two academic wings and the Administrative building for opening in September. They achieved their mission. Meanwhile the school had broken ground and was building the Henkel Gymnasium, bruited about as the largest elementary school gymnasium then current in the state of Virginia which opened at Thanksgiving. Tom Gilpin called this period, “Powhatan’s finest hour.”

Enlarging Powhatan, which meant ultimately adding another section to each grade, hinged on one of the most unlikely scenarios: the success of the Millwood/Boyce water and sewerage system. That system needed to run a line connecting the two towns, and the water authority negotiated running the sewer line along Rte. 723, right across the front of lands owned by Powhatan School. Powhatan’s board negotiated letting the school tie in. That capacity resolved all physical questions about the school’s expansion. Tom recalled that Harry Byrd and he were begging authorities to okay the septic system then in use so the rebuilt school could open two days before it was scheduled to in 1989.

That system wheezed, pumped, and trickled along until tying into the Boyce/Millwood solved all problems for future capacity.

We had begun our interview talking about Shakespeare. I have learned over the course of my life just how much Americans have loved and loved to hate the works of William Shakespeare. In the 19th century most Americans associated going to the theatre with seeing one of Shakespeare’s plays. Clarke County was no different. Tom Gilpin related how there was a famous production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream with his father Kenneth and Vaida Boy-Ed staged in the Gilpin estate of Scaleby’s gardens in the 1930’s. Apparently vignettes and scenes from Shakespeare were produced by Blue Ridge Country Day School and its later iteration Powhatan, most of them performed at the Boyce Episcopal Parish Hall. Phil Porterfield recalled being Sir Andrew Aguecheek with Tom’s elder brother Kenneth playing Sir Toby Belch in some scenes from Twelfth Night. Tom remembered performing “Pyramus and Thisbe” with him being Peter Quince, Pim Dillard as Bottom, and Joe Damron as Puck from A Midsummer Night’s Dream when he was in third grade. According to Tom and his brother John, Drew Gilpin Faust, their cousin and former President of Harvard was recalling her memories of 93

Shakespeare at Powhatan during a recent family visit for the HarvardPrinceton game. The man who ratcheted things up was Don Niemann, who produced a complete version of Richard II in 1965, recalling his very first experience of Shakespeare, portraying of all things a lady-inwaiting, from his boarding school days. John Gilpin shouldered the huge role of Richard. Tom played Prospero in ’67. Both productions were staged at Berryville’s Opera House. A new generation of Gilpins continued the tradition with Tommy playing Don Pedro in Much Ado About Nothing and his brother Billy playing the king in Henry IV, Part I. Tom credits Niemann and his wife Cornelia with moving the Shakespeare tradition at Powhatan to a whole new level, establishing annual fulllength productions which continue through today. Several Powhatan alums starting with John Gilpin and continuing with Steve Monroe and Gia Crovatin have made their careers in acting.

Jean Gilpin is the current President of the Associate Board of Trustees and has also served several terms on the Board of Trustees.

She also taught Latin in the seventh grade for a time as well as French teacher for the whole school. A French major, Jean acquitted herself well and served as an example of a talented Powhatan parent, once more, stepping forward to help fill a desperate need which occurs from time to time in the history of a small, rural independent school.

Seventeen-hundred words barely introduce the impact of Tom and Jean Gilpin and the Gilpin family have had over generations on the “starting, continuing, and flourishing” (Tom Gilpin characterizing the arc of the school’s history) of Powhatan School. Just their demeanor and élan telegraph everything you need to know about Powhatan’s past, present, and future. From grandmother Isabella’s vision to daughterin-law Ryan currently teaching third grade, the Gilpin family has interlaced their fortunes with the school they so ably founded and supported. If good humor, civic responsibility, and the liberal arts have a crest, it is theirs.

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Trustee Richard Farland at a Powhatan board meeting.

Richard Farland I was in the Lindsey Library, and I noticed Billy Peebles escorting a distinguished-looking gentleman around, showing him the school.

Billy called me over and introduced me to Richard Farland’s father, Joseph Farland. Being a news geek my whole life, I knew immediately who he was and was quick enough about it to greet him as “Mr. Ambassador…” Farland had been the ambassador to Pakistan who had helped arrange the ultra-secret visit by then Presidential advisor Henry Kissinger to China to make plans for President Nixon’s historic visit, which forever changed the course of 20th century history. Later from 1972-73 he served as ambassador to Iran.

No such heady topics were entertained then. Ambassador Farland wanted to talk about his beloved grandchildren who would all attend and graduate from Powhatan with great success. Grandson Joseph was then old enough to be in the Upper School, and I was only too happy to share with Mr. Farland how impressed I was with young Joseph, one of the brightest students I ever taught. He answered with grandfatherly 95

pride and made some candid observations about his namesake. The quality of his comments with their deep insights confirmed for me his great intelligence and tact. I recognized the style and cadence of his son Richard, the outstanding financial guru and historic trustee, in the Ambassador’s conversation.

Richard Farland attended Powhatan for his seventh-grade year beginning in the Fall of 1963, Don Niemann’s first year. Richard had attended school before in Latin America. He loved his time at Powhatan, which he said, “…gave me the background to attend Lawrenceville successfully beginning in my eighth-grade year.” He was especially excited about his contact with touch football, a ‘ball’ he was introduced to here.

Jumping ahead, Richard would return to Powhatan in 1982, as a trustee especially interested in the school’s finances. The 1982 Board consisted of nine members who served three-year terms. Each year three trustees rotated off, meaning that just as trustees were becoming knowledgeable about the workings of the school they were cycling off.

Richard Farland was one of the trustees who urged the expansion of the board, a process which began almost immediately, enlarging the board then to 15. Today, the board consists of 18 members. That number, plus the extended term of six years, means that real continuity and deep knowledge of the workings of the school now informs the board.

The school Richard represented on the board looked differently financially than the school today. That early ‘80’s version of Powhatan had not had a capital campaign since the ‘60’s, had no reserve fund, no equipment retirement schedules (think buses), and ran an Annual Giving campaign that routinely raised $12,000 - $15,000 per year.

The way change began was through a Long-Range Planning Committee, a committee which Farland chaired. Besides recommending lengthening the terms of trustees and expanding the number of them on the board, Richard’s committee studied other independent schools in the region, all of which were bringing in between $60,000 - $75,000 a year in annual giving, had adequate plant reserve funds, and had recently run or were currently running a capital campaign. Farland, who spoke during the interview with great humility, characterized himself as young and ambitious. It was during this time of many positive transitions in program and campus building expansion that Richard 96

Farland led the board into establishing a major focus for raising money to bring Powhatan in line with her sister institutions and to secure Powhatan’s financial present and promote its future.

A very pleasant memory of Richard’s was the trip to Charlottesville and the Boar’s Head Tavern with fellow trustee Tom Gilpin to convince Billy Peebles, then finishing up his MBA from the University of Virginia, to become Powhatan’s seventh Head of School. I’ve heard all three live accounts of that meeting and one authoritative second-hand account from search committee member Celie Harris. Richard Farland said that he and Gilpin were determined to get Peebles to agree – even though they had very little to offer in salary. One sat on either side of Billy and both kept at it until they were sure Peebles would have to agree.

Although they did not receive that definitive ‘yes’ until some days later, history records that they were successful. Farland described the hiring of Peebles as one of the “greatest developments” in the school’s history.

Richard Farland will be forever tied to the Priority ’88 campaign, the immensely effective campaign which rebuilt and expanded the school after the Great Fire of ’88, a campaign he co-chaired along with John Goodloe. Initially, the goal of the campaign was to raise one million dollars for a gym, new science classes, and raising the endowment fund.

At the board meeting in October ’87 to launch the campaign, a meeting which occurred after the infamous Black Monday where the stock market lost over 500 points (23% of its worth), trustees expressed some doubt about the timing and wanted to defer it. Other trustees, particularly Kenneth Gilpin, son of the principal school founder Isabella Gilpin, countered with “We need to do this.” The board came around, and Priority ’88 was born, a campaign which forever changed and edified the Powhatan community both in its physical plant and in advancing its mission.

As Richard Farland put it, it was fortuitous the campaign was up and ready because in February 1988 the Great Fire razed the Old Building, the core of the school where three grades were housed – along with art, music, science, athletic locker rooms, foreign languages, the main office, and the head’s office. Nearly half of the school’s physical space vanished in under two hours. Suddenly Priority ‘88’s goals expanded.

So the school community that had not had a capital campaign since the

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‘60’s focused all of its energy on raising eventually over two million dollars. The campaign was successful. As Richard said, “It was a great tribute to the community.”

Nearly everyone on the team was new at raising money, so they carefully planned out and targeted their ‘asks.’ Richard and Billy Peebles went to the first major donor and made a strong presentation, asking an almost unimaginable amount to begin the ‘silent’ part of the campaign. This ask was so significant that Development Director Franny Crawford insisted it be formalized in writing. Naturally, Richard and Billy were nervous and kept putting off naming the exact amount in their presentation – until finally Richard said, “Billy will now tell you what we are asking you for.” Billy did. And to their elation, the donors readily agreed. With that major gift in hand Priority ’88 began its march to destiny.

Priority ’88 laid the framework for Powhatan’s financial future.

It raised expectations and provided valuable lessons to be shared with Charlie McIntosh for the later “Next Level Campaign. Priority ’88 “generated a pattern of giving,” according to Richard. The dire situation in 1982 where Powhatan had lost 40 students to newly started Jefferson Country Day School and later after the fire where finances were so fragile that Peebles, Gilpin, and Farland had to co-sign so that the office could have a new copier gradually evolved to one of financial integrity and strength.

In Richard Farland’s six-year term on the board and a later two-year stint representing the Associate Board of Trustees, he wore many hats: chairing the Long-Range Planning Committee, serving as Board Secretary, then Board Vice-President, heading up the board’s Development Committee, and co-chairing the Priority ’88 campaign.

In addition, he managed the school’s endowment fund for 22 years, which through contributions and appreciation grew from half a million to between three and four million dollars during his oversight. Richard also spent 17 years as a parent with all four of his children graduating from Powhatan with distinction. He said that the greatest joy he had was heading up capital campaigns where motivated volunteers stepped forward to seek and offer ‘stretch’ contributions and reach what seemed “impossible goals.” Richard called this fund-raising as his central experience – and “most fabulous” – in his life.

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Farland thought that adding a second section to each grade was a “very great success,” an idea which overcame some initial community misgivings, and built a much larger base of contributors. This increase in donors allowed Powhatan “to dream bigger dreams and encourage bigger expectations.” He stressed that he was not alone but part of a community effort. Richard said that it was so satisfying to see a community realize that with determination it could achieve its shared vision and establish a financial foundation which allowed academics to flourish. He added that it was a “joy” through wearing so many hats “to see so much of the history of the school.”

During the interview Richard offered lessons he had learned in overseeing fund-raising campaigns (including two he headed for Grafton School): • • • • • • • • • •

Visualize what you need and figure out how to get there.

Build a culture of giving.

Lay the framework for your campaign.

Ask honestly and directly.

Lead with the top gift.

Believe that with determination you can achieve the impossible.

Expand the community’s vision of what’s possible.

Realize that financial security allows the school’s vision and mission to flourish.

A good campaign generates positive energy and a positive experience.

Advance your vision and let it coalesce into experience.

Richard Farland’s tenure on the board paralleled the school’s growth academically from a strong regional institution to a state-renowned independent school, a veritable temple to the value of a creative liberal arts education. In an affirmation of an old theme, he reported that all four of his children said the strongest advantage they took away from Powhatan was their ability to write. Just as Peebles, Crawford, Farland, Gilpin, Byrd, Willey, Harris, and the board were leading Powhatan to financial security; Peebles, Morgoglione, Robb, Wheeler, Chapman, and others were forging a superior academic identity and legacy for the school. Both campaigns were built around conversations and planning which occurred day to day and through trial and error. These heady 99

days, full of joy and an abiding sense of accomplishment, revealed just how new, fresh, and dynamic the world may be.

Richard also stressed that when new families come into Powhatan they inherit the legacy of past donors, many of whom are generally unknown – the people who have built the plant, made sure the school has the equipment it needs, and funded the endowment. This tradition of giving must be nurtured for a school to thrive; for, done right, financial campaigns empower each generation to step up to its responsibility and ensure Powhatan’s continued excellence. Richard Farland summed up this synergy in one word: beautiful.

Richard Farland brought his unique talents and sense of wonder to Powhatan’s Board of Trustees and dedicated himself to securing Powhatan School’s finances and future. It is no hyperbole to say that he and the community he led were wildly successful. Every student every day benefits from the foundation he helped lay. When ideals, dedication, and enthusiasm meet, the results are often more than we may behold.

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Margaret Harris shaking hands with Head of School John Lathrop at graduation in 1997.

Jeff and Celie Harris My father John Bell was in the Winchester Medical Center undergoing a three-way bypass (which would grow to five-way when expert cardiac surgeon Dr. Bob Tucker got a closer look at the situation) heart operation. While dad was being operated on, my mother and I realized we hadn’t yet had breakfast and decided that it would be a better use of our time to go down to the hospital cafeteria and eat rather than aggravate our sense of worry by hanging around in the waiting room.

When we entered the dining area, we noticed a long line snaking through the gates to get food. Ahead I recognized Dr. Jeff Harris, past Powhatan parent. When his part of the line folded into a closer lane, Jeff was facing us, and as soon as he recognized me he left his place in line, brought his tray over, and joined us, giving up a whole lot of space he had gained. I introduced him to mother, told him how good it was to see him, and chatted with him the whole time about dad, about Powhatan, and about our kids. I especially recall his kindness and solicitous concern during those minutes we inched along. It was just 101

the kind of diversion both of us needed at that anxious time, and Jeff’s comforting, supportive remarks lifted both of us up and gave us solace.

And then, like an angel he was gone, his good work completed.

That day Jeff Harris earned mother’s highest accolade, “What a fine person!”

As always, mother was dead on.

On November 7, 2017, my 68th birthday, I sat down with Celie and Jeff Harris to talk about Powhatan School and their role in it. At my age, it was the perfect present: A pleasant hour reminiscing about the school that all of us agreed was wonderful. Celie, who has served twice on Powhatan’s Board – once as a parent and once as representative of the Associate Board of Trustees, affirmed my mission of discovering why so many have concluded that Powhatan is a magical place. Jeff gave specifics to her theme: He said that Powhatan’s small classes and attentive faculty gave room for the artsy, creative student who thought a bit outside the box. He said that Laura Robb specifically encouraged his kids.

The Harris’ eldest, Peden, was a very strong individual whose comments from his teachers reminded Jeff of himself as a youngster.

Peden was reluctant to wear his tie – part of the dress code then, and the Harrises took a creative chance by buying ties which sported odd patterns like EKGs or a skull-and-crossbones. Problem solved. I recalled that Peden, like me, loved biking, and he and I had negotiated a way he could ride his bike to school. That day Peden and his bike made a surprise appearance during all-school recess, somehow navigating a sea of gamboling children without collision. Lower school authorities were apoplectic, and Peden and his bike retired from the stage after his one-time all-star revue. Now he and his wife Lindsay were welcoming their first child and the Harris’ first grandchild, Holden Jeffrey, into the world. This field of memories was rounded out with Jeff recalling how Peden had insisted on wearing an all-green outfit on his first day to school. Standing in front of their house on Washington Street, he looked, according to his dad, “like a little stalk of celery” waiting for the bus to pick him up. Celie noted that just as she figured out that daughter Susanne liked Oshkosh B’gosh outfits she announced that she was now wearing skirts. How many of us as parents have experienced exactly the same scenario?

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Celie spoke about some of her activities on the board where she was secretary. She took voluminous notes, which Billy Peebles edited down to where, Jeff said, “they could fit on a 3x5” card.” Later, when she returned, trustee Steve Slaughter couldn’t get past his childhood habit of addressing her as “Mrs. Harris.” Celie remembered reading a draft of a fanciful, detailed story that Susanne had written for fourthgrade teacher Ellen Benjamin when she came across “a made-up word.”

Pointing it out to her daughter, Celie related that Susanne said, “I like the way it will sound. They’ll know what it will mean.” Invention and context, two elemental concepts of language – Rilke could not have said it better. Celie also shared her excitement when Peden was assigned his first research paper, complete with note cards and an outline, by Sally Hovermale.

She recalled the creativity of Harry Holloway teaching Susanne about negative numbers. Sue remembers it like this, “Once Mr. Holloway used masking tape on the floor and marked it to explain positive and negative numbers. All of a sudden it made perfect sense. I just had to see it and act it out. I got it from then on.” Celie talked also about daughter Margaret’s class, an energetic bunch consisting of five girls and 18 boys. Later, while visiting an economics class as a trustee, Celie was fascinated how the kids all used their smart phones and a calculator or two to solve a word problem finding mortgage payments, inventory, and net profit – among other things.

Next, she brought up the fire and its aftermath, a time which captured the essence of the Powhatan community. She related how son Will was home sick, and she was spending the night at the hospital because daughter Susanne needed an emergency appendectomy. That was the morning of the fire. Peden was in the fifth grade. We chatted a bit about the cause: the fire marshal stated it was caused by a malfunctioning space heater in Billy Peebles’ office. I could only think of the bare copper wires which ran on wooden tracks below the floor of the Old Building I had seen once while looking for some missing athletic equipment.

An electrician had been drilling some test holes in Peebles’ office the day before. I always wondered if his drill had inadvertently nicked a wire, causing it to short circuit. Celie remembered our avuncular and talented trustee Phil Coffey, as I do, with special warmth for his quiet strength and soothing nature during that crisis.

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Some years later, Celie was asked to write the cover letter opening the Annual Giving campaign, a task she was glad to do. A key part of that letter consisted of her adult children Peden, Susanne, and Margaret commenting on their teachers. Their insights bear repeating: “‘He always exuded positive energy and helped my classmates and me to feel good about ourselves and our potential.’

‘He helped us explore our curiosity to the fullest. In the lab or in the woods he seemed to offer a new path of discovery week after week.’

‘She was a passionate and patient teacher.’

‘He was always willing to come in early to help those of us who struggled with a concept.’

‘She defined a clear line of right and wrong for young people. She disciplined when needed and also nurtured with a gentle hand when deserved.’

‘She was always encouraging us to give it our all. She clearly felt that every individual could contribute. She demanded that we work together and put aside differences once on the field, as that would be the only way for us to play our best. She was running right along with us most of the time, practicing what she preached.’

‘I loved being in her class so much. She had the lunch wheel that she brought out so we could trade parts of our lunch that we didn’t want. I also loved the stories about her evil sister, Lady Beware.’”

Such testimonies illustrate the deep affection and incisive insight former students have for their teachers.

Jeff explained the full history of the Harris’ famed “Chili Party,” which began as a way for their kids to have their classmates over to watch the Apple Blossom parade from their home on Washington Street, right along the parade route. The yard was ideal – on two tiers and surrounded by a wrought iron fence, which when gated created the perfect ‘playpen.’ Three chilis were featured: hot, Helen Fox’s white bean and chicken chili, and vegetarian. After the Harrises moved to Clarke County the date was moved to December on the same weekend as the Byrd Bowl, a bowling extravaganza sponsored by a branch of 104

the Byrd family. The two events were timed not to conflict. Jeff said the party went on for around 20 years. Celie recalled Sara Aitcheson coming and bringing her kids, which prompted Jeff to remember her brother Robbie standing in their kitchen wearing a tee-shirt with CLEVELAND emblazoned on it. Jeff remarked on the shirt and Robbie said that Cleveland had two things he loved: the Cleveland Indians and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Celie went on to comment on her kids’ love of acting – particularly Susanne and Peden. Peden was ‘bad guy’ Don John, the Bastard, in Much Ado About Nothing, a role he tackled with glee (not least of which because he got to say “bastard” on stage. Long-time colleague Carol Chapman used to tell me, “Dick, I love it when the kids ‘get’ to use bad language while doing Shakespeare.” To which I replied, “Whole language, whole learning” … with a straight face). Susanne was an excellent Maria in Twelfth Night. Both Celie and Jeff said that Susanne’s performance showed them how much she enjoyed acting, and how gifted she was at it. Sue later went on to perform in Wayside Theatre’s production of “A Christmas Carol.” Celie caught the bug a bit too and helped run things backstage, including running the fog machine.

Later we chatted a bit about my former colleagues and their friends Laura Robb and Carolyn Morgoglione, legendary teachers at Powhatan. Jeff wondered if Laura was “fully retired” – referring to her post-Powhatan career as nationally-renowned author and educational consultant. We caught up on Carolyn Morgoglione, especially in light of the passing of her much-beloved husband and soccer guru, Dino.

Celie brought up the whole subject, championed at Powhatan, of outdoor learning. Of course, that commitment was formalized in our NEAL (Nature Enhanced Approach to Learning) program, which all students benefit from. The acquisition of the Crocker Conservancy, a process that spanned generations of the school’s history, has given our community our own tract of wilderness to enjoy and promote our students’ experience of the outdoors. We couldn’t help but think of J. T. Anderson, whose enthusiastic leadership and generous support made the Conservancy come alive. I recalled how during the building of the McIntosh Arts & Sciences building that the orientation of the building was moved some feet to make sure that the roots of the Grandfather

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tree remained undisturbed. We also noted that one of the trunks of the tree now seems to be dying from the top down.

Celie and Jeff both rued the need for new emphasis on security.

I told them that I thought the school had reacted thoughtfully and prudently in leading the way in this region in making Powhatan safe for our children. We are all thankful for the expertise and commitment of Frank Phillips’ security company of Golden Seal in enabling Powhatan to become even safer without adding onerous security procedures. While we are insulated from the outside somewhat, we may only ignore threats at our own risk.

Comments and congratulations ensued in the wrap-up concerning graduation citations written for each graduate and delivered during the ceremony, which Jeff characterized as “right on target.” Celie noted that this tradition, begun by Billy Peebles and advanced and refined under John Lathrop and Sue Scarborough, was a unique, beautiful, and defining aspect of Powhatan’s Graduation.

Lastly, they saluted Powhatan’s legacy of committed parents “across the board.”

Jeff and Celie Harris are another of those pairs of parents which have characterized Powhatan – the kind of folks whose values and energies have allowed the school to flourish for over seven decades. They epitomize the kind of parents who make a school and its community great. Their generous and giving nature suffused their service and reflected in the lives of their children. Their story proves that Powhatan and its impact on children will be positive and life-long.

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John and Maxine Willey with daughters Jennifer and Meredith at Ski Tuesday at Bryce.

John and Maxine Willey All independent schools need families to prosper. Some families support the school over generations. Others support the school through sending all of their children then taking their education and unique background out into the world. Yet others serve on boards and committees and sustain the school through governance. Some do all of this. Few have contributed as much to the life and the mission of Powhatan School as John and Maxine Willey and their three children, Jennifer, Chris, and Meredith.

I recall first meeting John and Maxine during a Parents Night in the 1970’s. Quite frankly, John was a Latin geek, one of those rare souls who believed if you learned enough Latin you could guarantee your future and help the world too. Being the then Latin teacher (I ‘won’ the post because in a round-the-table poll of past Latin experience of the faculty I finished second – behind the full-time French teacher), I was delighted at John’s enthusiasm and was quick to point out that the last time the cognoscenti spoke Latin as their lingua franca the Western world 107

produced the Enlightenment – as if a new one was right around the corner. When you’re the Latin teacher, Latin geeks are your permanent best friends, and they are a lovely sounding board of affirmation for studying this bedrock ancient language.

John will tell you that the $900 per student tuition at the time seemed astronomical; Maxine was wondering how in the world they could afford to send all three. But nothing builds understanding and perspective better than being engaged. When Powhatan admitted Jennifer, she brought the whole family with her. John and Maxine were always on campus, always raising their hands to volunteer, always manning the phone tree, always supporting every event, always asking how they could help, always tailoring their lives so that they could be there for their kids. In just a few short years, I personally heard John ask this question to the Powhatan community, “How about charging a tuition that actually pays the cost of a Powhatan education and gives our teachers a wage comparable to their peers in the area?”

Both Maxine and John will tell you that Powhatan’s Winter Tuesday program, which for them translated into years of delightful excursions to Bryce Ski Resort in Basye, VA, was one of the highlights of their experience at Powhatan. To hear them tell it, Powhatan promoted the learning of a life skill (skiing), created an environment in which the big kids helped the little kids, encouraged family togetherness, and built community. That the school would devote – at that time – eight full days during the winter term showed the Willeys just how important these things were to Powhatan and its philosophy. Although the faculty complained constantly about the disruptions to the schedule and the loss of academic time, the Willeys knew what every VAIS accrediting team raved about: among other things Winter Tuesday showed how creative use of scheduling and getting the entire community out and doing something together was the kind of positive good that an independent school was conceived to do.

John told about this friend he made while taking the ski lift together, another dad who was a minister. After getting to know each other, John’s friend said, “I’m a preacher and I can maneuver my schedule to get off on Tuesdays. But how do you do it?” John, one of the busiest Ob/Gyns in the area, answered, “I tell my office the year before

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not to schedule any appointments or duty for me on the Tuesdays of January and February. If they can’t cover for me, I’ll just take leave.”

That was the kind of prioritizing that kept Powhatan’s programs active and vital.

If you want to catch a Shakespeare play – any Shakespeare play Powhatan has done during the time period from the late 80’s through early 90’s, call John or Maxine. They’ve got all the ones that their kids were any way part of. Maxine and John both have supported Shakespeare because it showcases the eighth graders - culminating a lifetime educational career of being onstage at least once a grade level from Pre-K on up, supports the active learning of great literature, and allows Powhatan students to do what few or any other students their age do: perform a full-length, uncut Shakespeare play, usually a comedy. The Willeys have been the leaders of our cheering section, but their support of the program goes so much deeper. When you enter the auditorium (which, by the way, was designed exactly as any director would have dreamed it), one quickly notices the three-sided thrust stage and the terrific, professional lighting system.

John and Maxine Willey donated the lighting system and light board.

John and Chris Willey installed the system and hanged every fixture. The play may be “the thing to catch a king,” but so much more goes into putting one on. Can you imagine one without lights?

Of the many academic areas in which Powhatan excelled, the one the Willeys returned to again and again was writing. Both Maxine and John felt Powhatan had done an exceptional job teaching writing and creating a love of writing among their three children. Jennifer told how she uses writing and specifically the writing of stories to communicate with her students and how she elicits through them the stories which illustrate the themes she is exploring. John and Maxine tell how Chris was asked about a hot new ad slogan his company was considering. Chris responded the slogan would be great as long as they got the subjunctive right in the ‘If…’ clause. This remark was kicked upstairs to enough levels that the corporate head eventually went to a university and asked an English professor. The professor confirmed what Chris had been trying to tell his colleagues. Meredith, the Willeys’ youngest, said, “When I studied teaching English at the Curry School at UVA, we read countless books and articles about teaching writing. My classmates would often say that they knew how to teach literature, but 109

teaching someone to write was so much more difficult. The pedagogy when it came to writing was foreign to them, as they had not learned this way. Thankfully, it made sense to me, because it was exactly how I had learned to write at Powhatan. Later, in my career, I developed … a reputation as ‘the teacher who gets you to write.’” Effective writing has built the current world and will continue to change it as long as human beings have ideas and the desire to spread them.

While she was on the board, Maxine headed up the program which got parents to cover classes during lunch so that faculty could have time to meet, something that is very hard to schedule when someone is watching the kids – and at Powhatan adults are always watching the kids. Maxine tells that the real reason was to give the adults at Powhatan a chance to get to know each other in real time rather than being stuck all day in their rooms and only seeing each other on the fly. The program promoted one of the great themes at Powhatan: that we are always better working together than we are working alone. From board to administration to classroom, Powhatan works to create collaboration among its disciplines and throughout the levels of its community.

John and Maxine, both at different times, were on the board when some tough transitions were taking place. In his case John was involved in the move from Mr. Niemann to Mr. Old as Headmaster and the replacement of Mr. Old with Mr. Peebles. We ask so much of our board members who are unpaid volunteers and often have their children in school. Besides the tuition payment for their own kids, they are often expected to set the bar for our community in Annual Giving and capital campaigns. Then there are the delicate decisions they have to carry out – such as changing administrative personnel or leading the school in a building campaign. For convoluted reasons some of those actions in the past have involved incurring legal expenses and unusual, yet ‘interesting’ interactions with attorneys one may know from church or other customary venues. Trustees make other sacrifices too; most of those sacrifices deal with giving up personal time. Franny Crawford told me that for one year after the fire, Billy Peebles and she met at the hospital in Winchester at 7:30 for breakfast weekly to plan and execute the rebuilding and expansion of the school. Franny said there usually were three trustees who joined them. Two of those trustees were always John Willey, usually finishing a night shift, and Richard Farland.

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Powhatan has left its impact in these families’ lives too. Jennifer Willey Burks ’85 told me that every room of her home has mementoes of her time at Powhatan, that the reminders are not just things but ideas and customs too. This is a school where when you’re 35 several of your closest friends still are ones you made while here. I have yet to talk to an alumni or alumni’s family where the topic of friends kept since Powhatan isn’t a theme. Jennifer went on to say that every school she or her family attended was measured by the Willey family’s experience at Powhatan: Were the kids ready to learn? Did the school address the whole child? Did school send the message that each student has a wonderful talent? Was every kid on the team? Sure, there is permanent knowledge imparted, but is the deepest message sent a love of learning?

Does every student hear loud and clear, “You can do it”? When you’re visiting, say, Mayan ruins, is your first inclination to text your sibs to see if you just won some points for the Rails?

Some of us recall the Willeys and their little cart pulled by their Rottweiler Damien which was always around for Field Day, the premier expression of the joy and enthusiasm which the familial competition between the Posts and Rails generated. Now the theme from “Chariots of Fire” blares on the loudspeaker, and while the music makes your spine crawl and spirit soar, it cannot for a second match the intensity and unbridled excitement of a relay race where the anchors both take clean hand-offs and are laying it down, neck and neck, that moment when the whole world is either a Post or a Rail.

Flagship families affect schools far beyond their attendance and the awards their namesakes garner. They shift and affirm the culture of independent schools. Their names become incorporated into and part of the campuses they have forever altered. And the really good ones change the school, leaving them temples to the gods of learning and the majesty of human experience.

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John Tyson It was one of the first times I could remember Anne, my daughter, who, I think, was in the first grade, questioning me intently. “Do you pick him up on the bus?”

“Yes, actually he and his brother are the first ones I pick up in the morning,” I answered.

“If I get up real early, can I ride with you?”

“Sure.” At the time I was driving the Winchester bus, and Anne was going to move heaven and earth to ride to school with her friend, which in her case meant being ready at 6:30 am. To my amazement, Anne was bright-eyed and ready to go the next morning. After a half hour or so we pulled up to my first stop on Sharon Drive and two boys got on, one near graduation, one just beginning school. Annie’s head shot up. “Lucian!”

“Annie!” Lucian shot back.

Two little pals scurried to sit together and then proceeded to swap stories and giggle all the way to school. It was as dear a moment for me to witness as a dad could wish for. I relished sharing the anecdote with John Tyson, Lucian and Keenan’s dad, as we sat down to interview his memories of Powhatan, particularly his time on the board during the critical time of Priority ’88 when the old school house, “Powhatan,” slated for renovation, in fact burned to the ground and a whole new plan had to be put into place – a plan which expanded mightily the role a resurgent Powhatan would play in the regional educational community.

But we started with catching up about Keenan and Lucian, whom John said still considered their Powhatan pals as their closest friends.

He also told me how excited both his sons would get over the old faculty/ alumni basketball game which took place annually for some years the night of Carol Sing. I’d always suit up and even had a custom-made

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jersey with my lifetime scoring total as my number, 00. We had a ringer on the faculty, Chris Northrup, but frankly all the rest of us had no business being on the court with those young men. The games should have been routs. Instead, one of my favorite adages “Old age and guile will always overcome youth and skill” always proved true. Billy Peebles one time said, “Hey, when it gets tough, we’re going to flip it out to Dick and he’s going to sink a three-pointer.” Obviously, this practitioner of ‘Billy Ball’ had never studied my stats. In truth, I always passed the ball to Chris, who scored about 98% of our points every year. Somehow, some way, we’d always win. The alums always accepted the outcome – as if it were affirmation of some arcane cosmic order.

John related how the Tysons ended up at Powhatan. He found that his elder son Keenan had spent his first year at a local public school, a repeat of the previous year at Somerset County, NJ. John even remembered what subject matter Keenan repeated – two and three column addition. I could confidently tell you that my kids finally went to school in their second and third grades. But the Tysons loved the atmosphere here when Keenan joined the fourth grade. What was obvious to John was, “Everybody wanted the best for their kids and were willing to work together to make it possible.”

John’s obvious talents and imposing presence quickly led him to a position on the board where he served with distinction. He was serving on that body during the school’s greatest crisis, the Fire of ’88. John said, “While the fire was still smoldering, the board met under the leadership of Billy Peebles.” Cohesiveness and spirit of purpose appeared immediately. “The focus was to dig down and find the resources, to come together and get it done.” John said, “We all realized we had to dig a little deeper.” John Tyson in this part of his narrative adopted a tone bordering wonder. “It was a magic time. People like Carlton Mallory, Walt Robbins, and Harry Byrd exemplified the kinds of talent this fire brought together.” The fire accelerated plans for the renovation of the school, adding unbelievable urgency to the work that needed to be done.

And everyone then around agrees that it was Billy Peebles who was the inexhaustible fuel in that furnace. He was everywhere, attending every meeting, writing every letter, guiding the school through this interim, marking each day as a gem of possibility, and focused on a future in which Powhatan would be the matchless manifestation of all of our hopes. Destiny and its all-star cast had arrived.

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After Tom Gilpin told me the ‘usual’ way to rise through the board was to be appointed secretary, then vice president, and ascend to board presidency. John Tyson was the second former trustee whom I had interviewed who had been vice president but had not gone on to be president. When I asked him about it, John said, “I still volunteer too much…” explaining that his other commitments plus his being plant manager (director) of Technicon were too big a burden for him to comfortably assume the presidency, so he asked Theresa Donovan if she would continue in the office in his place. Theresa readily agreed.

A partial list of John Tyson’s volunteer work during that time and still occurring is truly humbling. He has just gone on to the steering committee for VAN, the Valley Action Network with a focus on ALICE, Asset Limited Income Comprised and Employed, a start-up program under the United Way umbrella seeking to move the working poor from crisis to stability. John is on the board of Our Health and community foundation and chairs the board of the Winchester Day Preschool which he joined at the request of friend George Henzel, where in 2012 they worked together on a solution to an asbestos tile problem that John figured was brought on or exacerbated by the floating slab floor which created a fissure between the foundation and the floor. John had been reluctant to take on the chairmanship, because earlier during the time before he had gone to Kansas to head up a Bayer plant (’94-’03) he had been the chair of the OIC (a job-training program for disadvantaged youth and adults) board for Virginia and had chaired the Council of Vocational Education under three governors: Baliles, Wilder, and Allen. John had also been on the local hospital board. Tyson went on to praise his Rotary Club, or his Rotarian network, because just like he answered Henzel’s call, currently the twelve-member board of Winchester Day Preschool consists of eight fellow Rotarians or their spouses who have answered his call.

John Tyson went on to talk about Handley High School, where many of our grads attend, including his sons Keenan and Lucian, a school he characterized as one of the best he’s been associated with.

He talked about being a perennial science fair judge and some of the outstanding projects he witnessed there. One in particular was a student who had figured out how to quiet helicopter rotor blades without compromising lift. John noted this youngster generated a great deal of attention from our armed services.

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We finished the interview by sharing anecdotes about his sons.

One occurred during an overnight field trip to Washington with Mrs. Haston’s fifth grade class. On the way home the next evening, John could not help listening in on a classmate who was ‘schooling’ Lucian all about women. The classmate’s final advice? “You gotta listen to ’em.”

My contribution dealt with the time I did the ‘Nat Turner’ simulation in Lucian’s class. Virtually everyone wanted to be the slaves who were revolting (the ‘revolution’ consisted of using a secret word which would make the regular folk have to do whatever the ‘slaves’ decreed. In our case sing a song, hop on one leg, or not finish their picnic lunch).

Lucian bided his time. When I asked who would like to be Governor of Virginia, Lucian’s hand shot up. He made a great governor.

We also shared how we as dads would not let our very athletic sons play football. John’s mother had stopped him because, “You’ll get your brains scrambled.” I was prohibited for physical reasons but watched my talented brother give his knees for his high school. My sons got around me by playing lacrosse. Keenan and Lucian had both excelled in basketball. At least one of John’s grandsons, like one of mine, excelled in baseball.

The sheer talent of trustees like John Tyson points to why Powhatan has been so successful. Often, we attract those rare individuals like John who are hard-wired to offer service to their community, the people who realize their community deserves the best they have to offer. I think 15-year-old John Tyson was marked, just like I and so many of our peers were, by John F. Kennedy’s clarion call: “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.” So next time you see a classic Cadillac driven by a sublimely happy guy, honk. If it’s John Tyson, he’ll honk right back.

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Then Development Director Franny Crawford at the groundbreaking ceremony after the fire.

Franny Crawford, ‘59 When I first met Franny Crawford, she had her own home improvement business doing wallpapering, carpentry or building the odd coffin – her coffins were based on the simpler version – pine wood. They looked elegant in a plain, no-nonsense Shaker way. I even envisioned lying in one… Clearly, Franny Crawford, Powhatan’s first Mahaney Cup winner in 1959 who set a high bar for those who followed, was a person of many skills, but wallpaper and coffins could only fulfill so many of her vast talents. As the 1980’s dawned, she reappeared at her old school and worked herself into a storied career as Powhatan’s first director of development. When she left 18 years later, the newly created development effort was well organized to continue the important work of securing Powhatan’s future.

It was mid-October when we sat for our interview and considering the beauty of the Fall Day it seemed entirely natural, in fact necessary, for Franny to acknowledge Powhatan’s incomparable setting as a key aspect of its identity. The rolling hills and fields that surround every 117

activity on campus is integral to our learning environment. Walking to music class is really a nature walk. Powhatan has received multiple awards as a “Green School.” Our Crocker Conservancy of 90 acres of protected land plays an active role in our community and provides for a an immersive “green” experience on campus. Powhatan’s NEAL Program - Nature Enhanced Approach to Learning, inspired by then parents Beatrice and Adie von Gontard, and enhanced by the legacy of Dr. Mayo’s copper beeches, a larch, a gingko, et alia – exotic trees from around the world, enhance that experience. Ibit’s Courtyard around which the school is organized and so much of school life takes place, the various decks, gardens, and observation stations, all of these contribute to Powhatan being a school focused outward, a school which embraces fresh air, the ecology (or natural environment) and our students’ relationship to it. Franny pointed out what a terrific setting Powhatan is for appreciating the natural world, and our relationship to it and to the people around us.

The Powhatan setting personifies a key aspect of the school’s history with families, students, and personnel. Caring about environment means also caring about the people in it. Franny told the story of a family from Winchester, strong proponents of public schools, that went through a trying time because of an illness of one of the parents. This family made the decision to move their three children to Powhatan because they knew they would get the support and attention they needed to survive during this time of family trial. I heard another parent once refer to her son coming to Powhatan as an opportunity for him to be seen by teachers and staff. She defined as “seen” as the extra acknowledgements, gestures, encouragements, and pats on the back that are just part of an ordinary day at Powhatan. Crawford told another story, about an administrative helper, who was dealing with serious personal issues. The head was forced to let her go. One staff member asked, “Isn’t Powhatan about supporting people, helping them find their way?” What no one knew was that the head and an important member in our community were already working together to create an opportunity to support this young worker and help her change the course of her life. It proved to be the help that allowed this person to reroute her life to a successful career.

Franny remembered our legendary librarian Anne Wheeler. Anne was the consummate listener and had the uncanny ability to mirror back 118

to you what you had said. She also was the master of the equivocating prompt. She would say, “Yes…well but no.” Anne always left the speaker anxious to expand upon her thinking without Anne broadcasting a judgment or point of view. Both Franny and I acknowledged how grateful we were for the in-depth counsel we received from Anne over the years.

Franny had gotten her volunteer start at Powhatan when Don Niemann had asked her to work on putting Powhatan’s vast pile of alumni papers into some kind of order. An unpaid job at the time, she claimed she barely made a dent. Interim Head Bill Old hired her part time to focus on alumni records, development, and marketing. He sent her to a three-day NAIS (National Association of Independent Schools) conference in Bath, ME. There she realized the depth of the profession of development and saw she could make a significant contribution to Powhatan’s future.

In the mid-1980’s the board of trustees, along with then Headmaster Peebles, hired a campaign consultant to assist in creating a plan for raising money. Training began with Peebles and Crawford.

Somewhere in these early days Powhatan ran its first modern day Annual Giving Campaign. One would have thought the doors to Fort Knox had been blown open. Soon the school was envisioning the Priority ’88 campaign, an ambitious answer to the destruction the Great Fire had wrought. That campaign along with insurance settlement money for fire damages would raise over $3,000,000 and helped to put in motion a new era in fundraising.

The Priority 88 campaign to rebuild the fire damaged campus started as a campaign to add a gymnasium, prior to the fire. But the fire would change the nature of the campaign. So much of the school’s physical space had been destroyed in the fire, that the initial plans had to be extensively revised. An opportunity also presented itself: Everything the campaign now envisioned would be brand new and would express the comprehensive views the trustees and the community had for a new school facility. Peebles, Crawford, and the executive committee of the board convened the evening of the fire at the Lone Oak, a local restaurant. There Peebles stated, “We’re going to rebuild.” For the next year and a half, John Willey, Richard Farland, Franny Crawford, Billy Peebles and oftentimes Harry Byrd would meet weekly for breakfast at

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the Winchester hospital to review the status of the campaign and plan for the next step. Franny couldn’t help but notice that she had been invited into this group of high-powered men. She credited Peebles, “He made that happen.” The fire had become the driving force for the school to expand and further refine its identity.

Crawford went on to paint a picture of Billy Peebles that revealed him during his finest hour. He was everywhere – working tirelessly to lead the school and promote its fortunes. His leadership style showed there was no job too small, no call too unimportant, no note too insignificant, no question too difficult for him not to give it his full energy. He encouraged and supported every one of us under these difficult circumstances. As Franny said, “He gave us permission to be as good as we could be.”

During Franny’s tenure at Powhatan the faculty skits rose to a level akin to kabuki theatre and the best of SNL parodies. One of the more memorable was at Paula and Fred Myer’s house where we satirized our weekly planning meetings, affectionately named the External/Internal Experience and Insight Organization’s or EIEIO for short – particularly in light of how the weekly activities impacted the daily flow of school life. In the parody we all came dressed as someone else. I came as Billy (his wife Penny was great in sneaking me a pair of his distinctive hornrimmed glasses), Helen Fox brought the house down portraying the maintenance man, Paul Clevenger, and Franny knocked us out imitating the haute couture of Carolyn Morgoglione. Her nail polish matched her shoelaces which matched one of the colors in her parasol, which complemented her skirt, lipstick and sweater. When she appeared, I’m surprised they didn’t call any ambulances, we laughed so hard.

Franny talked about Isabella Tyson Gilpin, the forward-thinking impetus behind the founding of the school. As Crawford put it, “I’m not sure she got everything she envisioned at the start, but she sure would have liked what we have become.” And that, according to her, is “the ideal, small, contained learning community where no child is overlooked.”

Franny was part of that faculty that over the Xerox, the coffee pot, or using Anne Wheeler’s office we talked about the school as the one “we all wished we had gone to.” It was an immersive, organic learning 120

process where we talked about the conferences we attended, articles we had read, (in Laura’s case some she had written), schemes we had thought up, refined, discarded, and brought back in new iterations.

We knew great schools built readers, created writers, played to multiple learning styles, modeled learning strategies, and treated the students as wonderful additions to our community. What was so remarkable about these conversations was how natural and authentic they all were and how they supported the school’s motto – We Learn Not For School But For Life.

Franny established for us and our community the unimpeachable importance of a development effort to our school’s successful present and hopeful future. When the school needed her most, Crawford appeared, though she would say, when she needed a worthwhile focus for her life, Powhatan appeared.

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Billy Peebles after teaching a History class while Headmaster.

Billy Peebles It was an early morning ride to Dulles airport. Billy Peebles and I were on our way to Colorado Springs to attend the Counseling Institute at Fountain Valley School, headed by Harvard’s legendary Stanley King, an institute intended to aid faculty and personnel in private or independent schools from country day schools to universities in acquiring the skills of active listening so that they might learn and employ best practices when counseling students. It was going to be a week-long, incredible immersion into the life of a counselor with much hands-on learning (role plays) and with presentations from an all-star faculty: Everyone was an active Harvard University faculty member except for one. He was the head of the Stanford Medical Center. Billy and I were to be the first from Powhatan to attend.

We were substantially into our trip when Billy told me he wouldn’t be going. He explained that issues surrounding the rebuilding of the school after the fire had just gotten too critical for him to be away for a week. He needed to spend this August week making sure everything 123

went smoothly in Boyce. Because he had offered to drive us there, he was completing that part of the bargain even though it was taking hours out of his day, and a call the evening before would have given me time to have arranged a ride or driven to the airport myself. The incident illustrated two things about Billy Peebles: He always kept his word, and if Powhatan was part of an either/or decision, he always chose Powhatan.

It was literally the first week that Billy had arrived at Palm Beach Country School to begin his one-year interim year as Head of School. His and Penny’s car may have been still warm from the trip there. But he had an hour for an old colleague to talk on the phone and plenty to say about his first tenure as a head at Powhatan. He began by mentioning a man we both loved: Phil Coffey, who had been Board Treasurer during the period of the fire and its attendant recovery period. Phil earned everyone’s respect time and again with his staunch, expert loyalty to the school. He asked after Sue Scarborough, who was great. He then said, “I am a huge Sue Scarborough fan.” I assured him he was part of a large group, including me, who shared our enthusiasm for her and her administration.

I began by asking him what it was that made Powhatan ‘magical.’

He replied with vigor, “More than any school I am aware of Powhatan is focused, uppermost and foremost, on the kids. It’s certainly not true for every school that makes that claim. And many do.” I asked him what it was that separated Powhatan from the rest. He said it started with the faculty, a faculty he claimed spent almost all of its time together in conversations and discussions always devoted to the kids. Conversations which addressed the needs of the kids individually and collectively. He cited master teachers like Carol Chapman and particularly Carolyn Morgoglione, who were constantly generating learning centers. Billy said, “Those centers were a sterling example of the personalized and individual approach Powhatan has to addressing the needs of meeting the student where he or she is.”

Billy went on to discuss the signature programs which defined Powhatan. He noted the Shakespeare play marked the incredible amount of time and individual effort Powhatan invested in her worthy projects.

He also cited the Quadri-School Track Meet which at that time showed how well we prepared the kids to compete and the encouragement the coaches and other teammates showed their participants (That was well

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before the track meet had evolved away from a regional forum for four schools).

Powhatan, he avowed, served the widespread learning styles of our students by developing flexible ways to teach lessons. And if someone was still developing and needed support, we had expert faculty like Mary Hofstra and Kate Brown, who tutored kids helping them grow into themselves and be successful. We talked about the concept of scaffolding, providing students with ways to organize and synthesize information. Scaffolding might be a teacher-drawn diagram intended to help a student discover the main ideas in a reading selection. It had been my experience that scaffolding not only helped the student you were intending to support, but it helped all the students in the class. Billy said that that had been his experience too. He also cited collaborative learning, where kids worked together on projects, as an example of Powhatan pushing the envelope, creating forums for everyone to shine, where “…everybody benefits from extra faculty attention. The kind of attention that helped smooth out the inevitable bumps in the road.”

Billy talked about his being hired, aspects of which will always remain part of the school’s legendarium. To hear Billy tell it, he was amazed he was hired. To hear Tom Gilpin and Richard Farland tell it, they traveled to Charlottesville to have lunch with Billy and pledged to each other they would not leave until he agreed to be the next Head of Powhatan School. Billy had been an admissions director and a product of independent education. I don’t know how the search committee got his name, but that was the day the gods shined on Powhatan – just like the day when Beth Cook told John Lathrop, her childhood friend, that Powhatan was looking for a head; just like the day when consultant Dick Jung told Sue Scarborough that it was time for her to head up her own school. That day Billy fended off the insistent wooing of Gilpin and Farland with a couple of “Aw, shucks” and a panoply of reasons why he was not qualified, but five days after the fateful lunch he agreed to take the job. The school has been in great shape ever since. And to complete the virtuous cycle Peebles returned as Interim Head of Powhatan as Sue Scarborough retires.

Another crucial facet of the hiring saga was a call placed to Billy

by Search Committee vice-chair, board member Celie Harris. Billy’s

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unassuming nature compelled him to give the multitude of reasons he felt he was not yet seasoned enough to take the job. His last concern was lack of experience with lower elementary students below middle-school age, K-five, “Mrs. Harris, I have never taught them.” Celie Harris’ reply was classic, “We have this amazing faculty, you can learn from them.” Billy went on to list Nancy Chambers, Anne Wheeler, Carol Chapman, Carolyn Morgoglione, Sally Hovermale, and Laura Robb.

(Talk about a team!) But, of course, the trait beyond his classic strengths of intelligence, education, and experience that Celie and everyone else who met Billy recognized as uniquely vital was his incredible humility.

It would define his administration and anchor his relationship with the entire Powhatan community.

Billy hit the ground exhibiting strong leadership wrapped in the glove of gracious enthusiasm. Billy credited that strong beginning to a critical mass of the school community, particularly among the parents, that pulled for him and believed in the mission of the school.

He also cited the “incredible board” he inherited, including Tommy Gilpin, Richard Farland, Harry Byrd, Carlton Mallory, and Celie Harris, and the search committee which recommended him. Further, the relationship between the Head of School and Board Chair is of critical importance to the success of the school, and Billy emphasized that all four of the Board Chairs he worked with at Powhatan: Tom Gilpin, Harry Byrd, Teresa Donovan and most recently for his interim year, Langdon Greenhalgh, were top notch. But if there was a method brilliantly employed, it had to be communication.

When Billy was first hired, he and his wife Penny visited the campus for a meet and greet with the school community. During the day there was a school assembly in which the second grade gave their annual program. Within days the word began spreading how Billy had written every student in that performance a personal note commending her/his performance. Our mailboxes soon began filling with notes from Billy.

Everyone got them. Everyone marveled at where did he get the time to write so many notes and cards. If you did something for Powhatan, Billy was first in line to acknowledge it. We all were amazed at how effective this simple act of courtesy and recognition was. Every time I’d read one the Voice of My Mother would fire off in the back of my head reminding me how important these notes were to other people. My own personal 126

card writing improved notably. We all worked harder. We all paid closer attention. Because the man leading us worked harder than all of us.

The crisis of Billy’s tenure had to be the Great Fire of ’88. The critical point was if Billy Peebles had not been there at 5:30 in the morning – when according to Billy the fire already was substantially going – to discover it, the school could have burned to the ground before anyone would have had the time to react to it. The Farland House would have been gone. The Lindsey Library with its six classrooms would have probably been heavily impacted. The school community bought a real break when Peebles showed up so early. Billy at that point gathered his wits and entered the Lindsey Library where he called 911. He next called Harry Byrd, the then board chair, who replied typically, “I’ll be right there.”

After the fire, Priority ’88, the capital campaign the school was entering, had already been largely planned. Now with urgency and unprecedented loss of facilities, its mission was enlarged. So much work needed to be done, so many calls had to be made in order to make sure that – in Billy Peebles’ words – Powhatan “rose from the ashes like a phoenix.” Billy credited his “blue-ribbon Building and Grounds Committee,” which had people like Harry Byrd, Walt Robbins, Dennis Ridings, Nancy Talley, and Tom Gilpin serve on it, with leading the way in the recovery effort. The committee took off, visiting schools in the DC area. Of special note was the contribution of our many-talented Development Director Franny Crawford. Billy credited her with the vision, encompassing architecture, finance, mobilizing the community, and developing a message the community of Powhatan could not resist, that grew and evolved until the final beautiful project was realized.

One of the keys to the success of the campaign was early morning breakfast planning meetings at the Winchester Medical Center’s cafeteria at 7:30 a.m. timed for when John Wiley would be coming off his shift. Typically, Franny Crawford, Richard Farland, Billy Peebles, and John Wiley, and Harry Byrd would be present. As Billy put it, “All of us were rookies. None of us had been part of a campaign like this before. It was definitely ‘learn as you go’. Billy generously noted my contribution as chair of the faculty’s pledge drive. Billy Peebles always noticed what others were doing.

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We spent some time talking about other notable developments and great stories which had occurred during Billy’s tenure. One was keeping Winter Tuesday in the schedule. As a new head Billy questioned whether missing a significant number of days of the winter term was sound. He wondered if the time used wasn’t “frivolous.” People like John Wiley and Phil Coffey and the program’s chief cheerleader and organizer Helen Fox convinced Mr. Peebles to give it a try. He agreed and came to see that this was a distinctive part of Powhatan’s culture.

Winter Tuesday had convinced another skeptic that it held intrinsic value for the kids and our Powhatan families.

Another question that arose, but only in the earliest talking stages, was the possibility of moving Powhatan’s main campus to the Winchester area, since that was where the plurality of our students was from. Billy recalled that the center of our draw area actually was Boyce and coupled with the beauty of our campus the impetus soon flagged. Powhatan really was in the right place. Subsequent student growth from areas east of the Blue Ridge has punctuated the wisdom of that conclusion.

Billy also commented on Powhatan’s conversion to ‘whole language learning,’ a movement that actually began before he arrived. I posited that we made the switch without damaging the tradition of Powhatan being a center of the language arts. In fact, the move may have enhanced that reputation. Billy noted that the parents gave us a chance and that the faculty worked hard to address any parent worries. He added that “the faculty carried such prestige” that the change in approach became a “watershed” in “nurturing the study of language and reading.” He noted that the study of language – reading and writing – was one of the “hallmarks of a Powhatan education.”

During the course of the interview, Billy Peebles must have mentioned 50 students, all of them in a positive and avuncular light. I tried writing the names all down but soon realized that I would never get them all. The message it sent to me was that if you had been a student of his you were emblazoned on to his memory and that you were remembered with fondness and deep respect. In the hubbub of daily life, Billy had missed the news of Bev Edwards’ (then Tyson) long disease and passing. That news moved him deeply.

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Lastly, we talked about a man we both considered a mentor, Kenneth (Kay) Gilpin. I had known Kay since childhood and lived on his farm Kentmere for over 19 years where I raised my family. Billy met him, of course, when he got here and soon gained an “incredible” respect for Kay and his counsel. In October of 1987, Black Monday occurred, a day when the stock market lost 508 points, or 22.6% of its value. The board met that night to discuss whether or not to begin the opening of the Priority ’88 campaign. According to Billy, one member announced that he had “lost a third of his wealth that day,” questioning heavily if this was the right time to begin a capital campaign. At this point Kay Gilpin, a principal supporter of the school since the beginning, spoke up and said, “We need to go forward.” His advice steadied the meeting, and the board voted to proceed.

When Billy was winding down his tenure and John Lathrop had been hired, the two paid a personal call on Kay. Beyond a meet-thenew-head call, the two were going to ask Mr. Gilpin for his support.

Kay led them in and Billy launched into his appeal. That’s when John recognized the music in the background. Kay Gilpin was playing the music from The Sting.

Our conversation would never have ended without Billy talking about his wife, Penny, and how much her unwavering support has meant to him over the years. Her constant encouragement and belief in him made possible his success, and her love of Powhatan matches Billy’s. He also mentioned how grateful he was to two former Heads of the Associate Board, Ann McIntosh and Nancy Talley, who were integral in helping Penny to feel welcomed and become part of the Powhatan family.

If the combination of enthusiasm, hard work, energy, and loyalty has a name, it has to be Billy Peebles. I found him to be one of the most remarkable and inspiring persons I have ever met. The day he walked in the cobwebs blew out and a brilliant focus and direction emerged for the school and for our community. With Billy at the helm, for Powhatan all things were possible.

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Harry Byrd making remarks during Powhatan’s groundbreaking ceremony after the fire.

Harry Byrd, III It was junior English and my class was studying non-fiction writing. The day’s lesson was fascinating: a letter, full of local color and colonial daily life written by Virginian Colonel William Byrd. This appealed immediately to my sensibilities of my beloved birthplace far away from suburban Washington, the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, generational home of my family, an area suffused with the story and lives of the Byrd family. We read and discussed the letter and were tasked that evening with writing a diary entry about our ‘typical’ day as if we were the Colonel. Considering my frequent and in-depth visits to Colonial Williamsburg and my natal connection to Virginia, putting myself in Colonel Byrd’s shoes for a day was incredibly easy.

Some months later I received word that my teacher had submitted my assignment to the Prince George’s County-wide literary magazine, and it had been accepted. So there I was being recognized over the school public address system by none other than Mr. Michael J. Hernick, principal of Oxon Hill Senior High School. All I could think about was 131

the capriciousness of fame because the ‘diary entry’ had been dashed off and was grounded in a lifetime of familiarity with ‘Virginiana.’

Really good writing, to my high school way of thinking, was based on rigor, planning, and hard work. My sense of worth at that time did not include the value of ordinary life experience or life interests – or of writing what you know.

More than a half century later I was sitting across from Colonel William Byrd’s direct descendant, Harry F. Byrd, III. The subject of my award so many decades before never came up. We were talking about a traumatic event with much more impact on our destinies: the Great Fire of February, 1988, which took the Old Building of Powhatan and razed it completely in just under two hours. Harry had been then president of the Board of Trustees, and I was a full-time teacher there and staff member living nearest to the school. We were both there.

Harry had learned of the fire around 5:30 am, from a call by then-Head Billy Peebles. I had learned about the fire at 5:43 when the phone next to my head rang, a call placed to me by a friend known for his sometimes-tasteless practical jokes. “Dick, Powhatan is on fire.”

Just as I began pitching in on him for the utter inappropriateness of his ‘joke,’ he interrupted by saying, “It’s over the scanner.” His tone convinced me.

I roared over to the school, mere tenths of a mile away, and could have been guided by the boiling, fiery tower of smoke struggling to gain definition in the dawn. I pulled up to a maze of hoses and firetrucks, to Philip Myer, one of our own alums, leading the firefighters, and Billy Peebles, cheeks already tear-stained, moving toward me. Flames licked out of the ground floor windows. The upper stories were intact but chuffing smoke in syncopated bursts through newly-exploded windows. I was standing next to Paula Myer. Billy said, “Dick and Paula, I need you to go home and call all of the trustees and tell them what is happening.” We left to perform our saddest of tasks.

Harry recalls standing with a growing number of friends and trustees, trying to come up with anything they could do to help. They realized that they needed to drag hoses down to Page Brook to get water for the pumpers, but the supply was wholly inadequate. The full firefighting response awaited the tankers’ arrival. He characterized 132

the efforts of the many local companies which responded to the call as “their finest hour.”

Returning to the school and cresting a small ridge which brought Powhatan into view, I saw a vast pillar of flame burst through the roof as if hell itself was vomiting, the violence of the updraft carrying a momentary wreckage of building detritus with it. That instant remains one of the compelling visions of my life.

The swelling crowd watched the firefighters fling torrents of water into the conflagration. For its effect, it might as well have been gasoline. Feral cats ran in panic from the building only to turn and run back in when they saw the crowd, agonizing to save them. Two survived. One too badly burnt to be saved. The other was taken to the vet’s to be euthanized only to survive and become the pet of the Willey family. When I told Harry about the cat, he laughed and shook his head because the Willeys had found out the cat, aptly named Cinderella, was pregnant and had to pay for its neutering before they got it home. He chuckled, “Dick, no good deed goes unpunished.”

While the firefighters moved their attention to saving Lindsey Library and the Farland House, which had just been newly vinyl-sided, the Old Building sank to a pit of ashes and embers, presided over by the solitary chimney, standing like a Sherman’s toothpick. It was before 7:30 am. The fire had taken just under two hours to do its work.

In that time the school had lost its classrooms for the fourth and fifth grades, its art studio and music room, its kindergarten, locker rooms, its foreign language classroom, science lab, business office, main office, the headmaster’s office, all of its records, and the defining structure of its identity.

Our insurance agent Jerry Partlow had arrived and stayed the entire day. Beverly Edwards, then Tyson, manned the auditorium kitchen serving coffee and doughnuts the entire time. Neighbor Walt Robbins, who owned a large construction company, showed up at 8:00 am and offered his phalanx of heavy assets, “to start the cleanup.” Byrd cautioned Robbins, “We can’t begin anything until the Fire Marshall determines the cause of the fire.” He would do so the next day and trace the fire to a faulty space heater which had been in Peebles’ office. The

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trustees met that day, among them Richard Farland, John Willey, Tom Gilpin, John Tyson, and the inestimable Phil Coffey. Joined by Peebles and Franny Crawford, the trustees, under Harry Byrd’s leadership, began planning Powhatan’s resurrection. The phoenix itself could have hardly risen faster.

Byrd himself arranged with Kathy Perry of Perry Engineering for a fleet of dump trucks. Kenneth Stiles arranged to keep the Frederick County landfill open over the weekend. And using Robbins’ loader the entire ashy remains were hauled away, including the chimney, which they ultimately pulled down with a chain. Phil Coffey arranged for the acquisition of mobile classrooms which would arrive within weeks, and everyone worked together relocating classrooms into the library and downstairs into the auditorium for the interim. One of the highlights of the cleanup was the discovery of the fireproof safe from the business office containing all of the school’s financial records and payroll accounts. According to Helga Goodyear, our then Business Officer, when they opened the safe there was only soot. Phil Coffey met personally with each staff member and wrote us paychecks. He asked me, “Dick, what do you make?” Without a blink that’s what he made the check for.

The fire had started on a Thursday and school reopened the next Tuesday.

The board, the staff, the entire community both inside and out swung into action. The fire had created a sense of singular purpose within the community. A planned renovation and expansion was enlarged and approved by the board the same week the stock market rocketed down on one of its more notable corrections. One of the trustees said, “I can’t vote for expansion. I’ve just lost one-third of my net worth.” But he did. As Harry Byrd put it, “In a time of crisis you do what you have to do. The fire brought the community together.” With Partlow securing the insurance settlement, which Byrd characterized as generous, and an active capital campaign – with trustees like Byrd manning the phone banks, Powhatan raised $3.5 million dollars. In eighteen months, the Old Building was replaced with two academic wings, a new administrative building, and one of the largest elementary gymnasiums in the state of Virginia. Byrd concluded, “The aftermath

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of the fire was one of the best times in the history of the school. We made great friends and created an enduring rapport.”

Harry insisted that most of the energy and impetus for recovery was supplied by Billy Peebles, Powhatan’s legendary Head of School.

Billy had always been known for his prodigious efforts: If there was anything he could do to advance the school – any task, any contact made, any path explored, any call completed, any opinion needing to be considered – Billy did it. Now that the need was so great and the goals of recovery so clear, Peebles, in a blazing display of intent and personal leadership (Billy always worked twice as hard as the hardest-working staff member), devoted himself to the task of rebuilding Powhatan. The man and the hour had met.

We ended the interview chatting about his and wife Barbara’s four kids: Harry, now a dad with three kids of his own; Gretchen, a lawyer in Richmond; John, a Capitol Hill lobbyist, who had just won the MVP award in the annual soccer game between members of Congress and lobbyists, and Immy, former Powhatan instructional assistant and new mother. I wanted to bring them up so that I could tell Harry myself how much we had valued them as students in our school and as exemplars of citizenship and good manners.

Harry Byrd led Powhatan’s Board through its most critical hour.

He received not a nickel for his vision and labor and left our region with the legacy of a Powhatan recovered and resurgent. Knowing him and the history of his family makes it readily apparent why Americans still read his ancestors’ letters and study their accomplishments. Fate had placed him at the uncertain door of crisis, and to all of our benefits, he opened it.

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Students enjoying a walk onto the Crocker Conservancy on Powhatan’s campus.

Nature and Campus It was a hot, humid summer’s morning, and I was leading a nature walk with about ten campers behind me. My main practical function, which I was accomplishing with my chest and a walking stick, was clearing the cobwebs spiders had crisscrossed the path with the night before. I was approaching the point where Roseville Run and Page Brook joined, forming Spout Run. The campers, ranging in age from five to ten years old, were taking their time, chatting softly, touching leaves, looking around. I was just about to urge them on when she appeared. She was the largest turkey hen I had ever seen. She was facing the other way with her tail feathers in full fan. Around her legs, cheeping, was a multitude of chicks, boiling along, scooting helter-skelter, pecking at anything.

I froze – then turned to the kids to gesture to them to hurry: This was exactly why we were taking an early morning nature hike. I could not get them to look at me. Finally, I went, “Psst.” The great hen seemed to have not noticed me. The kids closed in. The turkey at last heard.

She gathered her chicks with a cluck. And then they were gone.

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I was breathless and related what I had seen. The campers were bummed. I resisted the urge to say, “If you had just stayed a bit closer.”

The riches of the Crocker Conservancy had flashed once again before they had disappeared into the brush.

1 It was an early morning nature walk with young campers. Our route was over the bridge to the lower fields, skirting along the southern edge until we would reach the large fallen log, over which we could easily walk to get to the other side of Spout Run. Then we would follow some relatively open fields for a couple of hundred yards until we reached the falls, a 12-15 foot drop over the marl where the water hid and gushed in a myriad of lively rills. This set of falls marks the onset of the Millwood Mill Race, a strong body of water which ultimately turned the great wheel of the mill and in which were tons of crawfish as big as small lobsters. It’s also a great place for kids to walk and splash in the water.

Starting the walk after crossing the bridge my initial observation of “the quieter we are the better chance we have of seeing wildlife” was met with open doubt – if not some substantial resistance. At that moment out of the tall grass of the unmown field at the edge nearest Millwood, a huge red-tailed hawk rose and flapped its great wings. The campers’ nascent rebellion stopped right there. The hawk flew up into the branches of an immense sycamore. It was then the murder of crows let loose. The next tree toward Powhatan was alive with the largest group of crows I had ever seen. They were hot and they were screaming. At that time, I confidently whispered to the kids, “I know what is going on,” although later events would prove I did not. The campers had a great hike and loved the falls, but time came for us to go. On the way back I intended to stop at the point where the great hawk had risen and tell the kids what we had seen.

I explained that crows waged war against young hawks, pestering and mocking them – always a large number of crows against a single bird. Usually the crows irritated and tortured the hawk until it left.

I was sure that was what we had witnessed. We had actually witnessed much more. Arriving at the spot we found a mammoth crow, its head

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strangely askew. Its eyes were lifeless and at the end of its half-open beak, in the grass, lay a large clot of blood.

The hawk had killed it. We had seen it rise from its kill and settle on its perch, where it arrogantly cleaned itself before the cacophonous censure of the crows. I now understood why a large group of crows is called a murder; for, that is what they so shrilly cried at the young hawk.

1 The day was bitterly cold in late January. And as I recall it, a small group of fourth and fifth graders appeared in my room. They had made a grisly discovery. In a pile of leaves at the base of one of the backstops – the one closest to the creek, they had found a large, frozen bird. I went down and looked at the bird. It was a red-tailed hawk, still in the pose of dropping its talons for a kill – or to stop. I knew immediately part of the story of what had happened: The raptor had died by crashing into the backstop’s fencing, still covered with the tangled vines of bittersweet.

Perhaps the bird had stunned itself then frozen to death. There were no visible wounds. I pried the bird out and picked rime-encrusted leaves off of it.

I got to thinking about the circumstances of the death and came to the conclusion that the hawk was avoiding pursuit and dove for what it thought was cover. What should have been a vine-surrounded portal was, in fact, a death trap for the young adult. I wondered if I was seeing another iteration of the ages-old war between crows and hawks.

I thought the tragedy might have some virtue in providing an excellent specimen for kids to inspect and study. But first I had to consult an expert, and I knew just who to contact.

Earlier in the year we had an excellent program from the Virginia Wildlife Center, which specialized in nursing injured birds back to health in Weyers Cave, VA. Their director had brought up and presented a program on several birds who had been injured and rescued by the center. I got the director on the phone after dismissal. He went over the circumstances of the death and place of discovery and confirmed my speculation about the death resulting from an accident as the hawk was fleeing the harassment of crows as a good one. He then broached 139

the topic of what I was going to do with the bird. When I observed that the frozen bird would make an excellent demonstration item for the education of kids, he brought me up short. “It is illegal for you to have it.” I pointed out that I had the carcass of a bird with whose death no one – especially the kids – had had anything to do. He was insistent. We should not have the bird.

I then asked what we should do. He said, “Take the bird, wrap it in a dark-colored hefty and dispose of the body in your outdoor school trash bin.” For emphasis he added, “Do it now.”

That day, leaving school, I dropped a splendid hawk into the large trash bin. I felt enmeshed in a tangle of modern law that made me exceedingly uncomfortable. And though the kids accepted what I had done when I explained it, they could not but help to see the disgust I was feeling. I felt like the 21st century had left me the poorest of choices of how to treat the tragic death of one of the world’s noblest creatures.

1 It was one of those odd times at camp where we had some extra time. This was before we had the banks cleared on Page Brook, and I had three Henkel boys and another badgering me for a shot at the stream. I worked out that we could go down near the old concrete foot bridge, and I could stand on it, observing them, leaving the kids room enough to flip rocks and find crayfish. Naturally the kids wanted to get right in the water, but that was a bad idea: Who knew how many bottle shards were in the bottom? The hunters got off to a slow start. They had flipped several stones and no crayfish. Frustration was palpable.

Finally, Mac Henkel flipped a stone and when the water cleared, a distinct green disc appeared. “Mr. Bell, look…”

I said, “Mac, I know exactly what it is. It’s a penny.”

Mac rubbed the coin and said, “No… I don’t know what it is.” By this time we were all together, and Mac handed me his find. He had found an 1864 Indian Head penny.

Mac took the penny home, and his dad looked up the price, something just north of 50 cents.

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Literally days later, I read in Day by Day, A Civil War Almanac that Mosby’s Rangers shot and killed a Union trooper, who fell from his horse and tumbled into a small ford just west of Millwood in July, 1864.

I couldn’t help wondering what may have fallen from his pocket.

1 When I first arrived in 1973, I couldn’t help but notice the wide variety of trees on the campus of Powhatan. In fact, Hal Oxenham, then one of the senior teachers, had created a list of all the trees allegedly planted by Dr. Mayo. Then Hal had tagged each one. There were the yews, Powhatan’s first and most organic jungle gym, by the front door; the large Norway maple under which we held graduation; the gingko – still there; a rare larch which shed its needles each year just like a deciduous tree shed its leaves; the Grandfather tree; the cottonwood by the play court, and, to my eyes, the prize: two copper beeches, which reminded me of a Victorian era novel. As trees died, new ones were planted, but the architects (I know one was Beth Cook) kept with the unusual flora theme. The gum trees by the circle of Lindsey Library, hollies on the east side of the library, serviceberry trees on the Lee Hall circle, a flowering deciduous tree in Ibit’s Courtyard which I believe is a Kentucky coffee tree, redbuds in the courtyard, and a prodigious red oak planted between Lee Hall and the library. That red oak may be the healthiest tree I’ve ever seen. It grew with incredible speed and is now immense.

The trees are beautiful expressions of the world that come to Powhatan, because they are from everywhere. I’m as much a proponent of native species as anyone, but the stories these rare trees have told have been as metaphors. For they arrived from all over and flourished – just like our students. Just like our families.

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Paula Bryant teaching dance during a class rotation.

Paula Bryant “Haul out the holly…” The risers are swaying, and the kids are singing and moving. “Carols at the spinet…” Their hands match and communicate the lyrics. “We need a little Christmas…now!” The kids are using ASL, adding panache and meaning to their choral performance. Today’s upper grades music teacher, the brilliant Nicole Davis, kept Paula Bryant’s original choreography. Every alum knows the hand movements and gestures. Almost all can tell you that Mrs. Paula Bryant first taught them how to do it. Paula Bryant taught the kids how to sing not only with their voices but also with their hands.

An interview with Paula Bryant is all about what’s magical about Powhatan School. She hearkened back to the days 32 years before when she taught music in the little room with sagging floors and two electrical outlets right behind the head’s office in the Old Building, the room with the windows painted shut, making it too hot in the spring and the fall and too cold in the winter. She also worked in the office helping school secretary Helen Fox and Billy Peebles, the Head who was famous 143

for writing “thank yous” to the “thank yous” he received. He was also famous for characterizing Powhatan as a “special little school.”

Paula was looking for a ‘special little school’ for her daughter Christy. So when Laura Robb, then head of the Upper School, learned about Paula through having taught her daughter Anina dance, she recommended that she come in to teach music, replacing Eberle Damron. Billy Peebles agreed. Mrs. Bryant accepted. She was just going to stay a year.

At Powhatan she inherited music books printed in 1956, a huge institutional green upright piano, and aforementioned sagging floor – absolutely no good for all the movement she had planned. Nothing was state of the art. But there was an invitation, which every materials poor Powhatan instructor has embraced, to be creative. As Paula put it, “The human factor was outstanding.” At Powhatan she found faculty, students, and a philosophy which embraced creativity.

So Paula Bryant added ASL (American Sign Language) to the numbers performed at Carol Sing. She started an after-school strings program which still exists today and is featured at Powhatan. She and husband Barry offered up day-old pastries he brought from work to foster faculty breakfasts when the school doubled in size. She spearheaded trips to the Kennedy Center to hear the National Symphony Orchestra.

She, Helga Goodyear (our bookkeeper), and Anne Wheeler wrote up all the ribbons for Field Day. That experience and helping out with Quadri-School Track Meet led her to found the Quadri-School Choral Festival (now Music Festival because of the addition of instruments) as a way for kids from the four schools to get to know each other in a noncompetitive, artistic forum.

Her goal was a simple one: to create memories.

Schools all over the region were changing the Christmas season to Winter Holiday. Powhatan charged Paula to be different. So she and the school adopted a celebration of all the religious traditions around the winter solstice as well as honoring the rich secular culture which has evolved in America. Paula Bryant, who along with later Upper School music instructor Nicole Davis, led the revolution to wed the sacred with the secular, creating a performance featuring strings, handbells,

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Paula and upper school music teacher Nicole Davis at the end of Carol Sing.

dancing, solos, singing in parts, varied grades and groups, and even the faculty.

Music calls on our emotions with its lyrics, harmonies, and melodies. Paula recalled, in particular, a young student approaching her desk after singing The Innkeeper, a song about the holy couple trying to find a room for the birth of Jesus. The little girl explained to Mrs. Bryant that though she wasn’t sad at all she found herself crying whenever she sang it. Paula wisely answered that music affects us that way: it appeals to human beings on an emotional level. I couldn’t agree more completely. The beautiful carol Jesus Christ, the Apple Tree affects me in exactly the same way, so much so that I had it played at my mother’s funeral and pronounced a version of its lyrics over her graveside.

Music also is an aesthetic form of communication. Paula wisely recognizes that not every student sees himself as a good singer, but by adding ASL to many performances, almost every student may take pride in her accomplishment in communicating the essence of the song. Almost always good performance reveals feelings, feelings which climax after a long journey of practice. Mrs. Bryant urges her students to “take baby steps toward performance.”

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The Quadri-School Music Festival was a direct result of Paula Bryant leading other music teachers from the four other regional independent schools, Highland, Loudoun Country Day, Hill, and Wakefield, into a joyous celebration of singing and performance.

The sponsorship rotates among the five schools and occurs in the spring. It is all about “social recognition, not competition.” Everyone’s there: handicapped kids, instrumentalists, and just lots of plain kids being friends. It started as a choral performance but now includes instruments. It’s a safe place for kids to meet, share music, express their curiosity about other schools and their students, and produce a lovely outcome. The highlight is the communal anthem, chosen by the host school, which the entire assemblage sings together.

When I retired, Paula Bryant replaced me as senior teacher. I remember I replaced Carolyn Morgoglione. When I arrived, the senior teacher was Hal Oxenham, legendary science and English teacher. Paula agrees that being a senior teacher means nothing like prestige, tenure, or stature. It is rather a metaphor for all the excellence our magnificent colleagues embody. When the senior teacher leads the faculty out to graduation, that teacher knows she could not head a more honored assembly.

So together Paula and I celebrated the Powhatan we had experienced together. We rued the intimate, daily camaraderie we had lost as we grew. We remembered a time when degrees didn’t matter (one of the very best teachers we all knew did not have a college degree). We acknowledged the genuine humility that defined us all. The magic we shared was expressed in our seamless teamwork, our cohesion, and our single-minded focus on the success of the students we taught.

As much as anyone, Billy Peebles symbolized that ineffable élan.

He led from the front. He was the epitome of an ideal educator. We would march off cliffs for him because we knew he would lead.

I would characterize both Paula Bryant and myself as highly spiritual. Both of us felt the divine hand at work almost daily in our classes and our programs. We both felt it was a blessing beyond worth.

Paula saw that presence in alumnus Riley Kerns when he stopped by one day to thank her for teaching through imagination and to thank

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her for working so hard to procure the instruments they used. Music had changed and ennobled his life.

Paula Bryant knew in her bones that whole listening led to whole learning. Her passion and love for her children has inspired us all. Her work underlined and promoted Powhatan’s commitment to the arts, which uses and addresses all parts of the human brain, every day. Her career is an unimpeachable affirmation of how fortunate we all have been to be here.

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A wintery view of the beautiful Lee Hall.

Sue Lee The Boyce, Virginia of 1948 was full of families with names like Wisecarver, Carr, McDonald, Brown, Ridgeway, Carter, Yowell, Minghini, Hudson, Strode, Garver, Casey, Pope, and Sudduth. While Blue Ridge Country Day School was being founded in Millwood, Boyce Agricultural High (the Blazons) was graduating its final class, including Anne Ridgeway and John Bell, my mother and father, who would be the last in their class to be married that August – though several would never marry. The Blazon football team, coached by the George Halas of regional football Bud Miley, set the all-time record for scoring per game at over 50 points in fall 1946 in the state of Virginia. I don’t know if that record has ever been surpassed. What was unusual about the team was that it only had five men – because of the legacy of WWII snapping up every eligible male the moment he reached 18. Jimmy Casey, Doc Casey’s son, was the unsurpassed RPO (run pass option) quarterback who went on to play for William and Mary and have a legendary career as coach of James Wood and Athletic Director of Frederick County. He

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married my godmother Eleanor McDonald, who along with her sister Dorothy and Jean Garver, was my mother’s best friend.

Those four were famous for being ubiquitous around Boyce and being on every team in the town, a town where all the kids for miles around played softball, hardball, football, some soccer, basketball, tennis, and any ball that bounced. If they weren’t working chores or pulling weeds in the garden, kids were skating, walking, biking, hanging out, writing letters (mother and her three cronies sometime in 1944 wrote FDR a letter and signed it “The Big Four”), or practicing for their team. Mother remembered one adult in particular as the man who cheerfully and religiously drove a whole “carload of kids” to every game over the mountain or up and down the valley. He was Ed Lee, father of Barry, grandfather to Betsy, Susan, Caroline, and Ed, and father in law to Powhatan’s great benefactor, longtime parent, and trustee Sue Lee. The Lees have always known why it was so important to be a responsible part of an active community, and whether it was a team trip to a field in Atoka, promoting a game in their own front yard, or funding a building overlooking the grand athletic fields of Powhatan, they willingly embraced the part they had to play.

I had the great pleasure of interviewing Sue by telephone in October 2020. It was like being suddenly reconnected to a world somewhere from Norman Rockwell’s America: full of good humor, a blur of action, a brawny, can-do world of possibilities, and powered by enormous grace, optimism, and respect. From the first breath I knew I was speaking to someone of the generation which put men on the moon.

Sue Lee said her formal introduction with the world of Powhatan began in 1960 with the attendance of her eldest daughter Betsy, who was part of a second section of kindergarten which consisted of three kids, our own Brian Conrad, and Chris Canty. This started a streak of annual enrollment in the Lee family which lasted until 1982. She quipped that she outlasted even the numerous Bozells, who hailed from Huntly. Sue then began her Powhatan second career as trustee, independent promoter and advocate for Powhatan, and now associate trustee. She currently resides in an assisted living facility which she characterizes this way, “It is so peaceful in my apartment…and the

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food’s better than expected.” She expressed wonder that they accepted her as during her initial tour she “kept driving my walker into the wall.”

But she loves the company, which she says she is continually disabusing of ‘errant’ thoughts (Powhatan’s where rich kids go to school), and watching her favorite shows on TV, especially “Law and Order,” where she sometimes catches Powhatan’s Jack Gilpin on screen.

Sue includes the entire world and its history in her stories which shift through the decades and generations effortlessly. But every syllable has a significance, and every anecdote supports the theme she is enlightening. Her biggest points about Powhatan are these.

Peoples of all backgrounds go to Powhatan, especially families who prize education; most of these families work hard to give their kids the Powhatan experience. It’s not just professionals’ kids from Winchester, it’s kids like her own who lived on a farm. All of these kids profited from the small class size. And it’s true Powhatan – the entire time I was there, size was capped at 16 students per section. An extra student could be added at the discretion of the head. Any other additions (rare through the years) had to be specifically added by the Board of Trustees. The last great point she made about Powhatan was “you get one chance to teach your child.” And the clear inference was why not give them the very best. Starting with her husband Barry’s sister Louise attending Blue Ridge Country Day School, these Lees of Virginia had been educated “at the school we hold so dear.”

That the Lees supported athletics as much as the academics can be revealed in many anecdotes. The one I recall first is when Barry offered then Head Don Niemann a five-figure gift in the late ‘70’s if Powhatan would build a gym. All their kids were excellent athletes. I had the privilege of coaching Ed, who was smart, cagey, and persistent in playing center forward on the soccer field. Like his sisters Ed was a good sportsman and an enthusiastic team player.

Sue was full of hilarious observations the day I interviewed her. She related how once she accompanied then brand-new Head John Lathrop to an evening meeting of Powhatan patrons, when one well-known Powhatan gadfly began a public litany of some institutional faults – as she saw them. Sue said John looked trapped with an expression on his face that she characterized as, “he had never known menopause could

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last so long.” Sue also praised Powhatan’s yearly themes, which led her into a discussion of South Pacific’s “You’ve Got to Be Carefully Taught,” a wry commentary on how we pass on to children our own prejudices.

She brought up the song as a way to show Powhatan was a place which actively worked against prejudices.

Sue’s father, whom she lost when she was 10, was a physician. She used to go with him at times when he made house calls (for $2.00 – if they had it). In the car her dad taught her to sing harmony, a skill all singers should master. He also filled her full of life sayings: “We are no better than anyone, just more fortunate;” and “If you have two nickels, one is not yours.”

Sue proved how thoroughly she had learned that lesson when she stepped forward to become the principal donor in what became Lee Hall, a magnificent three-story classroom edifice, which dominates the eastern approach to the school. When Sue stepped forward on behalf of her family, she said, “In the past others have given to make the school which educated our children. Now it is our turn.” Her father’s old saying, “If you have two nickels…,” had been a seed planted in fertile ground. The plaque naming Lee Hall honors Sue and her whole family.

These days Sue is focused on down-sizing, and she relishes giving away heirlooms. Her daughter Caroline got her little lemon dish which appeared on every table the Lees set. And she thinks about her wonderful Powhatan bonds.

A classmate of her daughter Susan was Lesley Moore, who answered Barry’s one-time query, “What are you doing fun this summer?” with, “Mr. Lee, I’m taking organ lessons and learning Latin.” When Barry followed up with, “I said fun.” Lesley replied that for her these were fun. Lesley’s now an attorney in South Carolina, who talks to Sue frequently.

Sue’s final message was “Send your kid to Powhatan.” Powhatan, the place where she shared so many of her years and educated all of her children, provided her and her family with a ‘great circle of friends’ and a lifetime of memories. And ultimately the cultural bubble they all lived in.

Sadly, Sue passed from us in 2020.

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In the late ‘70’s my mother and father bought a tiny farmhouse in Glengary, WV from my uncle’s family for us to visit and experience the great outdoors. To dad’s and my mother’s delight one day while there Ed Lee showed up unexpectedly and stayed for a visit. I asked my dad what kind of person the elder Lee had been, and he replied, “He had a loud voice and was the nicest man possible. He’d do anything for the kids of Boyce.” History shows it was a family trait.

Sue had groused when I first called that day she had had to get her annual flu shot, and she was miffed they had forgotten to give her her lollipop. Of course, she laughed while telling it. When I finished and thanked her for her interview, she with unsurpassed grace said that it was she who had spent a lovely afternoon reminiscing. She ended with, “Why talking with you even made me forget I had not gotten my lollipop!”

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John Lathrop and Billy Peebles as John begins his tenure as Headmaster.

John Lathrop “Disperse, ye rebels!” is one version of what Major John Pitcairn of the British Royal Marines shouted just before the “shot heard ‘round the world’” was fired at Lexington in 1775, a shot which began the American Revolution. There are historians who maintain that Pitcairn through his actions that April morning actually was responsible for the beginning of war. Still today, I understand that reenactors annually recreate the scene on the commons of Lexington, and before 1993 the reenactor who portrayed Major Pitcairn for some years was our own John Lathrop, who came to Powhatan at the beginning of the ’92 –’93 school year as our eighth Head of School. I can imagine that his clear, strong tenor rang across the common with Pitcairn’s historic challenge.

No one who knows John is surprised that he was at the center of an event so integral to the history of the founding of our nation.

For years he was a history teacher and connected with several top-flight independent schools in New England where in addition to teaching he was part of the administration, including being an Admissions Director 155

and for The Fay School, Interim Head. His career may be described as one upon which fortune herself shined.

In the summer of ‘91 on Nantucket, where Lathrop’s family owns a home, John was visiting with his life-long family friend Beth Cook, Powhatan trustee, who mentioned to him that Billy Peebles had announced he was moving on and that Powhatan was looking for a new head. She asked if he would be interested. Lathrop was. He was engaged to be married and was then in the process of earning his Master of Education from Harvard University. During the next year John Lathrop visited the school several times. He and his new wife Sheila had a memorable and gracious stay with the Talleys, Lilburn and Nancy, a matchless Southern lady whose manners and advocacy of the school laid the foundation of a friendship John and Sheila were to treasure during their long tenure here. During the next visit the Lathrops stayed with old friends Beth and Peter Cook. While John was going through the final stages of his hiring, Beth, Sheila, and George Greenhalgh were house-hunting, narrowing the final choice to two. The Lathrops love the one they settled on in Chapel Estates, a wonderful home they still own.

It seems there is a Head tree involved with Powhatan where heads either come from schools up north (Mahaney, Niemann, Scarborough) or are from Virginia (Old, Peebles). John Lathrop came from New England and had experience at several fine schools including the Fay School where he had been Interim Head before returning to college (Harvard) to earn his masters. John said that he brought with him the best ideas and programs he had observed and experienced from schools at which he had taught. The standards he used for evaluating potential programs were twofold: what would be best for children and would adoption lead to the establishment of higher expectations. Occasionally someone would propose an idea which didn’t meet his muster and John would always reply, “We don’t do it that way here.” His goal was always to move the school forward while guarding the ‘magical’ character of the school.

Lathrop, always known for his easy humor and ready wit, characterized his beginning here as “my name was ‘Not Billy,’” referring to the very popular Head he had replaced, Billy Peebles. John quickly identified two priorities: promotion of Powhatan within the local 156

community and increasing Powhatan’s recognition and impact within the VAIS (Virginia Association of Independent Schools). Throughout his tenure here he belonged to the Rotary Club and served on the Board of VAIS, with a term as its president. I had been the first regional member to serve on VAIS’s Professional Development Committee, a faculty assembly primarily charged with planning and executing VAIS’s vast annual conference, and I shared John’s observation that our state brethren were surprised by what we at Powhatan were doing, particularly the depth, breadth, and effectiveness of our programs. During his 19 years as Head John headed 18 Visiting Teams to other member schools for VAIS accreditation. I served on 11 during roughly the same time period. Just like the five- and ten-year self-studies VAIS schools are required to undertake for accreditation, a process which promotes intensive self-examination and reflection, Lathrop and I found every time we were on a Visiting Committee or part of a self-study, we learned valuable lessons from observing our sister institutions and identified many good programs and ideas we brought back and modified for Powhatan. An example would be the student Buddy System which I had observed at a VAIS parochial school near Fredericksburg. It was a great way for older students to pair up with younger students, whom they seem to love (generally), and to build the school community.

John Lathrop said that he spent the first two to three years getting his bearings. One of the first great issues he faced was the idea of Powhatan getting bigger, enlarging from around 150 to the around 245 students we are today. John and the board tackled the job vigorously.

Growing the school would mean we would become more diverse, not just racially but economically and culturally too, appeal to a larger community, get more local student candidates into our school, and increase the social opportunities for our students. At first the expansion was contentious, particularly among our alums, but one who had been particularly vociferous returned after a few years and made a point of telling Lathrop that he had been right. As John put it, “She was very kind to tell me… She didn’t have to do it.” Of course, with expansion came the need for more room and the companion need for how to pay for it. Because we didn’t have the full funding at ground-breaking we didn’t finish the ground floor of Lee Hall until later, a fact John said was a mistake, “We should have borrowed the money and done it.” Later when constructing, the McIntosh Arts and Sciences Building 157

Powhatan undertook borrowing the funds they hadn’t yet raised to finish the project. John said that with the help of Powhatan community financial wizard Richard Farland, “we had the loan paid off before the building was finished.” John listed three major projects; the building of Lee Hall, the construction of the McIntosh Arts and Sciences Building, and the renovations of the Willey Wing and Lower School Wing; as building accomplishments during his time at Powhatan.

Once while he was leading a Visiting Committee to Alexandria Country Day School, John met a Greek Orthodox nun, Sister Elizabeth (later Mother Raphaela) Dalton, who was that school’s technology coordinator. The next year she called Lathrop (one of the biggest nonos of independent education is recruiting an active member of another school’s staff) asking him if our technology coordinator position was open.

Because she had done so on her own initiative, John told her it was. Sister Elizabeth applied and got the job. Lathrop noted she came at the right time and quipped, “She at least dragged us into the 19th century.” For all intents and purposes Sister Elizabeth became the face and mastermind behind our computer program. John was concerned, however, to hire an employee who was so actively a part of her religious order and wondered how it would play in our ecumenical community. He sought the advice of one of our trustees who happened to be Jewish. He advised Lathrop to hire her, saying, “We believe in excellence, don’t we?”

John Lathrop loved Powhatan’s Graduation because of all the schools with which he was familiar, ours was the most clearly focused on the graduates. Starting with Peebles but enlarged and expanded with Lathrop and Scarborough, each student received a personal citation largely written from comments submitted at the end of the year by members of the faculty. John said that none were better with her comments than our legendary librarian, Anne Wheeler. Anne devoted a great deal of thought to her comments and was herself a great writer.

Lathrop paused to share a thought, citing how on one of his first visits before he was hired, he was addressing the faculty and noticed that Anne was sitting with her arms crossed, wearing what he took to be a fierce aspect. He thought then, “I’ve lost her,” but added, “I could not have been more wrong.” Like us, John came to realize that Anne Wheeler was an unusually intense thinker.

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John noted that in every year in his 19-year tenure (Lathrop was the longest serving Head in Powhatan’s history) except one he taught a class. He took literally the title of Headmaster, particularly the ‘master’ part, which meant teacher. He said that that was really important to him and served as an example to the rest of the teaching staff. Lathrop had begun his career in education as a classroom history teacher. Many of the units we now use, particularly in eighth grade history, were developed or brought in from previous experience by John: economics, the civil rights movement, the Vietnam War, and the Holocaust Museum field trip. His legacy is one of excellence and expansion of student horizons.

He is still affecting students’ learning at Powhatan.

An integral post in any independent school is Business Manager.

After a hiccup or two, John Lathrop hit gold in hiring Frances Rudacille, a woman of extraordinary talent and character. Frances became a beloved member of the Powhatan family after serving in a prior career as Financial Officer of Christendom College in Front Royal. Mrs. Rudacille was gifted with sifting through the budget, always generated by the Head, and suggesting economies or alternative approaches to purchases or projects. Frances was entirely frank and confidential, the perfect adjunct to a busy head. She was also great about taking on tasks and programs which can often escape spheres of responsibility in a small school. For instance, Frances took over the transportation department, handling bus maintenance, determining routes, hiring drivers, and establishing bus rosters. Frances continued and advanced the tradition of Business Managers at Powhatan balancing the budget. That fact of fiscal responsibility continues through the present day and makes Powhatan the envy of many of her sister schools and is an aspect of the school’s administration always receiving especial praise from Visiting Committees when they perform their accreditation visits. The same expectation of excellence that parents have for their children’s academics was and is fulfilled by Powhatan’s matchless stewardship of its financial resources.

John Lathrop had a special financial goal conceived when he arrived here. He wanted to achieve parity, as much as he could, in teachers’ salaries with local schools, no mean feat when comparing the resources of state and local governments to our much more specialized pool of client families and donors. Working closely with an enthusiastic

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and supportive board, John came very close to his goal for all teachers in increasing salary and raising the funds for the commensurate increases in TIAA retirement contributions. Speaking for my colleagues, I know how appreciative we were of his efforts. Of course, the key for success with any independent school is the maintenance of enrollment, keeping the school as close to full enrollment as possible with the highest quality of candidate students. The key for that formula is to have everyone agree in your region that your school is the best there is. Happily, Powhatan has maintained that reputation. Another critical factor is your Admissions Director. When John arrived his Admissions Director was Carol Chapman, a full-time second grade teacher and superb spokesperson for the school. Of course, she could not leave the classroom to conduct tours, so much of that part of the process fell for Lathrop to do. Later, Clare Hammond, our then school counselor, took over admissions and did a great job. A significant part of John’s background had been in admissions so he was well versed with the foundation principles and strategies of successful admissions. The central precept is that everyone in your target area must agree you are the best. Another foundation is creating a cadre of younger sibs and alumni kids. John cited one of Powhatan’s current grades as an excellent example of that demographic.

Two other strengths of Powhatan’s admissions program are the way we keep our grandparents involved and our Associate Board of Trustees as a dynamic part of our community.

An important part of that overall effort is seeing how Powhatan plays in the community. John discussed how his granddaughter, a recent graduate who enrolled in a local high school, had heard from her new friends their perceptions of Powhatan. As John related her findings, he noted that almost everything she heard was wrapped around a kernel of truth, but one of the most persistent bits of misinformation she heard was that Powhatan was a ‘wealthy’ school. Certainly some of our client families are wealthy, but neither Powhatan nor its larger community are wealthy. Powhatan is quite simply a fine liberal arts PK – 8 school which has its core curriculum centered around reading, writing, and thinking. It is an inclusive institution that seeks to serve its immediate and larger regional community, embodying its motto: Non scholae sed vitae discimus (We learn not for school but for life.)

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Mr. Lathrop had an opportunity to hire much of the expansion faculty and to replace much of its senior staff he’d inherited as that staff retired. Typically, John said, “I was lucky to get who I got.” But he focused on finding candidates who had experience with good schools who showed a strong education background. It’s what happened to these candidates after they were hired that John found to be exceptional.

He ticked off the names of eight candidates who after hiring, in his opinion, surpassed their past careers and moved on to even higher levels of performance. He characterized it as, “It was as if once they were exposed to the everyday excellence we have here they elevated their performance, becoming even better than they had been when they were first hired.” Powhatan has that effect on nearly everyone who takes on a career here. He cited several teachers whom he regretted losing because they had to leave as their families relocated. He ended with discussing difficult personnel decisions and student retention decisions he had to make, underlining just how challenging a Head’s job really is.

One of the aspects of Powhatan’s identity John Lathrop personified was the community love of dogs. Powhatan’s love affair with canines began when Lydia Robbins’ pet Wicket, a spectacular German shepherd, figured out that she was just going across the road from his home at Scaleby to school. So every day for years Wicket climbed the fence, using the steps Mrs. Gilpin had built into the stone fence decades before for her grandchildren to walk to school. Wicket would time his arrival to be here when the first busses would pull in and wouldn’t leave until the last bus pulled out or athletic contest was finished. And during those days Wicket would bask in the attention every kid and every adult paid him.

Happiness was Wicket being part of every school function. Wicket must have been a candidate for the highest oxytocin levels ever found in a dog because he was petted hundreds of times a day. Every kid loved him, and he loved every kid. When Wicket finally moved on, John Lathrop arrived with his equally chummy black lab Bingo, who quickly filled the void the friendliest of German shepherds had left. Bingo was a lovely, galumphing dog who had a deadly affinity for rubber playground balls.

He just had to chase and ‘catch’ them, often with fatal effect. John paid a significant amount of dollars replacing playground balls that Bingo had caught. Mrs. Morgoglione brought her lap dog Saki. And the Lathrops

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added Rosie, a mixed terrier, and special friend of first grade teacher Jo Kelchner. Later, after Bingo passed on, the Lathrops added Gussie, a golden lab. Today, we are down to Clyde, Mrs. Hobbs’ dog. But for the last three decades, Powhatan kids and adults have had the healing presence of dogs to befriend and nurture them. It was a gift from Mother Nature and the Fates themselves, a spontaneous evolution that affirmed a gentler and kinder aspect of all of our – and their – natures.

John Lathrop became the longest serving Head in Powhatan’s rich history. He was a kind, talented man who had good fortune written all over him. Good-humored, John was the type of Head who made every day a joy for the students and staff who attended school. He led and implemented the doubling of the school in space and enrollment, creating an era which may only be styled as ‘golden.’

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Students and parents enjoy the von Gontard Wetlands Boardwalk on the Crocker Conservancy.

Adie and Beatrice von Gontard We were at the climbing wall during summer camp. I was belaying Peter von Gontard, who was attempting the toughest ascent of the wall, along the right edge, approaching an overhang from beneath. Beside me there was another intent observer, Peter’s twin brother Alex. Alex was zoned in on his brother’s path and his attack: He followed each hand movement, his eyes darted, anticipating the next handhold. At that moment they seemed tethered as a single entity. Alex’s lips moved soundlessly as his brother maintained and re-established footholds. His arms unconsciously predicted his brother’s next movement. He would twist with his torso and flex his legs. Alex never made an audible sound, for any sound might force his brother Peter to lose concentration – and fail in his ascent. But I knew I was watching a pair of humans acting as one unit. At last Peter made the summit, being justly proud of his accomplishment. Alex also was beaming. Instinctively, we all knew Alex had helped his brother in this immense accomplishment. Not for the first time nor for the last, I saw the magic and powerful connection of twins at work.

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It was a lovely fall afternoon when I reached Adie and Beatrice by phone. Adie answered the phone and said, “I’ll get my angel wife on the line…” In seconds Beatrice joined us on the call. Besides being the most gracious of couples, Adie and Beatrice spoke with enthusiasm and gentility. They were legendary supporters of the school and its mission – particularly known for the wildflower gardens full of native species they had endowed – though Adie gave full credit for their creation to his wife. It was marvelous talking with them.

Adie said that the first thing he noticed about Powhatan was Billy Peebles standing out front to greet the kids when they arrived. To them that simple morning greeting epitomized everything positive about the school. Both Adie and Beatrice traded comments about Powhatan as the “most nurturing school…” that was “so special.” It was clear that they loved Powhatan because of the nurturing and loving environment the school had created for their children. They mentioned faculty such as Ray Legge, Carol Chapman, Harry Holloway, and a fellow that resembled me closely as creating the feeling of family for their kids.

There was a wonderful feeling connected with the school, according to both of them, where their sons felt loved.

This emotional core of security allowed a curriculum and experience that was challenging but nurturing. Beatrice said, “Powhatan laid the foundation for the rest of their lives. It was tough for them to leave, but Powhatan’s influence is continuing. There they got everything they needed.” She continued by describing her four sons as big achievers who, as adults, “were successful.” And speaking of their successes she added, “The heart they got from Powhatan.”

Adie joined her in her comments. Both maintained that every aspect of Powhatan’s program reinforced the twin themes of excellence and nurturance. Adie said that “sports was almost a metaphor for the experience. It was positive and competitive.” Powhatan coaches were always encouraging. The themes for athletics were always being your best and being team players. From athletics they learned teamwork and helping each other. They learned how to work together for a common goal.

Their eldest son Andrew had had the largest role in his Shakespeare play, the lead which back in Elizabethan times had been played by history’s greatest actor, Richard Burbage. It was loaded with lines. As 164

I recall it Andrew just spun the role out, showing little to no difficulty with memorizing speech after speech. Beatrice commented what a great experience it had been for him. All of the von Gontard boys enjoyed the plays they appeared in, plays which Beatrice characterized as leaving “indelible marks.”

Expanding the theme of “life curriculum,” Adie underlined Beatrice’s foundational support of Powhatan’s NEAL (Nature Enhanced Approach to Learning) program, a program and habit of being outdoors that was “very special and non-rigid.” Beatrice characterized herself as “a kid who grew up outdoors and who came home when the dinner bell rang.” Later, she was on the board of The National Wildlife Federation.

She referred to Richard Attenborough’s seminal film A Life on Our Planet, a film which delivered a clarion call to, according to Beatrice, “preserve biodiversity” on a planet now brimming with eight billion people to explain the depth of her commitment. Where to begin?

In our own backyard.

Powhatan’s campus and the Crocker Conservancy, which Adie and Beatrice assigned the lion’s share of credit to John Lathrop for acquiring as a gift, became ideal platforms for moving education outdoors and the outdoors into the classroom. The excitement and impact this program has generated over the decades among our students has been on the lips of almost every graduate who has spoken of their time here. And no family has been more instrumental in making this commitment a reality than the von Gontards.

Just like every other concept it has embraced, whether it was writing, technology, dramatics, athletics, Everyday Math, Whole Language, or STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math), Powhatan adopted NEAL as an integrated part of the entire experience of attending our school. Not only did we encourage students to be outdoors we took them there. We set the example on a crowded planet of encouraging preservation of the land. Powhatan never rode the wave – on any of these initiatives – we were ahead of the curve. Beatrice and Adie gave special commendation to faculty member and consultant Curry Schiavone as someone who personified the motto of Non Scholae Sed Vitae Discimus, “We Learn Not for School But for Life” – particularly as it dealt with the great outdoors.

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Both Beatrice and Adie emphasized that Powhatan is always “expanding” and advancing on all fronts, always innovating and trying to make itself better. A listener could not have missed the wonder in their voices. Or the pride in their voices as they spoke of their four sons Andrew, Alex, Peter, and Adie. They pointed out how their sons are advancing in their lives and building careers, businesses, and opportunities. Andrew has already given them three grandchildren.

Much of their sons’ confident outlook and poise in a sometimesmaddening world they credited to Powhatan.

Of course, their generous support and community leadership have supported and led Powhatan for decades. Both Adie and Beatrice served two terms on the Board of Trustees – a total of 12 years of service, a record of service rarely equaled among the families who have guided the school through the years. Adie, a successful businessman, did confess that at times it was a bit frustrating to see things take so long when you’re yearning for things to happen more quickly. But in the end good boards, Adie averred, are good at coordinating different points of view. Beatrice chimed in that in the end working for the board involved a great deal of “good times getting together” – working toward common, Powhatan-community goals. She mentioned how much Adie had enjoyed working with Celie Harris, Franny Crawford, and Richard Farland when the four of them spearheaded a campaign which resulted in the building and expansion of Lee Hall. Their great desire to see Powhatan develop a high school did not come to pass – a question which has teetered on the horizon of Powhatan’s future since its beginning. One change that Adie was part of was the double sectioning of grades. This question also brought critical points of view forward: no one wanted the sectioning to impinge on the ‘small classes’ feel of the school. Questions such as adding a high school or the impact of double sections are questions which are tackled in Long Range Plans, a process which Beatrice and Adie said they were part of two to three times. Because Powhatan was always looking ahead and putting such emphasis on long-range planning, Adie said a culture of supportive trustees grew, a culture which ensured Powhatan’s future.

Great families make great schools. My afternoon call to Adie and Beatrice von Gontard affirmed for me their role in appreciating

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Powhatan and doing everything in their power to continue and enhance its presence into the 21st century. Families like theirs are the bedrock of successful independent schools. They even plant the gardens whose wildflowers are metaphors for the beauty schools like Powhatan ultimately produce.

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Mr. Legge on a school trip to the Galapagos.

Ray Legge, ‘75 Alternately rugged and refined, kind and resolute, Ray Legge is part of a three-generation family which has occupied every niche characteristic of a full Powhatan experience. He and his four sisters were students and graduates. His parents - as are almost all of our parents - were highly involved with the school. His two sons attended Powhatan. His mother, a long-time faculty member at Lord Fairfax, was legendary in her support of the school and its programs. There is this iconic photo I would see from time to time showing Dr. Legge, Ray’s dad and President of the Board of Trustees at the time, and Don Niemann at the ground-breaking of the ‘New Building’ (now and forever renamed the Lindsey Library) in 1967.

Dr. Legge is holding the ceremonial blue and silver shovel which hung above the auditorium exit door for years. And since 1988 Ray Legge has been the school’s version of Bill Nye, our own science guy at Powhatan, finally surpassing in tenure the legendary Hal Oxenham.

Ray embodies the Powhatan motto, (in English) “We learn not for school but for life.” His life is a rich brew of family, fitness, love 169

of literature, appreciation of delicious food, good humor (Ray is the master of the corny joke, which he delivers dead pan with exquisite timing and inflection), and snakes. Yes, snakes. Enter Ray’s classroom and you can’t help but notice the phalanx of secured reptile boxes behind the display panes of the science service area between the two Upper School labs. Each box contains its own version of one of the region’s native slitherers. Nearly everyone’s blood pressure rises when they see the school’s magnificent Eastern Timber rattler, Crotalus horridus, who has resided in the lab for well over 20 years. The snakes are the ultimate show and tell and have educated our community and countless area kids to the true nature of our reptile friends and the role they play in our ecology. I’d like to think that because of their benign presence every day in the kids’ education I have heard no tales of nightmares or irrational fears ever voiced by anyone in our community about snakes.

One day after school, I dropped by the science lab to talk to Ray about some administrivia item, a student issue, or more likely some news about a biking event one of us had been party to (both of us are avid cyclists). Ray was cleaning a reptile cage on the table with its occupant calmly sequestered in a heavy canvas bag. The kids were home. The doors were locked. We were rattling on, and I noticed sticking out of the bag about a foot away from my leg was the head and some inches of the rattler, who seemed to be enjoying his recess ‘outside.’ I felt absolutely no fear and motioned to Ray what was taking place. Ray goes, “Oh,” casually and leaned over to rebag the rattler. I couldn’t help but notice how calm the snake was and how familiar and untroubled it was with Ray’s handling. I know it loved its clean cage.

Ray Legge is such a good role model for all of us and especially the kids. They can’t help but notice how nutritiously he eats and how dedicated he is to maintaining his personal fitness. Unless he suffers some tragic accident, I fully expect him to live to be ancient and hale.

Ray swims, runs, canoes, and bikes. Not just sometimes but every chance he gets. He doesn’t just do things in short bursts but bikes for countless miles and has participated in many triathlons. People like Ray remind us that ultimately through good nutrition and consistent exercise we may live longer, healthier lives largely unburdened with disease and their accompanying expense.

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I recall opening my email not terribly long ago at school one day with this subject, “There is no frigate like a book…” It was from Ray. He had quoted Emily Dickinson to inspire us all to share reviews of good books we were reading or had just read. The idea never really caught on – I think because so many of us are so incredibly busy, but I appreciated how he was hearkening back to one of the primary missions of the school, appreciating and discussing good literature. Ray also uses the platform of morning gathering to articulate and underscore community values.

Ray constantly acknowledges youngsters and others – all members of the Powhatan family – who participated in something notable such as a performance of the arts, a good cause in the community, or taking part in a race. And in an unassuming performance of his role as pater familiae will occasionally utter an unforgettable truth about our experience of learning together and what it means. I shall never forget him standing one morning to say, “We all get to be here,” a lovely synthesis of the joy, majesty, and ennoblement our time together at Powhatan brings us.

The kind of remark that urges us to look over the next hill and – like Dickinson’s frigate – “…take us lands away.”

Ray has a wonderful perspective from which to peer. There has been a Legge at our school since 1964. Ray says the Powhatan he and his sisters attended was a very good school. It called on every member of his family to be involved. It was stimulating and encouraged him to grow into his potential. He liked his teachers, particularly the inspirational Laura Robb. He liked them so much he returned to the school he loved as one. Ray pointed out that there was fun in the classroom and that the lessons and experiences were positive. And that the teachers held balanced expectations. Yes, the expectations were challenging, but they were individual too, framed around a student’s interests and abilities.

A reflective perspective on how Powhatan has changed and grown led Ray to note that Powhatan today seems even more child-centered and more cognizant of the developmental stages each of us goes through. Like all great schools it provides a good challenge but not just academically.

Powhatan students learn how to act socially, what’s appropriate emotionally, and how to appear in performance. What underpins this attention to nuance? According to Legge, “Size matters.” He contrasted our learning community with large public-school classes such as his wife Mary’s, a long-time teacher of heralded accomplishment, in which 171

she averages 35 students per class. Our size allows us to thoroughly vet a lesson and capture all the small opportunities each offering presents for exploring the small rules and aspects of a discipline which lead to mastery. Also, because Powhatan as a community embraces the notion of academic freedom (and, at the least, has since I have been here) it allows teachers to speak from interest and inclination, modeling for students that each of us has a unique perspective to grow into and offer the world. This empowerment fosters strong relationships between school and family. It encourages us to learn for life.

An aspect Ray seemed especially grateful for was his role as Sir Toby Belch in his class’s production of Twelfth Night. An experience he calls the ‘Gift of Shakespeare.’ He talked about the fear of having to spend the night at the Niemanns’ if he didn’t learn his lines. He spoke of mastering around 200 lines the night before, of how as the performances progressed the shows improved, of how the performances led to an appreciation of preparation, and recognition of the value of teamwork, and, finally, a sublime feeling of satisfaction. There was an inevitability and permanence about the production, but in the end it was a too fleeting cycle – because just as the play was mastered and performed it was over. Never to be recaptured again.

Another aspect of Ray’s career is his identification with quality field trips: the eighth grade’s several-day field trip to the Chesapeake Bay and the sixth grade’s survival trip on the Shenandoah spring to mind. One of the most innovative and educational trips was a visit to the Winchester Medical Center’s Operating Room – while an operation was underway (alas, the climate of security resulting from 9/11 has nixed that trip). The particular trip Ray was telling me about involved an open-heart surgery operation being performed by one of the most renowned surgeons in the region, who also happened to be a Powhatan parent. Ray noticed one of the youngsters was ‘leaning’ toward the ‘action.’ Thinking the young man was just uncommonly interested, Ray began to move toward the student when the kid passed out, ensnaring himself in tubes as he fell. It seems the amount of blood he was seeing was a bit much for his sensibilities. The surgeon went on with aplomb, successfully concluding the operation, archly noting that this patient had a lot more worries at the time than a kid in his tubes. The youngster quickly recovered too.

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As Ray is nearing retirement and I am already retired, we spent a good deal of time catching up on friends with whom we have taught and their spouses who have become members of our mutual ‘friends’ community. We also talked about those we have taught whom we have lost and the poignancy that their remembrance brings us – about how their deaths underscore how disjointed the universe at times may be.

Ray concluded by citing how Powhatan has grown since he first knew it. He noted the increased family feeling of the school and praised the motivated teachers. He characterized the atmosphere for the student community here as more loving and less shrill. He praised Head Sue Scarborough for her mellow and professional nature. He felt the school had grown even more child-centered and was doing well in advancing learning strategies and curricula even more appropriate for a student’s age and development. Ray pointed out the school’s greater diversity – not only racially and culturally but also economically – as a distinct positive. Among his fond memories was a professional development program at Powhatan which was constantly trying to challenge and stretch already excellent teachers.

Interdisciplinary themes also emerged in our interview. Ray related how during his science chapter on the development of atomic weapons, particularly “Little Man” and “Fat Boy,” the history department assigned a critical essay on whether or not the writer, if President at the time, would have dropped the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Such collaboration, according to Legge, adds richly to the level of learning among students.

There is a bulletin board as you enter Mr. Legge’s classroom which is full of newspaper clippings of past and present Powhatan members and their families. The display is fascinating, almost always current, and offers rich reading. The clippings don’t need a heading saying, “Why Powhatan Families Are Important – And Who They Are.” The pictures and articles take care of that.

Ray’s dad, Dr. Legge, who sent five kids through Powhatan, used to be fond of saying, “I could have owned half of Frederick County if I hadn’t had all of those tuition bills to pay.” Do the math and you too can come up with a ballpark figure of just how much a Powhatan education is worth. And just how precious those children who get them are.

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Ray Legge is another example of the kind of iconic individuals who end up making their careers here. I have always found him, both as a colleague and student, to be one of the kindest, most thoughtful, interested persons I have known. He has said, looking back upon his career, “I am amazed at how very intelligent, very driven people have entrusted me with their most precious possession.” Leave it to Ray to say just how we have all felt about the students we have taught.

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Powhatan students running down the hill in front of the McIntosh Arts and Sciences Center.

Charlie McIntosh, ‘71 The last major building added to the campus is a marvel, a marvel which speaks to the school’s institutional and historic commitment to both the arts and the sciences. Two stories tall with a glass, courtyardfacing western wall, the edifice holds two complete science labs on the ground floor, with a large storage area between, along with two foreign language classrooms. The second floor has two spacious art studios, again with a large supplies’ storage area between, and two state of the art music studios (each with a mirrored wall for dance instruction) along with a full conference/multi-purpose room. Two features make the building extraordinary: a large two-story interior steel ramp made

by Irongate and the Ridings family for handicapped access to the upper floor and a system of over thirty deep wells which supply ambient energy through their constant water temperature toward the building’s maximally efficient heating and cooling systems. John Lathrop recalled the day when cranes dropped the finished steel ramp into the then unroofed building while the whole school watched. There is another feature to the building well worth noting. The whole structure was 175

moved east by some significant feet from its initial (and optimal) axis to accommodate and spare the “Grandfather Tree,” the immense, three-boled evergreen around which children have played for decades and a tree certainly planted by Dr. Mayo’s family when they built the original Powhatan. Several aspects of the building speak to the themes of Powhatan’s ethos: the classrooms are state of the art and fully support learning, the heating/cooling system is efficient, economic, and environmentally sustainable, and the site supports the sensitivities of the children who play there. But the most immediately notable feature in its identity is the name: The McIntosh Arts and Sciences building.

Charlie McIntosh chaired and led the capital campaign which conceived and constructed the building which every student in Powhatan uses every day. It is totally appropriate that the building honors his work and contributions as well as recalls the rich history he and his extended family have had with the school.

When Charlie and I met via a cyber link to talk, he was full of anecdotes and school lore which easily fell into three broad categories: family, culture, and the personal recollections which knit the first two together. The first thing that he told all persons who asked him about Powhatan when they inquired about sending their kids there was that it was like a family. He even had the tiers worked out: The head was like a loving, wise grandparent, the faculty was like supportive, interesting aunts and uncles, the other parents were like aunts and uncles or cousins, and the fellow students were cousins and, at times, siblings. The family theme he quickly added, “It wasn’t just at school.

It’s wherever you happened to be.” If a Powhatan parent found a child in distress at Apple Blossom, he or she quickly moved to that child’s aid or support. If a kid fell skiing on Winter Tuesday, chances were it wasn’t your own mom or dad who made it there first to help and evaluate the situation. Ironically a few days later I was traveling in a group which had former Powhatan parent Anne Bacon in it. She related, out of the blue, the story of when she had an accident skiing on Winter Tuesday, tearing her ACL. The whole community wheeled into action: Parents began figuring out immediate childcare for her two children, others took care of getting her car home. Her orthopedist was on the slopes and swooped by and led the ambulance care crew in how to handle immediate care back in Winchester. Other parents worked to plan her 176

kids’ after-school events for the upcoming weeks. Her tale, years after he had attended, confirmed every aspect of Charlie’s point about the community when he said, “Powhatan truly is a family.”

Of course, Charlie’s own family, sister Sara and brothers Jock and Billy, were exemplars of getting the most out of the experience of attending school at Powhatan. There was a tight spread between the four. Sister Sara was in the fourth grade when Billy (now Bill) was in kindergarten. Charlie was full of stories about the competition between Billy and him during Post/Rail activities. Billy won the boys High Point trophy at Field Day every year from fifth through eighth grade for his age division. The competition was especially tight his sixth-grade year when he edged his older brother Charlie out by a point. Charlie added, “Competition was really serious stuff between the Posts and Rails back then.”

One day, decades ago, I was helping Paula Myer rake out the immense broad jump pit getting ready for the kids to show up when she related the story of the time, “Jock McIntosh jumped right out of the pit.” I personally saw Steve Nerangis and Alan Haston each jump a measured 18 feet, but never had I seen anyone jump out of the pit.

Charlie wondered if it might have been Billy who had done the deed.

Anyway, one of them did it. No doubt about it, the McIntoshes were an athletic clan.

They also served the school on the trustee level. Charlie’s mother Ann, one of everyone’s all-time favorites, served as President of the Board, as did her son Charlie.

Powhatan’s culture was also a focus of Charlie’s remarks. He recalled how the Niemann’s focus on theatre and acting changed the school and his life. He said, “You know how today every class has a performance? Then the only staged performance was the Shakespeare play. With the seventh getting the smaller roles and the eighth grade the main ones.” He spun the story out how they had performed A Comedy of Errors, and he had experienced a rare absence the day roles were assigned. Classmates called to tell him he had the lead role, Antipholus of Syracuse. Charlie went to talk to Mr. Niemann, who told Charlie that he had given the choice a great deal of thought and he felt that Charlie could do it. Mr. Niemann was right. Charlie not 177

only accepted the role, he went on to win the acting award for that year and later acted in high school. Powhatan was and is all about stretching which leads to growth.

General themes about the culture were that everybody knew everyone. And that during his time the older kids looked after the younger kids. He mentioned specifically ‘the Gilpins and the Dillards, Richard Farland, and Randy Funkhouser’ On the rare instances that didn’t happen, Mr. Niemann and other adults were quick to intervene.

Another big shock to the academic culture was when you got Laura Robb, whom Charlie adored for her refreshing enthusiasm, as your teacher. Charlie counted it as a great coup in his education that he got her for both his fourth and fifth grades, when she moved up. Mrs. Robb said things like, “The dictionary is your friend,” and, “I love to take field trips.” The first was a pattern disrupter for students, and the second was a delight to their ears. Charlie fondly recalled visiting White House Apples, the assembly line at Crown Cork and Seal, and various museums in DC. His telling reminded me of the time in my first year when Don Niemann and I took the sixth grade to visit Corning Glass.

I can still see in memory’s eye my Uncle Bobby, the furnace engineer, lifting George White up to peer, through a small glass portal, into the heart of the blazing furnace.

If you listened to Paula Myer, Athletic Director, Charlie and his family were present during a golden era of Powhatan athletics. In addition to at least one of the McIntoshes jumping out of the broad jump pit, Charlie’s class added Haig Kalbian, who had spent his previous years developing footwork and tricks with the soccer ball in his native Palestine. Charlie said he could dribble in and out of everything and score on anybody. Suddenly Powhatan was a cemented soccer power.

Seems Haig elevated everyone’s play on the team. Add in Paula Myer’s expertise in coaching field hockey, and Powhatan dominated each Fall.

Spring featured Richard Pretorius, who was big and who could pitch.

Powhatan played baseball then. Charlie recounted how they would motor over to Hill, take a joint ride to the nearby ball field, and the whole time the Hill kids would be asking if there was some way, any way, they could get around having to face Richard.

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Their prayers went unanswered. For three straight years Richard Pretorius blanked Hill. Powhatan had its own “Big Train.”

Field Days were community events around which every Powhatan family circled their calendars. Competition was spirited. Traffic was often bottled up on 723. The showing in most events was outstanding.

Traditionally, as is true today, the last events were the relay races, usually when the score was tight, and the tension at its peak. Coaching focused on the relays because they were so visible and so easy to foul out of. Many of the most anxious moments I ever spent at Field Day were in huddles with fellow officials, deciding whether a significant foul had taken place in the relays. I’m proud to say we always came down on the side of fair competition, rather than a trifling foul, our key determinant being had the foul in anyway impeded the other team. Charlie mentioned that the feelings generated during his time were intense, and the whole school and all of its following waited breathlessly for the final Post/Rail point count to be revealed. Talk about high drama.

Academics, as always, was the mainstay of Charlie’s experience at Powhatan. Math was sectioned in the upper grades. Creative writing was emphasized throughout – but took off in importance when one reached Mrs. Robb’s class in which every day had time for writing. Powhatan’s reputation for producing fine writers was as strong in Charlie’s time as it had been earlier and still is today. Charlie loved Hal Oxenham, Powhatan’s do-everything science teacher, whom he described as being well ahead of his time. Don Niemann lauded Hal as the man who could teach anything (due to his English ‘public’ school background).

Hal Oxenham was recycling to save the planet long before it became critical and well before it became chic. Hal had appropriated a small shed near the present edge of what became the Henkel Gymnasium as the Recycling Shed. There he gathered cans, glass, newspapers, magazines, and some large metal objects which he had sorted and took to several local outlets. Charlie remembered days where he and Stuart Brown smashed cans and sorted them into tin and aluminum. At the corner of the campus on Rte 723, Mr. Oxenham had installed a 55-gallon drum with a basketball hoop on it. It seems that some local drivers were accustomed to flipping their empties out the window when travelling between Boyce and Millwood. The sign on Hal’s drum said, “How’s

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your aim? Ours is to have a clean environment.” Charlie couldn’t recall how long the drum lasted but said eventually it had to go. It seems there were too few Steph Currys around, and the can, a great idea, proved to be a can magnet – for missed shots.

Hal Oxenham had another passion that he shared with his colleagues and his students: white-water canoeing. Charlie said that he and Stuart Brown along with the slightly older Pim Dillard canoed all over the Shenandoah with Hal. I did too when I came on the faculty. I can remember going with Hal and students Trigg Talley and Tom Gans travelling the same routes (and wiping out on the Compton rapids).

Charlie shared with me that Trigg Talley later went on to become a white-water kayaker of some significant merit. Quite often we’d take Bonnie Brown, Stuart’s elder sister, who was my age. Hal instilled in me a passion for canoeing that has stayed with me my entire life.

Occasionally we’d run into other canoers, all of whom revered Hal and would whisper to us out of his hearing that he was considered the best on the East Coast. I once witnessed Hal, dressed in his spotless khakis, go over a series of boiling rapids on Cedar Creek, which seemed to drop 15 feet in 15 yards and ended abruptly in a pool – scant feet from a low water bridge. There seemed like a slew of canoeists there. Everyone else was portaging. Hal decided to give it a try. Not only did Hal navigate the raging rapids superbly, he also drew his canoe up smartly to a halt just before the low water bridge. We all applauded. Hal rose from his seat.

There was not a drop of water on him.

1 Charlie McIntosh told me how the Powhatan of his daughters Nina and Annie was largely the same as the one he had experienced – except that with them there were two sections in every class.

Charlie then shared memories of doing Carol Sing at the Episcopal Parish Hall when the excitement of Christmas heralded a long winter break. Discussions of the art rooms in the McIntosh Arts and Sciences building prompted Charlie to reminisce about Jane Caspar, sitting cross-legged on an art table, cigarette in a holder, surveying her students all busy with projects she had designed for them. Jane wasn’t

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the only one who smoked then. Most of us did. We’d all light up in the faculty lounge, between the old third grade room and the kindergarten in the old building. The most famous tobacconist, however, was Don Niemann, who went nowhere without his ubiquitous pipe. Charlie said the students kept track of his movements by its trailing aroma.

Charlie McIntosh ended the interview with a tribute to Powhatan’s “spectacular graduation.” We all know he’s absolutely spot on. It has been my experience, one I share with everyone I have talked to about it, that Powhatan has the most student-centered, ennobling graduation I’ve seen. It is always full of awards, kind words, and transcendent respect.

Powhatan could be the school that is the story of families. Almost all of them have left some magic there. Some planted trees. Some served on the Board. Others sewed costumes. Or drove the long, lonely miles to Bryce for Winter Tuesday. All spent nights drilling kids for tests. All of them shared their children. And some, a rare few, left their names on buildings.

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Anne Bell, ‘94 It was one of those delicious June evenings where the temperature was perfect, the lawns of Powhatan perfectly mowed, the seasonal foliage bright green and new, and there were no air-borne pests to trouble our presence. Someone had needed to get into the New Building (now the Lindsey Library) and because I was the faculty member who lived closest and had keys I met the party there. My whole family went. Tom (T.J. then) and David were playing on the blacktop. And Anne – just a toddler – decided to sit on the top rung of the railing nearby the door.

She had always been a climber and I decided to let her adventure pass uncommented. I could tell by her care she was mindful of safety. I sure didn’t want any paternal, “Be careful,” to turn prophetic. I walked over and unlocked the lower main door, let in the folks, heard a distinct metallic clank like a dull bell sounding, which was followed by a childish shriek. Annie had rolled off the top bar and cracked the back of her head on the mid-bar below. She was crying and blood was beginning to appear. The wound was significantly past “owie” and a band-aid.

So off Anne and I went to Dr. Chambers in Berryville. Annie needed stitches. I always admired the way that whenever one of my kids had an accident Drs. York or Chambers made my kids tell them exactly what had happened. It took their minds off the procedure they were going through and, more professionally, was the doctors’ way of making sure the victim had not been abused. It demonstrated to me that my kids were in caring hands.

Anne Bell, my youngest child – the one who managed to attend Powhatan K-8 and member of the first double section class in the school’s history, said that the things that sprang foremost into her mind about what defined Powhatan were the teachers and the care those teachers gave their students. The teacher she mentioned first and with greatest reverence was Laura Robb, whom she had for Upper School English.

Mrs. Robb taught like almost all of her peers generally did. Her master life lesson was “learn to be yourself.” Like Laura, the faculty were aces

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in finding, identifying, and teaching that child. How did they do it? They did it through teaching through discussion, creative lessons, reading, writing, and research projects, by finding and building on each child’s passion. The synthesis of this gestalt was each eighth grader’s showcase event, the Chapel Talk, a rite of passage in which each class member addressed the school community on a subject of her own choosing, a presentation that underlined each student’s individuality.

Anne had easy and deep memories about many of her teachers.

She remembered honestly believing that Mrs. Chambers, her beloved kindergarten teacher, had an evil twin whom Anne remembered as Lady Beware. My mother Anne Bell and her mother Mae Ridgeway attended Annie’s Grandparents Day in that kindergarten, and one little girl whose grandparents were unable to attend spotted my grandmother’s empty lap and headed right for it. She had discovered the greatest grandmother lap of all time. Grandma was transported and when mother asked her how her new little charge was, Grandma glistened and said, “She’s just like holding a little angel.”

Full disclosure: If you want to entertain a passel of Bells, put a baby or a tot in the room. For generations we have adored kids and benefitted from having been adored ourselves. That’s why it was so wonderful for me to have had my career at Powhatan, where the culture is focused on identifying what makes each kid tick. When the focus is on the child, then the curriculum becomes the organic tool for discovering his strengths, the field upon which each student’s strengths are displayed. Anne pointed out that Powhatan’s curriculum was not comparable with any other she experienced. She may not have really ever heard of Sufism in Comparative Religions, but she found she was always ready to learn about it when new disciplines appeared in her education.

This organic curriculum intrinsically lent itself to the development of themes. Annie’s sixth grade history teacher Arthur Kerns peppered them nearly every day with the question, “What is a humanist?” The discussions this query engendered always had the class actively engaged, but by keeping things open-ended, it allowed individual understanding – as Anne put it, “We discovered what the real lesson was.” She said a perfect metaphor of this paradigm were the plastic wrap human forms

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Ryan Royston’s art class currently had all over the school, individual expressions of a universal idea – in this case the human form.

Anne’s big three disciplines were writing, math, and science.

These interest areas of hers were reinforced by extraordinary lessons learned in each area. The most dramatic lesson might have been in science when Mr. Legge put in a strong concentration of hydrochloric acid in an aluminum pan. The reaction was especially vigorous, generating noxious fumes which drove everyone out of the room. Mr. Legge commented that he was surprised by the vigor.

Supporting her academic interests was Powhatan’s incomparable library overseen by Anne’s beloved Anne Wheeler and empowered by Mrs. Wheeler’s ‘notorious’ (Anne’s word) Bookie Cookies. Anne said, “Things could get really ugly in the class if you had any overdue books.”

Anne Wheeler knew that there was no pressure like peer pressure and competition to get all books returned so that your class might be awarded the weekly allotment of Bookie Cookies was intense. Anne loved the library, a comfortable place where Mrs. Wheeler had your book usually waiting for you. I recall that it was at this time the library attained its full capacity of around 13,500 books, an incredible number for a school of our size. According to Anne, if it was a staple of a discipline, Mrs. Wheeler had it. If it was the perfect book for you, Mrs. Wheeler had it.

If you couldn’t find your book, Mrs. Wheeler got up and saying, “It’s right next to (insert your favorite title)” and usually walked right to it.

We talked a bit about some of the families who had the most kids who had attended Powhatan. Four families we named right away were the Lawsons, the Legges, the Devereuxs, and the generational Smiths/ Pritchards. Many others, including the Lees, the Majors, and the Bacons had kids there for what seemed like decades. Last December I asked Rives and Jesse Bacon how many Carol Sings they had attended and their eyes glazed over. But they were still smiling.

Anne and I talked about some of the kids from her class. How her ‘twin’ was ‘best bud’ Liz Burke. How Meredith Willey was a whiz and usually led the class academically. How Billy Gilpin placed sixteenth in the state during the Geography Bee. (One question which got him to a higher grouping he answered correctly because of a novel about Alaska he had read. Whole language anyone?) How the dictionary was 185

Grandin Donovan’s free reading book. How the great trauma of the class and the school was the death of Gordon Johnson. How the arrival of Mr. Lathrop also meant the addition of his stepson Charlie Pastore.

With the advent of Mr. Lathrop, double sections were standardized in all grades.

In Anne’s eighth grade year, her team, the Bell family team, the Posts won. Of all the Field Days Bells participated in that was the only year their team won. I had the perspective that these things were cyclical, and I could recall two significant Post runs. But my Tom, David, Anne, and Brant all had the notion that the Rails were stacked.

Anne loved the field trips and overnights. The Upper School Retreat encouraged bonding, getting to know the faculty, and was a riproaring good time. Her favorite was the seventh grade Civil War field trip which then focused on the Three Battles of Winchester, guided by Brandon Beck of Shenandoah University; The Battle of Cedar Creek, the battle that finally took the Valley strategically out of the war, and Antietam, which changed the nature of the war due to the Emancipation Proclamation. Anne loved the third grade’s Williamsburg trip, which she said taught her and her classmates how to interact in public. Her favorite moment was the Underground Railroad simulation during the Civil War field trip under the inspired facilitation of Gertie, Frazier, and Wendy Watkins at Shepherd’s Ford experiential learning center on the Shenandoah. This wilderness simulation had the kids in the role of the runaway slaves and their parents, unknown to them, acting the roles of townspeople, paddy rollers, jailers, Quakers, and owners of safe houses. Anne still recalls Billy’s father Tom Gilpin and how terrifyingly effective he was. Many of the most successful touches of the simulation were generated over the years by the students. One of the principal rules of the simulation was that if you were silent and didn’t move the slave catchers could not ‘see’ you. This made it hard for the slaves to communicate. John and Reed Wiedower, from an earlier class, suggested that if the slaves were ‘working,’ they could sing ‘work songs’ and communicate that way ‘safely.’ That was just one of the great suggestions that we tweaked the program with.

Anne said the best ‘field trip’ of all may have been kindergarten, which to her seemed like being in one big playground – all year.

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Anne loved the Shakespeare play. For her class it was Henry IV, Part I, a play I had never chosen before. Anne loved the ‘cool’ costumes, which she said, “…make you feel bigger than yourself.” She said, “It was our little piece of Broadway. We got to use the really nice dressing rooms.” Her excitement recalling the experience was palpable. Anne’s class was before I adopted the production tactic of dividing the roles, so she was one of those very good actors who got a small amalgam of supporting parts with few lines. Anne wanted to know how many plays I had directed and together we counted 33. I shared with her what the experiences had meant to me. The work was incredible, balancing a full teaching load and producing the play, the whole time projecting a serene air – creating the notion that everything was just going along swimmingly. Even when it wasn’t.

Anne also loved the Carol Sings, especially working with Mrs. Bryant, whom she loved. For Anne it was something to look forward to.

Another aspect of Carol Sing was its ecumenical message. Anne credited John Lathrop with sending the strong message that each belief deserved to be honored. It was the action that defines her remembrance of him.

The mystery which exists between parent and child never ceases to surprise me. Because when I was recapping some of the interviews I had done and perspectives I had learned about the Great Fire with her, I discovered that Anne had been there for it all. She was finishing sentences; she was recounting eyewitness moments. Her account of being in the car with me riding over to the school was dead on. But in my recollection I had her entering the scene later. Not for the first time as a father I wondered where I had misfiled that page. I was so glad she had set me straight.

Throughout the interview Anne brought in memories of teachers who had left strong impressions with her, advancing the theme she had introduced in the beginning. Just before we finished she mentioned Carolyn Morgoglione and Carol Chapman. She spoke of them as exemplars of demonstrating care of students though they were different in style and distinctive in method. Anne had to learn the latest news about her beloved Billy Peebles, who would be retiring at the end of the year after a distinguished career as Head of the Lovett School in Atlanta, Georgia.

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For Anne Bell Powhatan School was a specialized family which idealized learning. It was so clear to me what an important chapter her years were to her. Anne works in a profession in which she meets many folks; frequently they comment to her how they see her education blaze through. We learn not for school but for life.

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Nathan Zuckerman, ‘94 Sir John Falstaff reeled on to stage, much more than half-lit, and completely unready for the upcoming battle in support of Prince Hal. The play was Henry IV, Part I and Falstaff was played by eighth grader Nathan Zuckerman, who obviously had never been drunk before. Nathan characterized the experience as magical and “imitating a state of mind I had never been in.” I remembered coaching Nathan on how to portray an inebriate – or at least the caricature of how a drunk acts based on a lifetime of seeing folks like Dean Martin stumble and mumble across my tv set. Nathan had high praise for his experience with Shakespeare.

It had so many positives for him: proving he could memorize, think in Shakespearean English, and empowered him to believe that he and his classmates could successfully produce, act, and recite an entire book.

Elizabethans watched troupes of adolescent boys memorize and act in Shakespeare plays – at least that was the production gimmick promoted by playhouses such as The Blackfriars in London. I’m sure those people discovered what we now know too: the adolescent brain can memorize reams of material.

Nathan’s experience made Shakespeare easier to read later.

Entering the eighth grade he characterized himself as not a big reader – but he had all the tools. He credited John Lathrop’s history class, and specifically All Quiet on the Western Front, with inspiring him to develop a love of literature which led directly to his later reading of philosophy.

Programs such as Carol Sing, which he loved, and classes such as music, where Paula Bryant inspired her students with activities such as listening with their heads on their desks to compositions like Night on Bald Mountain, were very formative in promoting Nathan’s intellectual development.

Nathan Zuckerman currently teaches history in Highland School’s Upper School (which we would call high school). One of their primary techniques is a round-table discussion format which is very like techniques he remembers being practiced here. He remembers 189

Powhatan as being a little smaller and more intimate than Highland.

For him, a big difference between the two schools was Powhatan’s vast campus which was first planted by Dr. Mayo (who planted many exotic trees such as copper beeches, larches, cottonwoods, spruces, and hollies). The gradual development and expansion of our campus philosophy toward cultivating living things and planting native species promoted a strong cross-identification connecting academics, the environment in which we live, and programs such as Carol Sing. All of this promoted whole learning.

Nate liked his experiences of the Post/Rail intramural competition which he called “good fun.” He loved the rallying behind which occurred on Field Day. His favorite activities were the school-wide quizzes that tested knowledge of academics and current events, which won points for the respective sides.

Nathan remembered his study of academics at Powhatan as a time in which he received much individual attention in a curriculum he said was “much more than boilerplate.” Fifth grade teacher Mary Kay Armstrong promoted his love to doodle by buying him a sketch pad for him to ply his love…and to keep his notebook for notes. Harry Holloway spent hours with him one on one to help with concepts and get him to self-correct errors. Laura Robb got him to write poetry, but a relative breakthrough came when he wrote a poem which elicited special praise from her. Although he considered it a ‘toss off,’ she encouraged him to run with it. Nathan had always enjoyed writing workshop but considered himself largely an ‘action writer.’

Ultimately, he considered it a good way to try out and learn to refine personal writing. We then talked about the strengths of modeling and using rubrics, particularly in the realm of middle school writing.

Nathan said it is a great way to encourage students and all writers in “expressing inchoate ideas.”

Science class and Ray Legge inspired Nathan in so many ways.

Nathan said it was frustrating not being able to recall all the now “fleeting specifics” he learned there from him, specifics which had evolved into “lingering echoes.” But what has replaced them is the tale of “lifetime lessons and inspiration.” Once Mr. Legge had brought in an expert on constructing dams. In introducing the topic before the

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speaker would attend, Legge talked about all the changes a dam wrought on the ecosystem of the river dammed. Suddenly, Nathan the student saw the issue of dam-building as a moral question. Nathan chuckled as he recalled the expert’s visit, “I think I was pretty tough on the speaker with my questions.” But more importantly, Nathan’s passion inculcated a sea change in himself. Suddenly, Nathan became a big reader in science topics, and – just like the transformative powers of performing Shakespeare and experiencing World War I through reading All Quiet on the Western Front before – this spur to reading in science led him ultimately to his embrace of philosophy. Questions such as “What had planted the seeds?” and “What exactly were the seeds?” moved him into a metaphysical sphere.

With that awakening came a foundation that informed his teaching – principally “balance your views, and honor all points of view of your students.” Zuckerman characterized his philosophical goal as “not to change another’s point of view but rather promote understanding of the ramifications of all sides of the debate.”

Finally, Nate offered his gratitude for the experience of attending Powhatan, an experience he characterized as “really transformative.”

I heard real echoes of Jefferson’s call for founding an ‘academical community’ when creating the University of Virginia when Nathan Zuckerman extolled Powhatan’s “commitment to an academic community.”

Nathan left me with a trove of memorabilia from Powhatan: class pictures, his diploma, and his report cards from the end of his eighth-grade year. He also included his graduation citation, written and delivered by John Lathrop. Part of that citation is worthy of remembering now: “You are an original thinker and a great contributor to all discussions. You have never met an argument you didn’t like. You believe strongly in principles, and you are quick to form views from abstract ideas…”

Nathan Zuckerman’s career since his 1994 graduation has shown how accurate those words were. For, Nathan has epitomized the integrated unity he gained from the variable perspectives, academic and programmatic, he gained while at Powhatan School. In many ways

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it was as if the time he spent there and the experiences he had, had been fashioned expressly for him. Education is derived from the Latin verb educare, to lead out of, and Nathan used his education to inspire himself to achieve a life of depth and accomplishment.

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Ann Robb visiting with 2017 alumni Eli Dunphy, Cullen Horowicz, Wynn Morris, Ben Thompson and Bailey Vogt at Carol Sing.

Ann Robb I recall as a young man how thrilling it was to hear the heraldic theme music of National Geographic specials play on the television. When it was part of an advertisement, I’d race to the set to see what the upcoming documentary would be about; if it was the program lead-in, I’d settle back trusting that those horns like Joshua’s would level some wall hitherto keeping me from seeing the truth about the world. I don’t think that expectation ever disappointed me.

Now when I hear those herald horns – at least for a second – I’m reminded of Ann Robb, my long-time and much-admired colleague, because before she began her Powhatan career, she had a stint in the documentary department of National Geographic, just about the perfect preparation for the fast-paced, creative, hard-driving academic life at Powhatan. I’m also reminded that Ann, like so many of her colleagues at Powhatan, had a background that was unusual and supported the unique nature the demands of her new career would face her with every day.

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One day during a faculty meeting when we were all grousing about the number of times our report card comments had to be peer-edited and then approved by administrators, Ann offered up that at National Geographic nothing appeared in print which hadn’t been reviewed by an editor ten times. End of grousing. In fact, end of grousing about report card comment review ever. The unspoken standard which emerged was if a quality, national publication like National Geographic ‘got by’ with ten editorial reviews then our repeated reviews were certainly warranted.

Another background strength of Ann’s was her attendance at the Holton-Arms school, a superb school outside of Washington, which she loved. From time to time, Ann would relate stories from her own experience how some of her classmates would do these inappropriate and hurtful things to fellow students and the teachers. Ann’s stories always illustrated the complicated and sometimes thoughtless nature of all middle schoolers everywhere and would usually appear when we as a faculty were wrestling with a similar situation here at Powhatan. Like parables her stories would give us something to think about and usually moderate our initial reactions. Ann is the kind of person who gives everyone a fair shot and is tuned in to the nuanced ‘real’ nature of the world we all live in.

Ann began our interview by telling me about a candidate family for admissions who had been referred to her. Ann ended up spending over two hours with the candidate family talking about the advantages of a Powhatan education: the expertise of the staff, the ubiquitous ‘happy’ atmosphere, the natural and authentic manners of the students, a veteran and beloved bus driver who would get the kids to and from school in a friendly, safe manner, the theme of fresh air and beauty of the campus, the freedom of movement in a gorgeous countryside, and an excellent curriculum never standing still. This inherent freedom allowed individual expression and accomplishment across a multitude of venues: language arts, mathematics, history, science, world language, every day art, music, sports, and an annual school-wide production for each grade. In addition, Powhatan has a staff which daily greets arriving students with a handshake to a community where each one is known and prized for her gifts. She then highlighted our peerless admissions director Mike Hatfield. Hearing her presentation, I couldn’t help but think the candidate parents had to have all but broken their fingers signing the admissions contract.

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Ann parlayed those positives into a zeitgeist which allowed her to talk about the aspects of Powhatan which she thought most important: teachers who have had their own children here as students, the vigorous continuing professional development program for faculty, and the strong relations generated between parents and teachers and students and faculty. She related a story about an assignment she had for a graduate class she had while studying for her masters in reading from UVA in which she had to interview at least two students, preferably high school-aged, on who had been their favorite teacher and why. Ann chose her two sons, close brothers who were very different and unique students (as most of us with several children know). To her surprise both chose the same Powhatan teacher. The elder Robb pointed out that his favorite teacher had taught using stories, had always been kind, and had listened to him. The younger Robb cited the same teacher for his kindness and the fact that he too had felt listened to. Ann added that later she had found her younger son’s seventh grade planner and in it was a drawing of her son surrounded by those important to him: his parents, his brother, his extended family members, and a rendering of his favorite teacher. When that teacher retired, Ann electronically copied that page and gave it to him as a remembrance. She stressed in telling the anecdote how neither son could have known the other’s choice because she approached both separately the same day.

Ultimately Ann’s story highlighted what she felt Powhatan’s greatest strength was: the closeness of colleagues and the joy most of them experience working together – a sentiment I could emphatically echo.

In fleshing out that theme, she told of her hiring in a long-ago August

by Billy Peebles. Ann had sent out a resume to area schools and typically the busiest was the only one to answer. She arrived at Billy’s office, the first person she had met at Powhatan, for a helter-skelter interview that was interrupted frequently. But Billy had seen enough to offer Ann, one of the better natural athletes to have ever taught here, a part-time sports position. From that small opening Ann’s other strengths emerged to lead to positions in the language arts field where she became Chair of the Department and eventually Upper School Coordinator, a position whose responsibilities she executed to rave reviews.

The closeness of the faculty, which she characterized by its hilarity, friendliness, and support, underscored another perceived strength of Powhatan, its traditions. She whipped off a list: Shakespeare, Winter 195

Tuesday, Posts and Rails, Field Day, eighth grade Chapel Talks, and each student’s annual appearance on the Niemann Auditorium stage. To her, these traditions and the academics they underpin give meaning to the Learning for Life pillars: (alphabetically) civility, excellence, integrity, respect, and service. Ann credits John Lathrop with emphasizing them and Sue Scarborough with solidifying them and making them present every day. Both heads talked about them and themed these discussions in morning gatherings; both in discussing them moved in positives and expanded their meaning through story and discussion.

In a faculty of performers, Ann stands among the elite. Besides playing the piano for the seventh grade musicals (John Lathrop’s Gilbert and Sullivan productions and Josh Mosser’s full-length Broadway shows) and often for Carol Sing, Grandparents Days, and Graduations, Ann is an arch mime and sports a spare, incisive sense of humor. Since I’ve been here, the faculty has had a custom of performing skits at outof-school get-togethers, where everything school-related was goodnaturedly in play. Memorable performances include all of us aping Mrs. Fox, former school secretary, making requests over the school’s squawk box PA, yours truly portraying Gandhi (yes, the Mahatma), complete with dhoti, conducting morning gathering which he illustrated with sayings from Billy Peebles, who frequently led gathering with sayings of Gandhi, Paula Myer portraying herself (how many hours did she expend looking for her glasses – which invariably were on her head?), and the night Ann Robb nailed one of our beloved parents and trustees. I have never, ever laughed harder.

Such facility with humor underscores the depth and insight with which Ann leads our English department. I was anxious to hear her assessment of the current state of the department as I had started 45 years earlier as a Powhatan English teacher. She told me we were still using Warriner’s as our reference text for usage, grammar, and conventions.

Powhatan is a best-practices blend of traditional and whole language instruction, a pragmatic approach which melds the skills of the teacher with the needs of the student. She ticked off how seamless we have all become with employing independent vs. instructional reading levels in the classroom. How the school has embraced Word Study. And how the flagship of our outlook about writing is an indefatigable dedication

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to process. She used her own elder son as her example, “The teachers always stuck with him. And now he has become a lovely, effective writer.”

Ann also pointed out through a sports analogy just how pleasantly positive it is to walk into a Powhatan classroom. “The students are already on third base” – evincing enthusiasm, and always open to instruction. The very day I interviewed Ann in October the school was having a Professional Day in which 16 sessions were offered to the entire faculty over four slots. Teachers were leading each offering which included topics such as Mindfulness, the International Festival of Positive Education, Word Study, Forming and Maintaining Reading Groups, Maker Space, Dyslexia, the Socratic Method, and Collaborative Projects. Ann spoke on how she was refining our approach to one of Powhatan’s premier traditions, each eighth grader’s Chapel Talk. She began by incorporating the talks right into the English class instead of a separate speech class which met infrequently. She frames the talks around the themes of independent research, writing, media support, and delivery all infused by elements of positive psychology.

We ended our interview with a nostalgic remembrance of students who had died early, and a touching reaffirmation of students and families Powhatan had stood with when problems assailed them.

Ann Robb represents just the kind of liberal arts individual, unusually gifted, who arrives at independent schools through nontraditional channels and grows into a legend. To me she is one of the most effective teachers and team-friendly colleagues I have known.

She is the kind of teacher who makes every day exciting. And she has the uncanny ability to crystalize a nuanced concept into a few words, “Throw a dart and you’re going to miss because Powhatan’s always moving…”

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Anne Williams and fellow students preparing to perform Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night.

Anne Williams, ‘95 Statuesque and clad entirely in white (which, I had read, in some European renaissance cultures was worn to mark mourning), Olivia in Twelfth Night is beset with suitors: Duke Orsino, her own servant Malvolio, and the one she’s smitten with – the most unlikely love interest of all, Cesario, the male alias of Viola, who was washed up on Illyria’s shores from a shipwreck. Viola is traveling in disguise in search of her male twin Sebastian, from whom she has been separated for years. All of this must have been a hoot and a holler for Elizabethan audiences because by law only males were allowed on stage. Usually female roles were played by young teens who had yet to start growing beards. Viola is one of the play’s main roles; her twin Sebastian, and her male alias, Cesario, also appear and were probably all portrayed by the same young actor. Our Olivia was portrayed by Anne Williams in that production, a production of Twelfth Night that was fast-paced and extremely funny.

When I directed Shakespeare at Powhatan, I always counted on sterling performances from the top four or five actors to drive the excellence of

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the production. In this Anne was a shining exemplar. Everyone ended up with the right partner and had a ball doing so – all except the hapless Malvolio. Twelfth Night may have been my favorite comedy of all and is an eternal audience pleaser.

Anne enrolled in Powhatan in third grade when her family moved from Westmoreland County. Legendary Powhatan teacher Carolyn Morgoglione was Anne and fellow newcomer Jon Rockwood’s first contact with Powhatan faculty. Anne was immediately drawn to the warmth, poise and high expectations of her new teacher. Anne fell behind in learning multiplication, but Mrs. Morgoglione supported her in closing the gap. She remembers how her classmates, particularly Ashley Heclo at a beginning of the year party, went out of her way to make her feel welcome.

Ms. Williams then touched on outside trips the school sponsored, trips which enhanced and enlarged the scope of learning the school presented in its core curriculum. She started with the third-grade trip to Williamsburg and Jamestown where she was away from both of her parents and got sick. She got sick on the Godspeed, she got sick in the House of Burgesses – where she was rescued by docents and taken to their break room and ministered to. Anne recalled her reaction was to notice how modern and ordinary the docent room was – not at all like the colonial motif so stridently echoed throughout the rest of Colonial Williamsburg. Highlights of the fifth grade overnight to Washington included the Hard Rock Café and Ford’s Theatre. Her seventh-grade field trip was highlighted by the secret simulation at Shepherd’s Ford, run by Gertie Watkins and her children Frazier and Wendy, of passage – along with her classmates – on an eerie leg – through forest and meeting all sorts of characters – of the Underground Railroad. The eighth graders and older sibs were crucial in keeping the secret and invented the ‘fake’ storyline that they were going to “dig ditches.”

Anne next mentioned the annual Shakespeare play, an important adjunct to the curriculum and as adventurous an undertaking as any attempted by eighth graders in the state and, yes, in the nation.

An important moment of discovery occurred to Anne during the interview and audition the seventh graders go through to learn about their upcoming play and practice reading Shakespeare aloud. The

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rolling audition was traveling around the room when one of her classmates, Ashton Cole, read with such feeling and ease that Anne could understand the language. She marked that moment as when she “learned to listen.” Her introduction to Shakespeare was reinforced that summer when, traveling with Ilona Pillion’s pony club, she attended a stellar production of Henry V in Wales.

Another outstanding memory for Anne was lying on the floor in Mrs. Bryant’s music class and listening to classical music. Anne used that example to reinforce her main conclusion about Powhatan School and her faculty: learning became all about experiencing. Experiencing the material, experiencing the process, experiencing and being alive to the moment. These experiences for Anne set up lifelong-learning paradigms. But she is not a congress of one.

“This school is such a community!” Anne said with enthusiastic punctuation. She explained it was the perfect place to learn about working with others. The process of collaborative learning, which many have hailed as the hallmark of learning for the 21st century, has long been a primary theme in education at Powhatan. You learn from others, and others learn from you. You teach and model for others, and others teach and model for you. The pool of experiences in collaborative learning allows one to take what one needs from a variety of methods your peers employ and to showcase your methods with your peers.

This process of collaborative learning and the rich variety of experiential learning scenarios allowed Anne to find her strengths here. One was the joy of language. She loved Spanish and achieved a good foundation here. Of her many awards at graduation, Anne’s family cooed over her Spanish award the most. Anne said that Powhatan’s expectation for her students of every year getting up and speaking or performing in front of the school was invaluable. She is currently Commonwealth’s Attorney for Clarke County and employs that ease of speaking every time she tries a case. At Powhatan she “learned great study habits.” When she arrived at boarding school in Connecticut, she was “ahead of the curve;” she was not overwhelmed. Anne “felt prepared and secure.” She knew how to speak in public, she was organized, and she knew how to plan her work.

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Anne also felt she was supported in her writing at Powhatan. She recalled attending the awards banquet in fifth grade for the Apple Valley Writing Contest and how wonderful that made her feel. She summed up her academic experience elegantly. “If you have a passion, here you have an outlet.” In a whisper she added, “It is such a blessing.”

Anne Williams was Rail co-captain her eighth-grade year. She characterized the entire Post/Rail competition as “Great!” For her it exemplified the pride she developed with her teammates – where one would always deliver her best, not only for herself but also for her team, her teammates, and her school. That pride endures to this day when she texted in her location at Key West to earn points for the Rails.

Anne also extoled the lovely, open campus of Powhatan. She remembered loving to eat outside. She related observing an eclipse outside in either the fourth or fifth grade. She pointed out what an asset the Crocker Conservancy for the school. Kids get to experience 47+ acres of near wilderness right in our own backyard. Anne did add she was not the greatest fan of running a cross-country mile on the Crocker.

Her heart may differ with that point of view as she ages. And she loved the Grandfather tree and the fact that the McIntosh Arts and Sciences building was re-sited to protect it. (Sadly, the northern trunk of the Grandfather tree is dying from the top down – about halfway down).

Anne Williams pointed out that today the world is different, but she hopes Powhatan will always be an open place. She is proud of the good education and the good things she experienced here. She concluded that Powhatan was and is “wonderful.” It is the place where her son and daughter attend school. In a lull I piped in that I always describe Powhatan as the school you wish you’d gone to. She ended by saying it’s a place where you learn then do.

Anne finished with an anecdote about a year in law school she spent abroad in Budapest. She was in the lobby of her hotel when she noticed a lady sitting by herself. Anne found the lady interesting and as she related, “I was taught to be engaged and converse with others.”

So she introduced and discovered she was speaking to Violette Sibony, a former French teacher known for her personal elegance. They had a grand time. Anne added, “Without Powhatan I’m not sure I would have had the security to do that.”

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Anne comes from a notable family of past and current Powhatan graduates. She exemplifies the poise and the presence one may gain from taking full advantage of Powhatan’s past and present. She has used her experience and lessons learned to create an outstanding life for herself and her family. Anne Williams represents and wears naturally the finest qualities of a Powhatan education.

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Alison Hessberg, ‘93 and Natalie Greenhalgh, ‘93 A glove is a wonderful invention, a thing of beauty and totally useful. While I am sure there were mornings where I walked to school with one hand stuffed in my pocket because I could not find the other one, gloves clearly are best when they are a pair. Such was the case when I interviewed Alison Hessberg and Natalie Greenhalgh, who have truly been and are Best Friends Forever. Together they spun a tale, a partial tale but detailed and nuanced, about their experiences of Powhatan and what it has meant to them. Despite the lateness of the day and the fact that Alison had not slept since her late-night shift before, the interview was fast-paced, full of energy and laughter, and seemed to only scratch the surface of a Powhatan experience which has shaped both of them and continues to do so.

Both chimed right in when I asked what came to mind when I said, “Powhatan School.” Alison talked about the intertwined nature between her family and the faculty family because her mother taught here and she had spent so much time growing up with faculty. Natalie spoke of how the learning began as soon as she got in the car because Nancy Roche, Alison’s mom, was always teaching them music (“… the best music.”) on the way to school. Natalie characterized the big country house as “the place where we came of age” and learned so many of life’s lessons. The biggest impact for both seemed to be the gorgeous campus, the rural setting, and (PPA, are you listening?) the Big Toy. Alison and Natalie laughed, relating how they unbalanced the see-saw with kids and hid from Mrs. Chambers around the big house. Alison said she still emphasizes the country aspect of the setting when telling other parents why Powhatan means so much to her and her family – particularly in light of how much the rest of the area has grown over the past several decades. She added that she loved the fact kids were constantly outside: for science, for writing workshop, for unscheduled play. Natalie summed it up by saying, “There was so much freedom.”

What greater sense of security may we give children than a sense of safety

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and freedom? Both laughed as they described Powhatan as a “bubble,” a delightful bubble that marked them as unique and of infinite value.

Because they rode to school with Ms. Roche, long-time third grade teacher, they invariably arrived early, and because it was Nancy Roche, one of the planet’s great morning people – incredibly early.

Mrs. Greenhalgh began by saying, “We were so privileged to be here,” meaning the before-school hours spent in the Lindsey Library.

Certainly, Powhatan’s library with its incredible choice of books and magazines was designed for children who loved to read, research, and learn. And the Coles and the Swopes, the families Alison and Natalie were born into, were kids tailor-made to take full advantage of the riches arrayed before them.

We opened up the larger notion of family. Alison pointed out that there were now multiple generations of her family – as is true with many other Powhatan families including mine – which have attended Powhatan. She explains to her kids that people like Natalie are part of her ‘friend’ family. But members of the faculty like Mrs. Morgoglione and Mrs. Chapman are part of that family too. Natalie noted that there was such a care of the whole person at Powhatan that a genuine love developed between student and teacher, that as you moved on someone like Mrs. Chapman continued to be an important person to you, like a much-admired aunt. She further added that because Powhatan occupied that special niche of K-8, a time when we humans develop our sense of who we are, it was so important that Powhatan was a place of safety and acceptance. Even the journey to school was fraught with symbolism, leaving the bustle of Winchester and entering the pastoral and reflective beauty of Clarke County. Alison added the observation of how the big kids loved the little kids and how much the little kids looked up to the ‘bigs.’ She loved the Buddy Lunches and the Buddy System.

I related the story of a little girl I’ll call Doris. Doris was one of those kids (I had one) who didn’t seem to grow an inch from Kindergarten until Upper School. She was the littlest kid I can ever recall. The big girls loved Doris. They all the time picked her up and carried her with them everywhere. Doris clearly loved their attention.

I used to watch the interaction and, like my faculty colleagues, love it that the elder kids were so kind and attentive to her. Of course, Doris did grow and become the confident and successful young lady we would 206

expect, but Natalie pointed out her story illustrated important aspects of the Powhatan faculty and the way they interacted with the kids.

Instead of hectoring the big girls and citing how ‘inappropriate’ it was for them to be carrying around a fourth grader, the faculty had the freedom and the good sense to exercise silence, smile, and praise the kids for their care for one another. This ability to adapt, this tendency to promote rather than detract, Natalie cited as a “beautiful quality,” one that underpinned the trust Powhatan bestowed on its faculty.

The synergy generated between the different ages of children illuminated the rites and traditions each Powhatan student could look forward to. Kids avidly anticipated the Book Fair, Virginia cookies, the state fair, the first interscholastic athletic contest, the overnights to Williamsburg and Washington, Field Day, spelling bees, Antietam, Chapel Talks, and the Shakespeare play, all of which marked the passage and deepening of the Powhatan experience. Powhatan was not burdened with rules and senseless procedures. It was a place with common sense and support, a place which encouraged kids and gave them ample bounds to learn lessons joyfully rather than suffering that tired old paradigm of “That’s life, and you’ll just have to accept it.” The world at Powhatan is nothing if not dynamic with each of its members playing an important and present role in how that world treats us and everything in it. I believe that Jefferson’s Creator would expect no less of any of us here.

One of the great synchronicities of my life is that my career intersected with a time when substantive, scientific research was being conducted in how human beings actually learn. Anecdote has it that a Harvard professor in the late ‘60’s was trying to find some research in how human beings learned to spell and could find none – not highstandard, scientific research. So, he conducted his own. What he found, in many ways, was astounding. Human beings move through five stages in becoming secure spellers. As I recall his findings, he found that 20% of all humans will grow to be superb spellers – no matter how, or if, they’re taught. They rely on sight learning and are hard-wired to recall spelling patterns. Twenty-percent of the population will never be good spellers – no matter how you remediate them. The rest of the population usually gets stuck in one (or more) of the five levels successful spellers move through. The key for instruction, therefore, is to identify where 207

the student is stuck and remediate him at that point. Hence, the process of word study was introduced. After remediation, the student rejoins the standard movement through acquiring the five stages of spelling acquisition. Ms. Zilch’s weekly 25-word spelling list is not how human beings really learn to spell. Similar veins of research developed in other universities investigating that and other disciplines. For example, the University of Virginia became well-known for researching the most effective ways to teach reading.

Move ahead to the late 1980’s. I was attending a wonderful seminar one summer at UVA on Depression-era history. The principal presenter was Dr. Ed Hall, who will later, I believe, move on to head the University of Richmond, and, at the time, was a well-respected historian with significant publications. After one of the sessions, Hall was joined informally by several of his colleagues and about 20 of the attenders, history teachers from all over the commonwealth. The theme of the chat was the then-current climate of educational standards, SOL’s, and the state’s legislative role in the process. I asked if any of them knew how the legislators were using UVA’s landmark research in determining standards of learning. Nobody there did. I then asked the history department professionals, four of whom were there, if any of them had ever been consulted by a legislator on the best way to teach history, or what they felt was important for a student to learn. None of them had.

Years later, a recent grad returned to tell me that one of the questions on the SOL test for history was “How many chests of tea were dumped into Boston Harbor during the Boston Tea Party?”

The accepted answer is 342 – although the real answer is “nobody’s completely sure.” The best answer is “Why is that important?” The importance is that the Tea Party will drive Britain to pass the Intolerable Acts, whose enactment will drive the colonies to unite and revolt.

All of this has meant that while some of our public-school colleagues have been driven to ‘teach to the test,’ so that their students’ results will guarantee their survival, Powhatan teachers have been able to utilize the latest research and concentrate on the best ways to open their students to the use of ideas and encourage logical ways of thinking.

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It was at this point of our discussion that Alison commented that she was glad she had attended an independent school which could take advantage of this latest research. She added that even as a student she could tell that the curriculum was not rigid, that Powhatan teachers had the freedom to follow the thread of discovery as it emerged in the classroom. In fact, it was the expectation.

Another aspect Alison cited was that everyone was expected to do everything. At Powhatan, who’s on the sports team? Everyone. Who’s in the Shakespeare play? Everyone.

Natalie lasered in on the importance of passion in the teacher.

She mentioned my passion in directing Shakespeare and in teaching Latin. She and Alison mentioned Harry Holloway’s animation and enthusiasm. Both noted Laura Robb’s passion for writing and literature.

Natalie finished by saying, “None of the teachers ever seemed unhappy to be here.”

She expanded her comments on the topic of Shakespeare. She noted that she wasn’t a thespian, but the expectation from day one when you enter Powhatan is that you will be in the play. That means you will push yourself, that you will have to master being outside of your comfort zone, and because of that she loved the experience of portraying Oberon.

A critical part of the process was the summer before when she broke her part down into English she could understand then spent much of her family’s time at Rehoboth Beach memorizing her lines. As class sizes grew over the years, I decided to break up the play into more manageable portions by role. It made no sense giving one actor Prospero from The Tempest, a part with over 600 lines, while someone else of excellent talent got a walk-on. Because of that, I began breaking the roles up and sharing them among actors, a decision that worked well with the students and the parents but gained some thoughtful critics who were deeply engaged with Powhatan’s traditions. We solved the recognition problem with shared costumes and – due to a brilliant suggestion from several of the students – a sash with the character’s name on it, a sash which the actors made in art class. Natalie mentioned that watching different students assume the same role as the play progressed – and paying attention to their identifying costumes and character sashes – added a layer of interpretation that was enjoyable for her in the audience.

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Actors like Natalie and Alison, who embraced the process and learned their lines over the summer, provided the foundation and inspiration of a great experience for that year and for the entire cast.

Because once their classmates saw a scene sparkle, suddenly all caught the bug and wanted to shine. Because we introduced Shakespeare through the eighth grade acting in a full-length play, (Don Niemann used to cut his scripts to around 2100 words. With growing classes, I went to full scripts – with the longest being Much Ado About Nothing – if memory serves, around 3600 lines.), Powhatan students would snap up Shakespeare courses in high school and invariably earn ‘A’s.’ I wish I could say it was intentional, but I certainly will applaud its happy effect. Alison portrayed Duke Theseus and Natalie Oberon, the fairy king. Fiery and talented Kate Funkhouser played Titania, and Susan Carter played Hippolyta, Theseus’ new bride. Reveley Lee played Peter Quince, leader of the Rude Mechanicals. Her entry into the palace throne room was outstandingly memorable acting. Paul Dart and Josh DeButts played Thisbe and Pyramus respectively. The audience laughed so hard that the actors burst out burbling in laughter during their ‘tragic’ death scene. It’s tough recounting this because Susan, Reveley, and Josh have all died, leaving us as guardians of their memories here at school – memories “such as dreams are made on.”

We then spoke about siblings, buddies, and stories. Alison told of her Eleanor wanting to be her brother Charlie’s buddy principally so that she could help him with ordering during the Book Fair. I recalled a recent Mahaney Cup winner who led his little brother hand-inhand to his first Field Day. There is often genuine and strong affection between siblings at Powhatan. Suddenly the subject veered to peanut allergies, and I related a story about two students in my advisement with severe allergies to peanuts. It was all we ever seemed to talk about. One day another student, equally aware of his buddies’ allergies, brought in some potato chips, unaware that his treat had been fried in peanut oil. Naturally all the guys were snarfing down the chips when the donor discovered the problem. He freaked. I freaked. The allergy sufferers continued snarfing. Unknown to any of us, apparently the high heat of commercial frying killed or altered the offending protein enough that it did not affect them. I hovered over the sufferers all day – to the point of them saying, “No, I am not swelling…” – the second they saw me. The point of this story is not to encourage you to buy chips fried 210

in peanut oil. It was then that Natalie noted that I had told a lively story – something she said was a trademark of Powhatan teachers. She added that stories are the ‘hook’ to engage learners in class. I could not have agreed with her more, adding that I believe we humans are wired to understand and appreciate stories. It’s one of the principal ways we learn. Natalie said that stories were one of the main threads that ran all through her Powhatan experience.

Alison noted that another powerful thread was Posts and Rails.

She said that everyone loved the competition. Natalie added that her mother-in-law had attended Blue Ridge Country Day/Powhatan when students received numerical grades for daily behavior which was added on to the Post/Rail totals. I explained that when I first came to teach we had demerits and detentions, the demerit being the severer of the two. One stipulation was that the earner of a demerit cost his team five points. There were some little folks who only contributed to their team through losing points. Early in Mr. Peebles’ administration, the faculty decided to eliminate the demerit entirely – partially for that very reason.

Asking about detentions and whether they had ever gotten any, I heard Natalie snap back, “Not nearly enough.” She went on to account a ‘glitter fight’ she had been part of – a fight in which the consequence was writing letters home to parents, then doing whatever was necessary to repair the damage. Alison too recalled that as the primary method of consequences. Both agreed that was quite effective. I added that those consequences kept home and school informed and kept student/school dynamic central to the behavior and consequence.

Natalie and Alison came from a class that was proportionally female – 17 girls to five boys. I asked them candidly what their take was on why with girls there occasionally seemed so much drama, cliques, and tension. From a pedagogical standpoint, middle school girls are nearly ideal: they do their work, they bring their materials to class, they demonstrate respect toward their classmates. Alison thought it was hormonal. Natalie said it was a country school with small classes and everyone had been together for years, leading to some social stagnation.

Both remarked that boys’ and girls’ attentions toward them played a role.

Other times something done or said years before tended to smolder

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and from time-to-time flare up. Alison then talked about the success of single gender schools, especially for girls, although she noted she had felt very confident in high school as far as speaking up and presenting her views. Natalie pointed out that society then presented a message to girls that what was important was how they looked and what they were wearing. Powhatan actively countered that message, she said. Here girls were expected to speak on a topic – even if they didn’t especially like it.

Both added that public speaking was taught by a woman – none other than our first Mahaney Cup recipient, Franny Crawford. Talk about an exemplar. I added that our treatment of girls during that era and now was intentional: Powhatan had absolutely no interest in furthering any mistaken notions of girls and their potential – only in countering them.

If you had a shelf of books about what Powhatan does well (a very long shelf), no better bookends than busts of Natalie Greenhalgh and Alison Hessberg would steady those tomes. They both (along with many, many of their schoolmates) were the kind of kids I had dreamed of teaching: smart, lively, focused, and excited for the future. They are the kind of adults we all wish wore shirts emblazoned with, “I went to Powhatan School.” They are the kind of adults that our sometimes tired and trite old world so desperately needs.

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Mrs. Kronfeld on a field trip with students in 1992.

Jenny Kronfeld Imagine a crisp fall day. The grass was intensely green, still wet from the morning dew. The mists just cleared. Runners circle a cinder track, gently encouraged by the figure in the center of the oval – the figure clad predominantly in pink. The runners, some of whom are from Powhatan, all sport pink ribbons. They are running in The Relay for Life, an event designed to support victims and survivors of all types of cancer. The figure in the center, the coordinator, is Jenny Kronfeld – herself a survivor of breast cancer, the disease that will affect one out of eleven women alive today.

Jenny Kronfeld, mother, kindergarten aide, first grade instructional assistant, longtime volunteer, yearbook coordinator, and voice of authority at afternoon dismissal, had been at Powhatan 26 years when I interviewed her in January, 2018. I began by asking her what made Powhatan special for her, why was the school magical? She answered by saying that Powhatan, to her, was a most special place, a place where the sense of family underlined everything about it. It was a 213

supportive place of listeners, caregivers, and nurturers. Jenny said that when she first walked on to the campus in 1986 with her son Adam, looking for a place in first grade, she could feel the spirit that this was a good and nurturing place, a place she and her family wanted to be part of. The sense of family did not just grow between students and staff, but also between staff and students’ families. The staff itself became a large extended family where faculty looked at other teachers’ children more as nieces, nephews, and cousins.

Jenny got caught up with the community spirit of service permeating the atmosphere of the school. She contributed by working with the Powhatan Parents Association (PPA). She also worked as a volunteer helping Helen Fox when the office was in a trailer after the Great Fire. Then her little helper was daughter Madeline when she was just a tot. Later she learned longtime aide Betty Brown had moved on.

During Field Day then Lower School Head and Assistant Head Carolyn Morgoglione approached Jenny and asked if she would apply for Kindergarten Aide. Jenny replied that she thought there would be a ton of applicants, but Carolyn assured her no there were not. Later, Head Billy Peebles asked her how it would feel no longer being a volunteer. I remarked that after receiving the ‘apostolic touch’ from Carolyn, Billy’s offhand remark signaled it was a ‘done deal.’ Jenny chuckled, “Yep.” Jenny then entered into the world of Powhatan staff, where she said, “Working together is its own identity” – an identity bound together by some mystical bond; an identity which brought all of our passion into play. Jenny called it a ‘built community’ which wove together a basket of love and commitment. She kept her strong ties with the PPA, whose short-hand mission statement she characterized as “raise funds to give the kids everything they could need.” A quick tour of the campus shows just how successful that mission is.

Parallel to the great academic mission of the school is the school’s premise that persons who give to their community and the world are successful, enlightened beings. From the beginning Powhatan kids have raised money doing odd-jobs, baking cookies, spearheading fundraisers, and beyond fundraising, organizing toy drives, and visiting the recovering. I can remember when Tammy Stone-Conrad would come around with the names of a family unable to enjoy the full

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pleasure of themselves for traditional holidays. Room parents would spring into action, organizing the class adults. Class meetings would focus on finding and delivering individual gifts. Everyone would bring fresh and canned food for feasts. Some would bake pies. I can still recall buying a pair of shoes for a little tyke one year and that gift gave me more joy than I could have possibly foreseen. I have seen vans full of food, gifts, and handmade cards pulling out of school after Carol Sing, each one carrying a message of love and hope to families we barely knew. I have read the messages of thanks, written in quivering hands, thanking beyond words the gratitude those recipients felt.

Certainly, programs like the Relay for Life fit into Powhatan’s outward community focus. Relay for Life is the major volunteer fundraising event for the American Cancer Society.

Sponsors support team members who walk a track all night in support of the fight against all forms of cancer. The funds raised support grants for research and programs offered by ACS. Because she is a survivor, Jenny took on the special challenge of being Powhatan’s coordinator and then moved on to being regional coordinator for Clarke County for six years. She still captains a team.

Jenny pointed out, as have numerous other Powhatan persons, that when the Great Fire occurred in ’88, so much of the surrounding community reacted with a deep generosity. All of those bake sales, all of those toy drives, all of those visits had not gone unnoticed or forgotten.

The aquifer of love Powhatan had been filling for years was about to be tapped, and a torrent of living water gushed forth. When Powhatan needed a helping hand, hundreds and thousands of hands answered.

We finished the interview talking about the kids and education connection. I was able to tell Jenny that when the Blue Ridge Country Day School was founded, it was founded with the traditions of a Quaker community school because that was James Mahaney’s background. We would have recognized and approved of the school that grew under the leadership of those founders. We both applauded the culture that developed in all strata of the Powhatan community of giving all that we could for the kids and their education. So a quick tour of Powhatan’s magnificent campus reveals state-of-the-art facilities and materials – all focused toward the student acquiring the best education possible.

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Jenny and I agreed that we were so fortunate to have been part of the decades when women broke through the glass ceiling in education. I like to say that I never taught a girl who didn’t believe she couldn’t be President of the United States. Jenny summed up our school as “so much more than the three R’s.” We have music, drama, and art. Kids play in the woods.

Jenny Kronfeld is the type of community member at Powhatan who knocked on the door looking for a place for her child, fell in love with the ethos and atmosphere here, found great expression in volunteer programs, and from there entered the staff. Jenny was a Lower School instructional assistant and the faculty coordinator of the Powhatan yearbook until her retirement in 2021, a task she oversaw with great skill for over a decade. Jenny Kronfeld epitomizes, like so many of her colleagues, the giving aspect of Powhatan’s culture.

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Mrs. Warren and Mrs. Scheulen with Kindergarten and ‘Powhatan Man’ Dick Bell in the center.

Jennifer Warren and Julie Scheulen Burns and Allen, Sears and Roebuck, Brady and Belichek are examples of famous pairs. We have had them in Powhatan’s history too: Gosnell and Everly, Morgoglione and Robb, and our without equal kindergarten teachers Warren and Scheulen, who for 17 years have opened the Powhatan experience for students who have gotten the most from their time here – those who started and stayed here through graduation. Mrs. Warren and Mrs. Scheulen, Jennifer and Julie, have famously taken a strength, the kindergarten program, and improved it and created a standard and legacy that few else have attained and none exceeded.

We sat down for our interview on a March afternoon when Jennifer and Julie both had breaks. Of course I took notes and recorded the interview. It was just over 40 minutes long and I left with two full pages.

When I begin writing, I relisten to the tape to freshen my recollections and add to my notes. When I did it this time, I was amazed at how tight these two teachers’ messages were and how seamlessly they completed 217

each other’s thoughts and fleshed out the dialogue. Three broad themes emerged about the Powhatan experience: the open welcome, the culture, and the mentoring by colleagues.

Both of them recalled their initial interviews. How they were wondering what it would be like to teach in such a rural school in an area where neither had a deep connection. How they both were working hard to make strong first impressions and a bit nervous when both had their initial meeting with Rosie, John Lathrop’s terrier mix (Bless her heart. Rosie was so homely she was precious. I don’t know anyone who didn’t love her). Rosie completely charmed Jennifer by climbing up on her lap. Her effect on Julie was slightly less charming as Rosie at the time was wet and stank. And there is nothing like a stinking dog to knock the rigidity right out of a tense moment. Both went on to have great interviews and felt by the end that Powhatan was the place for them.

Both Jennifer and Julie remarked on how much fun it was to teach kindergarten, an experience each affirmed was full of rewarding ‘aha’ moments (“I can zip my coat”), laying down important life lessons (“You get what you get, don’t throw a fit”), and often getting confused with a parent (“But mom…”). One of the great joys of kindergarten is that everything is so new. Also, at Powhatan all teachers are expected to leave their marks. For alumnae Scheulen and Warren no ‘mark’ has been bigger than the annual Iowa – Michigan Big Ten football game, where the entire class became a member of one or the other teams. They ‘went’ tailgating. The actual ‘big’ game was witnessed and cheered by members of the whole school community. And where each kindergartener was for a short time either a “Hawkeye” or “Wolverine.”

Another ‘new’ Powhatan tradition.

From the beginning for both teachers Powhatan felt like home – a welcoming community which was “incredibly accepting.” Powhatan encouraged each to develop her own style – to ensure the identity of her own section while still being tied together as one intimate team, one unique experience.

Both mentioned the evolving nature of their relationships with new parents. When they were younger, parents were more advisory about their kids and their behaviors, but as Julie and Jennifer gained tenure they found that new parents were more likely to elicit their 218

advice about their children. Classroom culture concerning choice has been a pendulum over their 17 years, and both have seen it swing from more teacher-delivered lessons and learning to more studentdiscovered lessons and learning. Their whole program was childcentered, balanced dynamically on the twin student poles of respect and empowerment.

One of the principal functions of kindergarten is to introduce kids to boundaries while encouraging them to try new ideas – to provide programs which give powers leading to independence, such as reading and academic behaviors which promote confidence and self-learning.

Of course, I would often meet these students as sixth graders and was able to tell Mrs. Scheulen and Mrs. Warren how well-prepared I felt students were – particularly over the last decade of my tenure. And after mom and dad we all know where that competence and confidence began: kindergarten.

Both Mrs. Warren and Mrs. Scheulen credit Powhatan’s unequaled learning culture with helping them get the most out of their young charges and affirming them in their new academic behaviors.

Everything about their programs is child-centered, which is not typical in most kindergarten programs around today. An organic process which encourages developing responsible personhood gives the students guidelines when attacking academic exercises and encourages them to try new ideas and figure them out themselves. Jennifer talked about the process of walking a kid through discovering the meaning of new world discovered in reading. And the joy and confidence that student experienced when successful.

Powhatan’s culture makes it very cool to excel. In many ways Powhatan students are already ready when they arrive. All the teacher then does is gently guide and lead along with the process. All the habits this teaching process relies on are constantly being reinforced, until they are entirely natural. None of these traits shine brighter than school-wide performance where kindergarteners put on their own program – as part of the school’s tradition of featuring all grades during the year. Feedback Julie and Jennifer get from teachers who work with their ‘little folk’ after performances is how natural and comfortable their kids looked on stage.

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Other traditions such as shaking hands at the end of the day build community too. As with all things it is Powhatan’s expectation that you shake hands firmly with the person you are greeting and look them right in the eye. Every child wants to be original, and all of them carry their manners out into the world as a badge of honor. This elan is often noted when seen by outsiders. It is the synthesis of the Powhatan ethos.

Programs like Winter Tuesday also build the whole school community. Julie noted that until she had gone skiing herself and witnessed the elder kids sincerely helping the small folks on the slopes she had been skeptical of investing that much academic time. But the first time she witnessed an Upper Schooler swoop down and help back up a snow-tumbled kindergartener she became an advocate. She noted she saw that dynamic time and again.

Other programs such as graduation, which Mrs. Scheulen and Mrs. Warren characterized as long but so individual, are great affirmations of the Powhatan experience and are worthy goals to point their students toward achieving: Kindergarteners work throughout the year to gain the poise and stamina to play their part in the eighth graders’ big day.

Traditionally, kindergarteners would attend the dress rehearsal of a scene or two of the annual Shakespeare performance. What seems like an impossible stretch for the students – language, costumes, sets, music – has lately been so delightful for the kindergarteners that they have expressed their interest in staying longer. Field Day allows the kindergarteners to see the full glory of the Post/Rail rivalry and being part of a school-wide team. It also allows them to run a big lap of the field, often with the help of an elder student, with amps blaring the evocative theme from “Chariots of Fire.”

One of the highlights of Field Day is the demonstrations Lower School classes give, demonstrations which feature the children’s motor skills and teamwork. Both Jennifer and Julie noted how successful our sports program was promoting our students’ well-being and general fitness.

Both teachers continually acknowledged how it was the teachers and administrators who were already here when they arrived which made their jobs so much easier. They were the folks who showed them

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the ropes, gave them the tips which separated them from confusion and pointed them toward mastery. People like Carolyn Morgoglione, Sally McGeath, John Lathrop, Nancy Roche, Mary Hofstra, Carol Chapman, and Sue Scarborough served as invaluable resources for consultation and models for transformational pedagogy. Jennifer Warren said, “I used to dream that one day I would be a teacher like Carol Chapman.”

Powhatan is a place where truly all things may come to pass. Today Jennifer Warren teaches second grade in the room of her idol Carol Chapman. Julie Scheulen leads a new kindergarten team. These teachers graduated from America’s heartland, Julie Stringer (Scheulen) from Iowa and Jennifer Hull (Warren) from Michigan, became one of the greatest pairs of teachers in the school’s history. Their professionalism and innovation inspired 17 years of kindergarten graduates to enter and take their rightful place in Powhatan School, that legendary school “…in the Blue Ridge of Virginia.”

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Chris Clark, ‘10 Our own Chris Clark (class of ’10) was playing a role in a Wayside Theatre community production of Shakespeare’s The Comedy of Errors in a matinee performance at Skyline High School just south of Front Royal so we took the whole Upper School to see him. We also knew our kids would get a chance to see someone else produce and perform a play of the bard’s. Chris was one of the merchants, and we ended up enjoying him (of course, most of us thought his was the best portrayal) and the whole delightful performance. It just seemed like the most natural thing to do.

But Powhatan’s like that. Almost everything we do is based on community or its most basic corollary: family. Now when one takes the full ride at Powhatan, one spends ten years with largely the same classmates. Chris’ ride was nine years (no Pre-K then), and he still is extraordinarily close with at least one-third of his classmates, attending the University of Richmond with two, sharing a house with one. Because our students within classes spend so much time together, the focus is on building and compounding relationships. Chris’ class became extraordinarily close-knit. He readily talked about those who left – for whatever reason – and said ‘the vibe’ in all their doings as a class was to support each other and get along.

Chris compared our coming to see him perform to the notice the school paid to Abby Major when she appeared in the nationally televised show on which she competed in a child chef’s contest. He noted how the whole school would be updated in Monday Gatherings about her progress. He added that sports, his favorite field trip, the Chesapeake Bay Trip, and the Upper School Retreat all presented valuable opportunities to relate to others and learn how to get along, a lesson which he thinks is one of the primary goals of middle school.

He noted that his role in The Tempest, he was part of the role of Prospero, taught and confirmed him in being a member of a team, placing him in contact with the interaction of complex character roles. To master his portrayal, he had to use thought analysis that kept him actively 223

engaged and intentional with his actions. The same methods were on display daily in every class he took and every activity he participated in at Powhatan. He thought the way Powhatan split roles in casting class plays and insisting that everyone on the team play in games encouraged and affirmed the dynamic of collaboration. The same dynamic negated the human tendency to value participation by the size of your role and confirmed the worth of your partners’ actions.

To him this dynamic of respect amid an atmosphere of working together permeated every subject and classroom and contrasted sharply with what he described as the current sad state of public affairs. Chris noted that he and his classmates were encouraged to debate issues, leaving plenty of room for everyone to be part of the dialogue. Chris contrasted ‘yelling at’ with ‘discussion.’ He added that he thought on the national scene he was seeing leadership and statesmanship beginning to emerge from junior members of Congress and ordinary folks in the grassroots.

He gave the example of a bipartisan proposal to eliminate bump stocks of firearms which had just been introduced (the interview took place in October 2017), concluding, “You can’t accomplish anything if you’re sitting around fighting.” Intrinsic in all this is a respect for others’ ideas and everyone’s participation. He showed how through using discussion every aspect of learning at Powhatan worked toward the same goal: development of the desire to learn – not to achieve just a command of the facts. Chris saw the academic subjects and their interlocking fields of study working together toward this impressive goal. He saw the size of the classes fostering that too. He noted that all day and everywhere students at Powhatan are practicing reading and writing. He fondly remembered daily episodes of DEAR (Drop Everything And Read).

This way, the Powhatan “way,” prompted the growth of a fierce competitive drive – not between classmates, but within yourself. Chris gave two examples, both from the sixth grade. In the first he received a poor grade on a diagramming test, but he went to his teacher Mrs. Jaffe, and she walked him through his test, showing where he had gone wrong and allowing him to analyze his own past work. His next example was from math where Mr. Holloway taught him why .99999… was equal to one, which to Chris did not make sense – until he wrapped his mind around the fact that there is more than one way to envision the integer ‘1.’ According to Chris, this environment promoted this cycle 224

of positive reinforcement because it was evident to him that the school itself was always seeking to improve, to find a better method or better means. Classes at Powhatan broke things down; disciplines talked about material and why it was the way it was. One of us then invoked Socrates’ great axiom, “Life unexamined is not worth living.”

Chris next presented a sharply reasoned expansion of his main theme. He maintained that the matter of any subject may be discovered and explained through analysis. And the doors opening that process are the questions “Why?” and “Why is that what’s important?” He said, “Nothing’s easy the first time,” citing that right now he was ‘bad’ in chemistry, “…but that is changing.” He noted we all work through initial obstruction – something he learned how to do at Powhatan. He further maintained that that which makes us uncomfortable leads to the most growth. Chris stated that the labor of his Prospero role led to an affinity for Shakespeare, which rewarded him with a bright, shiny ‘A’ when he took a Shakespeare course at the University of Richmond.

Even the carefully crafted lesson plans of his teachers at Powhatan led to passion – revealing both theirs and that inspired in their students.

That observation prompted me to recall the adage, “When the student is ready, the teacher appears.” What Chris had described was active engagement, which more than anything else has led humanity to the march forward of civilization and science. Once passion is ignited then the key for enlightenment and self-satisfaction is a candid recognition of one’s talents and interests.

The collegial, collaborative atmosphere among students led Chris to note, “Someone’s success is not your failure.” Student awards recognized individuals but in an indirect way supported the accomplishments of the collective, of the class.

Chris added that while he learned of other cultures at Powhatan it was his experience as an EMT in Richmond which actually presented him with the fact of the vast diversity of life and cultures in modern America.

Chris Clark is a great example of Powhatan and its spirit alive in the world. I have rarely met such resolve and determination so confidently and naturally demonstrated in a person’s actions and demeanor. It is as if he has internalized and made his own every day of his time he 225

spent here. Chris Clark is the personification of the hope articulated in the line from our school song, “May we ever be her children, gentlehearted, kind, and true.”

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Pre-k instructor Clare Ferrell reading to Powhatan students Kai Chen and Victoria Appiah.

Clare Ferrell and Bev Edwards The two saddest things for a teacher, in my opinion, are to learn of the death of a student, current or former, and the death of a fellow faculty member. Two of those recent passings have been especially poignant.

The first time I really remember Clare Ferrell was when she showed up for a parent-teacher conference. I knew her as a heralded Montessori teacher with that disarming British accent. She came in and we started chatting. For some reason we got to talking about things we were just learning about our siblings. Clare began, “I found out I had two older half-sisters who had been married to musicians. Rock Musicians. My elder was married to a member of… Oh, what was the name of that group?” I started naming British groups – but just got “No, that’s not it.” Finally, I uttered, “The Beatles.” And Clare said, “That’s it!” Her sister Patty had been married to George Harrison before she had married Eric Clapton. Her sister Jennie had been the inspiration to Donovan before she married Mick Fleetwood – twice.

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Clare kept me posted about the Boyd family reunions and even texted me a picture of the Boyd reunion in Britain, a picture of her standing with the rest of the family between both Patty and Jennie.

Clare stole the picture.

I did get to speak by phone to Clare during one of her hospital stays. The great thing about Clare was she told it straight and she told it true. She had me howling with anecdotes about her two daughters Charlotte and Emily. She used them to illustrate what she had to say about Powhatan and its teachers. Clare began by saying that the greatest strength about Powhatan was the way each teacher worked hard to discover the strengths and areas for improvement for each student.

Small sections were the key for this dynamic. But skilled teachers were the surety that it always happened.

Clare talked about teaching her younger daughter Emy in Montessori. Early on, Emy came home and told her mother, “I can only be good at school or at home. I can’t do both.” Both Charlotte and Emy started Powhatan in kindergarten. Clare said Charlotte was swinging her arms like Mrs. Scheulen when she walked within the first week.

Clare claimed that kindergarten civilized Emy. Later, in first grade, Emy felt she wasn’t getting enough attention from her teacher Mrs. Jo Kelchner. She wasn’t getting any sympathy from her mom so this first grader figured out how to email the Head of the Athletic Department to complain to him. Mr. Burke let Jo know what he’d got and soon Emy was getting lovely weekly reports.

Clare related how Emy had literally strong-armed her sister Charlotte’s Post/Rail captaincy election by threatening to take classmates out if they didn’t vote for her sister. Of course, by the time Emy had made it to eighth grade she led almost everything: Post/Rails, student council, and every academic class she appeared in. According to Clare, Charlotte was the daughter who found everything easy, and Emily had to focus. She had a trial with Mrs. Kesler, but Clare told her daughter, “Maybe she’s trying to find out what your strengths and weaknesses are.”

Anyway, Mrs. Kesler turned out to be one of Emy’s favorite teachers and, in the end, one of Clare’s very best friends.

For the record, Clare told me that Emy graduated with a 4.35 GPA in high school and earned a full, academic scholarship to college.

My goodness, what a successful student!

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What Clare’s stories about her sisters and her daughters revealed to me was what an extraordinary teacher she was. She was always focused outward. Her very personality begged children to show who they really were – to form a safe emotional bond that would allow each of them to prosper. Those kids soared through Powhatan. The legacy Clare left in pedagogy was matched by an outstanding gift from the Ferrell family which remade the Pre-K into the Ferrell Learning Center. Like Clare, it is filled with beauty and life.

1 There used to be a jar of hard candy in the front office. I’d certainly avail myself of its charms. After years, I mentioned to the school secretary that it was a nice consideration brought to us by the school.

The secretary readily agreed it was nice, but added, “Bev Edwards stocks that jar.”

We first knew Bev Edwards as Bev Tyson, mother of Keenan and Lucian and Powhatan parent. She was always volunteering to help. The school recognized what a good thing it was to have Bev around and hired her as a Lower School classroom faculty aide. She also would help

Mrs. Edwards at the pumpkin patch with Powhatan students.

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in the office. You could count on catching her in the library, running off copies, collating papers, returning books, or checking out new ones. Bev was great with kids. Her presence inspired respect among children. I never witnessed her raising her voice or leading a troupe of misbehaving children, or a troupe where one misbehaved.

Bev had taught third grade in a New Jersey public school system.

I kept urging her to apply for Powhatan openings as they occurred, but she’d always decline – usually with a wry chuckle. She was a sweet person who listened attentively and usually commented with her trademark, “Truly, truly.” She was the consummate team member, and she and Jenny Kronfeld were best friends forever. Bev suffered from a long-term debilitative illness which she kept very private. It led to her retirement and ultimately her passing.

Jenny was supposed to deliver Bev’s eulogy, but due to a health emergency of her own was unable to. Ivy Tyson, Bev’s daughter-in-law and Keenan’s wife, asked me on behalf of the family if I would. I replied that I would be honored to.

I polled my colleagues and received a raft of stories and anecdotes, all showing the essential goodness and joy of Beverly. But here’s my favorite: Years ago I was among other things Dean of Students. And we had a problem: Too many students were missing too many days of instruction for non-illness related reasons. I’m not talking about family vacations to exciting places abroad. I’m talking about things like… shopping. All of this was putting strain on the kids, on the teachers, and on the program. It’s axiomatic that you can’t get the benefits of a Powhatan education if you aren’t there. We had tried phone calls, articles in the newsletter, even a change to academic policy stating that a student who missed more than 10% of the days could be held back at the end of the year. Nothing worked.

The answer was right there in front of us. Lucian Tyson was graduating that year, and he had not missed a day of school from second grade until graduation. The Powhatan way was to showcase his attendance, and his mom’s commitment to get him to school every day.

So we got every classroom teacher of Lucian’s from second grade on and the Headmaster John Lathrop to line up and present a letter from

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an elected official from the state and federal level, including ones from Virginia and United States Secretaries of Education. Each presentation was “I taught Lucian in second grade (or whatever) and he never missed a day. I think that is extraordinary and so does (the name of the official and his office).” John Lathrop presented Lucian with his last letter, a letter from the President of the United States, Bill Clinton. Lucian had a stack of mounted letters. And the award worked. Attendance boomed and got so good we had to quit giving awards for good attendance because kids were begging to come to school while sick. And Lucian Tyson went through high school and college without missing a day of classes too.

What an extraordinarily healthy and responsible young man!

Bev knew I had been behind the soliciting letters campaign, and every year thereafter remembered my birthday with a gift. That’s just the kind of person she was.

Almost every evening when I’d leave school, I’d see Bev Edwards and her car at the Boyce Post Office. She was dropping off the school’s outgoing mail. It was just another small service she was contributing to Powhatan and its community. Just like so many deeds done by the women and men who have made up Powhatan’s faculty and staff since the beginning.

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Mrs. Hobbs wallowing in the muck during the annual 8th grade trip to the Chesapeake Bay.

Kathleen Hobbs Bubbly, athletic, and effervescent, Kathleen Hobbs makes it hard to believe she could be anywhere close to being a grandmother. A fulltime teacher for the last 23 years at Powhatan, Kathleen has taught in two departments, science and English, teamed with Ray Legge as home room teachers for Powhatan’s senior class, its eighth grade, and been instrumental in introducing many new programs and activities to Powhatan, including Vocabulary Day (think Halloween) and the sixth grade Survival trip, a wonderful trip that parallels and draws together themes of units in science (human survival) and English (a study of Hatchet, a novel by Gary Paulsen), which Kathleen Hobbs has led with Ray Legge over the last 19 years.

Everyone who’s had a kid at Powhatan the last 20 years or so knows that Vocabulary Day is Powhatan’s costume day usually on Halloween or the closest day to it. On it, you come to school dressed as your favorite vocabulary word, cleared in advance with your homeroom, English teacher, or advisor. Clearance keeps kids from clustering around one 233

word or accidentally choosing a word which may be inappropriate for an elementary school setting (use your imagination). Everyone has a gas guessing what word a kid or adult is trying to portray, and everybody gets to wear a costume – for the best of reasons – on the day when all of America dons a disguise. The aspect of Vocabulary Day that is, once again, a stroke of genius is that a Powhatan teacher, in this case Mrs. Hobbs, who got the idea from a book she was teaching in class, was able to see creatively how she could take a relatively minor holiday of no real value in society that everyone loves and turn it into an educational dynamo. I wonder how many Powhatan families have been attuned to automatically making their Halloween costumes around a theme of vocabulary words?

Of course, that a single teacher’s idea could arise and inspire the whole school to change implies that Powhatan is a place where collegiality and respect for individuals reign. To hear Kathleen Hobbs tell it, they do. She relates a harrowing time in her family when one of its members was quite ill and required frequent treatment at a facility well over an hour away. She remembered how this also was the time when gas was at its absolute highest, hovering around $4.00 a gallon.

Kathleen said that her colleagues took up a collection and raised several hundred dollars, a great boon for the gasoline budget, and worked out a system for delivering home meals, which often allowed her to leave school early, always with the generous approval of John Lathrop, and drive her family member to Baltimore. The best news is it all worked, and Kathleen and every member of her family now enjoy good health.

But now when someone uses the word family Kathleen automatically includes her Powhatan family – a small but seismic change I have heard echoed again and again with every family connected with this school.

Another aspect of Powhatan that Mrs. Hobbs lauds is its commitment to professional development and its recognition that that development can take place in unique venues. Early on at Powhatan and because of Powhatan’s commitment to outdoor overnight programs, Kathleen noticed a Wilderness First Aid course offered in, of all places, New Hampshire. It piqued her interest and John Lathrop urged her to go. And although the connections only arose after she had attended, Kathleen said that that Wilderness First Aid course was one of the very best learning experiences she has ever had. At a minimum, it showed 234

her that our campus, intrinsically focused out, was an inestimable resource in educating kids. Today’s eighth grade eats outside on a deck most days; we have become advocates for the value of unstructured play – something whose worth our grandparents invariably celebrated.

Kathleen and I have both used the campus with youngsters who need a paradigm shift because they are somehow caught in a behavior rut.

There’s nothing like a quick run around the school or down to the stream and back to refocus a previously hard-to-focus student. The results are usually so spectacular that both Kathleen and I have learned that the whole class benefits from such mini-‘field’ trips.

Mrs. Hobbs pointed out that Powhatan’s culture of open discussions and positive interaction between students and teachers promotes the kind of deep learning that carries lessons on for lifetimes. Recognizing where students tend to be in their development also supports that process. Middle-schoolers often are fascinated by the macabre, and Kathleen discovered that one year when she introduced a unit she had developed for the Halloween season, “Scary Stories.” She said that that unit is so popular that she would never consider replacing it. The kids love writing about things they find bizarre, stories they can tell which scare others. Everything Mrs. Hobbs teaches is organic and authentic.

Vocabulary lists stem from books the students read and subjects they are studying. Science is often supported by a ready trip outdoors. What takes place is real, thematic learning. All the time, again and again.

Kathleen Hobbs can tell a funny story as well as anyone. Kathleen, during her temporary sojourn into teaching fifth grade, was reading aloud one of Jerry Spinelli’s books Crash (kids of all ages love being read to – and the older ones bring a whole new level of analysis to the process).

During the reading a student (think Cindy Lou Who from Dr. Seuss) tapped Kathleen on the shoulder and whispered, “(substitute a male name of someone with sterling and circumspect classroom presence.

I’ll use Percy.) Percy’s got his head stuck.” Kathleen turned to see Percy with his head stuck in the back slats of her chair. Somehow, he had wiggled it right in there. (Kids can attempt some of the most creative activities.) Anyway, all sorts of solutions and suggestions were tried – with no success. So, Kathleen decided to call John Taylor, then head of the Upper School. While she was filling him in on “today’s interesting crisis,” she turned to see the demur Cindy Lou take the heel of her hand 235

and align it to strike the forehead of Percy smartly. Kathleen began to shout when “Lo…” Cindy Lou’s little hand flew forth, and Percy’s head popped out. Everyone was fine.

Not all of our interactions with kids are academic or advisory.

Kathleen tells a famous story of a young, star-crossed couple of students who apparently were exercising more than aerobically on their way to sports each afternoon. The faculty had gotten word of their tryst and the stairwell where they were meeting through the mysterious grapevine that informs the adults and kids of any school about what is really going on. That grapevine is not always accurate, but it is remarkably informative. So Kathleen Hobbs and Alex Shourds hid in the staircase of McIntosh Hall one afternoon to see if they could catch the pair. Lo, who should appear but the ‘star-crossed lovers,’ who immediately fell to kissing. The younger Senorita Shourds snorted at that point, exposing their cover. Well, the cycle of the tryst was broken and the parents duly informed. The universe lurched forward. The behavior was amended to a more appropriate locale and situation. And the school had another colorful, human chronicle in its collection.

Sometimes it’s others in our families who give us the best perspective. When Kathleen first joined the faculty her parents showed up to watch Field Day. The races and activities they witnessed and the Powhatan community’s reactions to those events confirmed for them what a magical place their grandchildren now attended. They were so impressed by the enthusiasm and sportsmanship of the new world they saw. If there is anything more radiant than the smiles of delighted grandparents, I would like to see it.

When you see Kathleen around campus, she’s often accompanied by her little, white bichon Clyde, who seems to love being at school with his ‘mom.’ Kathleen confirms Clyde’s happiness and the wonderful effect Clyde has on everyone he meets. Powhatan has a long history of dogs: Wicket from across the road at Scaleby, John Lathrop’s dogs Bingo, Rosie, and Gus, and Carolyn Morgoglione’s Saki. Each dog brought with him and her that unmistakable gift of company and grace only a pet may bring.

Kathleen Hobbs is an enthusiastic and talented example of the kind of faculty Powhatan always seems to find. Every one of her peers 236

recognizes her unflagging good humor and unconditional support.

One of the more athletically active and gifted individuals ever to teach at Powhatan, Kathleen has always been a super model for our students to emulate. Her contributions – along with those of so many of her beloved colleagues continue – to define the school they have so ably served.

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Katherine Viti, ‘13 It was the Friday night grand performance, Act V, scene 2 of The Taming of the Shrew, the dinner at Lucentio’s, in which all three of the recently wedded husbands take bets on whose wife has the best domiciliary nature. Everyone’s anxious to bet against Kate Minola, Petruchio’s new wife, well known for her sharp tongue and defiant nature in the past. But she stuns them all when she enters and upbraids one of her rival wives with “Fie, fie, unknit that threatening unkind brow…” The speech on its basest level seems to be a surrender to the softest realms of femininity and uxorial obedience. But it’s really an exercise in gamesmanship in which Kate (basically) says, “Oh, this is what’s happening. Ladies and gentlemen, let me show you how it’s played.” No thinking person who listens carefully believes Kate is surrendering a thing, and, for me, she fires the opening salvo of women taking their rightful, equal place in society.

In this performance Virginia Helm, playing Kate, was just entering when the entire array of stage lights collapsed – off. There was total darkness onstage and backstage except for the tiny reading lamp I had on so that I could follow the book and cue the actors if necessary. Talk about a crisis. I handed the book to Katherine Viti, stage manager, and said something like, “Run the show,” and took off for the light booth.

Between the work lights and the house lights we cobbled together enough illumination to finish the play. Some of the audience later mentioned that the blackout had looked like part of the staging.

The actors were wonderful. The tech crew did their best. But the lights had overheated and a fail-safe switch in the master panel had activated, shutting them down. After the entire assembly cooled down they would have come back on. But no one wanted to wait the necessary amount of time – 20 minutes to a half hour – for the lights to recover so near the play’s end. The whole event showcased just how cool and secure our eighth graders really were. They proceeded with aplomb.

Katherine Viti from backstage, keeping the cast focused, together, and cued, had saved the show. It was her finest hour.

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Katherine Viti started our interview with, “I spent my whole childhood, K-8, at Powhatan. It was constant and stable, a wonderful environment for growing up.” She pointed out that 24 of the original members of her class of 31 had graduated, just over 77%. Katherine was the consummate, successful academic student, but she credited first the different aspects of sports, plays, and even Upper School recess with making Powhatan the perfect place for kids to go to school.

Katherine claimed that acting really wasn’t her strongest suit, but she loved being a villager in Beauty and the Beast, where she prompted an actor who had dried up with an ad-lib query, “What about the beast?” – just the prompt he needed to recall his forgotten line. She remembered the auditorium being flooded during performance of the production – a not uncommon occurrence. She also recalled that her class during Shakespeare, where she shared the role of Baptista, was the first class to wear the name sashes which identified the character when the actor changed. This great idea sprang out of suggestions kids had made and was beautifully executed by them under the leadership of art teacher Ryan Royston. Many of the best innovations which appear in Powhatan’s plays, simulations, and field trips come from students.

Katherine’s prompt during Beauty and the Beast illustrates the sort of reaction and improvisation Powhatan directors, coaches, and teachers are always guiding their performers to undertake. Thinking on their feet, keeping themselves alert to the dynamics of the play, and working together are themes articulated constantly. Students like Katherine – and many others – not only took that coaching to heart but exhibited the poise to make these things happen.

One of the aspects of Powhatan Katherine extolled was the balanced approach of its offerings and its schedule. She mentioned the integration between classroom and field trips which really underscored the connection between Powhatan’s lessons and the world outside. The trip to Williamsburg was supported by the cross-stitch project in third grade, the gothic architecture studies of the fifth grade of the Middle Ages were illustrated by a trip to the National Cathedral, the Survival trip was a reflection of Gary Paulsen’s Hatchet, the Antietam/Harpers Ferry trip mirrored Civil War classroom studies in English and history, and the Chesapeake Bay trip actually became an outdoors laboratory of science class. Powhatan is a place where students always take art and music, and the 2:25 end of academics means everyone participates in sports – whether 240

or not you see yourself as an all-star. She recollected how her sixth-grade soccer coach, Tavis Laws, went out of his way to find teams the girls could play. One nearby school, normally not in our league, asked coach Laws if they might field a co-ed team. He agreed. That school showed up with a team of sixth and seventh grade boys and two girls who played hardly at all. Predictably the sixth-grade girls, just starting their interscholastic competition, were outplayed. Coach Laws felt snookered; he pulled his team because he wanted none of his kids hurt. Coach Laws canceled the rematch, but as Katherine put it, “We all understood. We wanted to play them anyway.” Such attention to fairness and academic integration are foundational to the Powhatan ethos, according to Katherine.

Posts and Rails played an important role in school life. Katherine recalled that the Posts had won for a series of years, and in her class that led to some tensions – particularly the seventh-grade year – because a sea change was underway. The Rails were readying for a new run. Katherine noted hers was the first class not to do the Quadri-School Track Meet, a disappointment at first, but a reality that made the competition of Field Day even more important. Katherine pointed out that all of the Post/Rail activities were enjoyable except on those occasions when parents became too invested. She remembered a mini-kerfuffle which erupted when her class acquired a new student who was a real ringer.

The luck of the placement draw placed him in the Rails, which led several of the Post families to cry, “Collusion.” Katherine noted that she never made an athletic point for her team, but in other Post/Rail competition areas such as the Geography Bee and MATHCOUNTS she won a slew of points for the Rails. She recounted an especially dramatic tiebreaker for the Geography Bee in which multiple rounds took place between Katherine and another finalist. The question which won it for Katherine was: Which landlocked African country through which the Niger River flows is the home of the legendary city Timbuktu? She correctly answered Mali. Katherine was delighted with her victory but ran out of the room to finish her test for Mrs. Hobbs, whom she noted would have gone out of her way to give her the time needed to finish her test. But that’s the kind of responsible student Katherine always was.

Katherine was a superb academic student. She especially loved Fabienne Modesitt, our language maven, and Louise Jaffe, sixth grade English and history teacher and sponsor of the Powhatan Literary magazine; Katherine described both as ‘just amazing.’ (I can attest that 241

both were incredible colleagues and consummate professionals.) She related with gusto how much she loved diagramming sentences with Mrs. Jaffe and how much she loved helping her publish the literary magazine, Powhatan Voices, over her period of three years in the Upper School. Katherine recalled staying after for hours following Field Day one year putting the magazine together. Katherine must have been exhausted, but all she mentioned was how special the time spent with Mrs. Jaffe was. During the afternoon – or at a later time, Mrs. Jaffe’s printer ran out of ink, and she claimed she had no idea how to fix it.

Katherine stepped up to the plate and told Mrs. Jaffe she could do it.

Katherine methodically took the printer apart and figured out how to put the new ink cartridge in. It’s moments like these when we faculty think our young charges are pure magic – it’s their ease and courage with technology that captivates the admiration of adults who largely look at technology as one baby step above voodoo.

Fabienne Modesitt, who knew seven languages – French, her native Alsatian, English, German, Italian, Spanish, and Latin – well enough to speak and read them, was affectionately known as “Madame” to her students. She was a national treasure (she scored a cool 100 on her American citizenship examination) because she was so linguistically able, had high expectations for her students, and served as a great academic model for the kids. Madame also possessed a superb sense of humor and was celebrated for her quips: “Am I decorating the board?” (when students weren’t taking notes), “This is not rocket surgery.” (my favorite), “Am I talking to my plants?” (when students weren’t listening), and “The lake is not on fire.” (when students overreacted to something they saw as too difficult). For my 40th year my colleagues gave a surprise party which was truly humbling and touched me deeply.

I wrote everyone a ‘Thank you’ in which I used the term ‘argot.’ Later during sports, Mme. Modesitt dropped by and mentioned I had used it in my letter. “Deek, how many of our colleagues do you think know what argot means?”

I thought for a moment. “You.” We both laughed.

Katherine told me that in the seventh grade, while she was recovering from a foot injury, Mme. Modesitt tutored her in Latin 242

during sports. She also gave Katherine an incomparable background in French. Madame’s classroom often moved at a blistering pace. Not everyone followed as fast as she moved. Katherine told the story of a classmate seated next to her who on occasion would lose the sense of a query with which Madame was addressing him. Apparently, this student’s face was telegraphic because at this point his best buddy, seated across the room, would drop his books, make a noise, or fumble some paper onto the floor. Madame would look in his direction, and Katherine would lean over and cue her neighbor on what Madame was looking for. The classmate would answer Madame correctly – and all was well with the world.

Not for the first time did I realize kids make the best teachers.

Katherine Viti loved her Chapel Talk which was on “The Star Wars Phenomenon.” In it she had characters dress up, a tricky proposition because classmates would still be in academics while one was setting up. Meaning everyone had to arrive, get ready in seconds, ad lib roles, and hope for the best. “Luke” and “Han Solo” were fine, but “Princess Leia” came “flying in like she was late for the airport” – a Tammy Viti, Katherine’s mom, saying. Katherine started to fix Leia’s signature coif when “Han Solo,” whom Katherine described as “the least feminine eighth grade boy you could imagine,” said, “Let me do it. You’ve got it all wrong.” In no time he had “Leia” and her singular side buns ready.

That was great because Katherine had bigger fish to fry: “Darth Vader” had severely sprained his ankle the day before and was on crutches. The pounding he made backstage getting into position only added to the ominous tension his character evinced. When he appeared on stage, his lightsaber was eerily illuminated beneath his cape. The ensuing talk could have hardly been better. Katherine, no stranger to recognition at Powhatan, described this as her ‘crowning moment.’ She added the “little kids loved it.” Katherine said she had been inspired by Michael Frazier, who had told the story of Leonidas and his 300 personal Spartan guard at Thermopylae in costume as if he were in the Spartan camp. Katherine further prompted future eighth graders by illustrating her talk with live actors. Students like Katherine are drivers of change at Powhatan. They uplift their classmates and show their brethren how kids make it happen.

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Another experience Katherine loved was MATHCOUNTS, the local, regional, and state competition under the sponsorship of Harry Holloway. She loved the weekly sessions after school, particularly the candy and camaraderie. Katherine had competed as an individual her sixth and seventh grade years. In the eighth grade she was part of Powhatan’s state team, four stars who were aces at analyzing a problem, particularly the ‘combination problems’ the event featured. The previous year’s MATHCOUNTS team had finished fourth in the state.

At states Katherine accomplished her personal best. But it was hanging out with her teammates at the Embassy Suites where they celebrated ‘Happy Hour’ with Shirley Temples and playing hide and seek behind the fake jungle plants which was so much fun. Dinner at Famous Dave’s BBQ was another highlight as well as the challenge of the kids coaxing a slinky up eight flights of stairs at the hotel. Another MATHCOUNTS memory was the Viti family hurrying home from a vacation in Orlando, where Dr. Viti was attending a conference, in a rush so that Katherine could attend a spring round scrimmage in which she finished third.

Unfortunately, in the family’s haste to get Katherine to the scrimmage, one of Dr. Viti’s suitcases had been left behind, forcing him to return to Dulles to pick it up.

In the end Katherine Viti said she was “incredibly grateful” for her K-8 experience at Powhatan. She mentioned the school’s emphasis on promoting ‘critical thinking’ especially. She added that by the time eighth grade was over she felt “the need to move on.” She was ready to go – a sentiment voiced by many of our graduates. I have always heard that as a commentary on how ready they are to try to fly in the real world rather than a complaint of Powhatan being tiresome. Katherine loved her four years at Clarke County High School. She reveled in all the different people and types she met there. Katherine ended by saying, “Both experiences showed how communities grow and are put together.”

One day on some stage of great distinction like the Supreme Court or a Board of Regents you might see Katherine. Certainly, she has the drive, talent, nature, and vision to achieve whatever she wishes.

She challenged the school and its programs every day she attended to surpass itself and be the superb institution its mission promises.

Katherine Viti set a personal goal of accomplishment which may be equaled but never surpassed.

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Antietam At Antietam, John Gibbon, brigadier general of the Iron Brigade, was in a tight place. The old artilleryman was trying to save the cannons of Battery ‘B,’ whose crews were all dead or wounded. Only Gibbon and 14-year-old Johnny Cook, drummer boy, tall as a man, who would earn the Congressional Medal of Honor for his bravery, were there to man a single cannon, which they were doing to a devastating effect, ripping vast holes in the approaching Southern column which consisted of Jubal Early’s men and remnants of Jackson’s old commands including the Stonewall Brigade. Southern rifle fire from that column now enfiladed the regiments of the Seventh Wisconsin and Nineteenth Indiana facing the infamous cornfield; both of which then wheeled and fired from the cornfield at the column deployed along the Hagerstown Pike toward the West Woods, the point from which they had sprung their initial flanking attack, an action Southern general John Bell Hood had called, “…the most terrible clash of arms, by far, that has occurred during the war.” The Sixth Wisconsin rallied from the cornfield itself and moved toward Gibbon and their brigade colors to make their stand and mark their finest hour. Confederates advanced to within fifteen yards of the cannons but were repeatedly driven back, suffering hideous casualties.

Orders finally came to retire, all part of the master Federal plan to hammer Lee’s left with coordinated Corps’ attacks. The 800-man Iron Brigade, the Black Hats, finally left the field having suffered 343 killed and wounded (plus five missing) for a total of 42% casualties. The Sixth Wisconsin alone lost 152 of its 314 officers and men.1

1 Over the summer I had received an invitation from Journey Through Hallowed Ground, a non-profit group interested in 1. Nolan, Alan T., The Iron Brigade, Indiana University Press, Bloomington, 1994, pp 140-142 245

promoting the significance of the Rte 15 corridor from Gettysburg to Charlottesville during the Civil War, to participate in their program to honor the dead of the Civil War by planting a tree in each fallen soldier’s honor along that route. To start the process, I wrote to Ranger Christie Stanczak, who coordinated educational programs for Antietam National Battlefield Park. Christie supplied us with 27 names of fallen soldiers from the Iron Brigade, a unit I had been fascinated with since the late ‘80’s after hearing their chronicler Alan Nolan speak at a forum on Antietam I attended. I remember thinking at the time that the school would never get its money back, but I did lead every Powhatan field trip to the battlefield after that. By the time I retired, the school had invested $25.00 a trip in my preparation. All of the names Stanczak gave us were buried at the Antietam National Cemetery. Each student and I received the name and regiment of one soldier to research and confirm. Our job was to find the soldier, confirm the spelling of his name and add as much information as we could to each soldier’s identity on an official records database. In addition, we were to affix the Journey Through Hallowed Ground seal to show any future researcher that that soldier had been searched and had had a tree planted in his memory. What seemed a simple 21st century task ran smack into the 19th. Shoddy record-keeping, loss of documents, horrendous spelling, illegible writing, and no standardized systems of keeping records all conspired to make our straight-forward task impossible. Dreams of reams of letters, articles, and journals brought to light disappeared before the burden of discovering whether Jm Snyder was James, Jeremy, Jeremiah, or Jim. And then, of course, figuring whether James Snider was really our guy too.

By the time of the seventh grade’s annual Antietam Battlefield tour in early May, all our men had been correctly identified and their records edited. I explained that we would be visiting Antietam National Cemetery as our last stop and the students’ final responsibility would be to find their soldiers’ graves. I also mentioned that it would be appropriate to leave a small personal memento such as a button, small stone, or small toy at each soldier’s headstone to honor his sacrifice – his “…last, full measure of devotion.”

The day turned out to be beautiful, the kind of day only the gods of the Great Valley of Virginia could conjure up. And the tale 246

of unmeasured bloodshed faded before that shimmering beauty and dissolved at last into a tableaux of each child reverently searching for his/her soldier’s grave – placing here and there a marble, a toy car, or a small stone with an American flag painted on it.

Charlotte Smith had thought of her classmates, and the evening before the field trip had hand-painted a dozen or more round stones with an American flag on each. Charlotte had wanted no soldier to be unhonored or no classmate left out. Her thoughtfulness proved prescient as more than several of her classmates had forgotten their memento in the hubbub of packing. The gratitude her classmates expressed toward her could have hardly been more gracious or profound.

Watching all this, I realized that never before had I been so affected by the sacrifice these men had each made, braving the horrors of battle, or so moved by the sincere grace of my students, honoring them. I couldn’t help but sense the smiling spirits acknowledging from the beyond that their nation and that nation’s values had endured.

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Sue Scarborough with former board chair and alum J.T. Anderson and astronaut Mark Kelly.

Sue Scarborough In many ways Sue Scarborough, the last of five Heads I served under, was the one who inspired the theme of this book. One day during the selection process for the Head to succeed John Lathrop while Sue was still a candidate, she visited the campus and we were talking together. Having served on the much larger Advisory Committee to the Search Committee, I had gotten to know Sue and was quite impressed with her credentials for the job. During our conversation Sue mentioned, with great inner enthusiasm, that Powhatan was ‘a magical place.’ Her observation instantly connected with a memory of John Lathrop having said the same thing. Later, I recalled Billy Peebles having made the almost identical remark. It was clear to me they were all on to something big.

Sue Scarborough, Head of School, sat down to be interviewed by me on February 22, 2018. She had a mission. She wanted to discuss the three people she thought were representative of what’s best about Powhatan. Sue Scarborough named J.T. Anderson, Robin Hockman, and me (oh, boy).

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J.T. Anderson was in first grade when I started teaching. He was an active and always smiling redhead. Throughout his time here he was a solid student who was beloved by his classmates. He was a superb athlete.

I remember at the Tri-School Track Meet, hosted by Loudoun Country Day School in Leesburg his eighth-grade year, J.T. threw the soccer ball the then unheard-of distance of 59 feet. I remember LCDS Head Tom Jackson during the awards ceremony making the biggest deal about J. T. ‘s accomplishment. People treated J.T. and his accomplishments the same way his entire life, a life that was entirely too short.

Sue knew J.T. as a board member and President of the Board. To her, he was the perfect President of the Board. A president who joined past office holders such as Tupper Dorsey as exemplars of the position.

It was a position J.T. filled with grace and enthusiasm. He was fun. He embraced the school and his board. He couldn’t wait to do more. Sue talked about working some odd hours and coming out to find J. T. on one of his bulldozers moving earth. She asked what he was doing here, and he responded that he happened to be in the area with one of his pieces of equipment. He thought he’d just drop by and do some quick excavating. He added, for him, it was a great way to work off stress and get in some valuable reflection time.

J.T. adored the whole concept of the Crocker Conservancy, the immense tract of overgrown former grazing land which borders the Millwood Country Club to the west and extends east almost to Millwood. J.T. and his crew cleared much of the tract of scrub, and he personally oversaw and provided much of the funding for the Nature Pavilion. Mrs. Scarborough said for J.T., the conservancy was his oasis.

Anything dealing with Powhatan was an oasis for him. Scarborough described his appetite for any challenge as the kind of hunger shown by a Renaissance Man. He was never a ‘yes’ man. When faced with a challenge he’d say, “Let’s figure this out.” But he’d quickly add, “We’re going to pay attention to what’s important, and the priorities are, first, the kids and, then, the faculty.” J.T. Anderson lived the culture of the school.

J.T., when faced with a new concept or a new challenge, worked harder than anyone to wrap himself around it until he could resolutely say, “I understand…” That’s when he’d track Sue down and say, “I get 250

it now. I’m drinking the kool-aid.” He’d then give of himself until everything was right and the task accomplished.

Everyone loved J.T. being here. He never made anyone uneasy. In my last official action before I retired, the graduation, I was called up to be recognized with J.T. and shake his hand while the photographer took our picture – just like the graduates. As I readied to leave, J.T. wrapped me in an immense bear hug. We both beamed at each other, but all I could see was a little red-haired boy, running around the playground with his best-buddies, Mark Cira and Toby Burke. And they were all laughing.

He still should be here. When he died, he took an era with him.

Sue spoke then about what drew her to Powhatan. She said that she recognized the strength of governance here, citing Tupper Dorsey, her first board president. She pointed out that board members put in so much time and give their best attention to the school.

Sue loved the campus, the NEAL (Nature Enhanced Approach to Learning) program, and the Crocker Conservancy. She said when she was putting together the 70 Reasons I Love Powhatan list together to honor the school’s 70th anniversary one that kept recurring was “I get to go outdoors.” At an alumni reception I heard past graduate Ellie Selzer say exactly the same thing, “I got to go outdoors.”

Powhatan respects her students. Sue said that was evident. She added that the initial draw was the balance she saw here. She was aware of schools which existed on academic rigor – and that academic rigor was a principal draw for many independent schools. Here, there was academic rigor – but there was so much more: all the outdoors programs, the sports, the drama, Winter Tuesday, the field trips, the after-school program, the arts, and on to the horizon. Sue said that she was dedicated to working to keep that balance – to continue to examine, tweak, explore, research, and develop the Powhatan experience so that it will continue to graduate students who have the ability to think of who they are in their lives, graduates who are content inside.

Every great school has at its foundation rocks. But the school’s rocks are people. Sue Scarborough said the rock of our community was Robin Hockman, her assistant.

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Robin bore the titles such as School Secretary, Head’s Assistant, but the real title was She Who Runs the School. Scarborough described her as a ‘stitch’ who always told the truth – often with penetrating clarity. Along with her matchless droll sense of commentary, Robin had a great sense of interpersonal balance, that wispy notion of grace.

(Robin Hockman’s portrait is in the dictionary under the definition of Grace Under Pressure.) Robin was just terrific telling daffy faculty about how to enter their attendance, or how to save their report card comments, or what’s the change in today’s schedule, or how to make the phones work, or where to find their conference schedules, or asking if they had returned Mrs. Zilch’s call yet. She would not field requests like the above once or twice a day, she would field them a bazillion times.

Always cheerfully. Always economically. I used to wonder if Robin’s personal inner anthem when considering all the outrageous requests she’d field wasn’t the Firesign Theatre’s “We’re All Bozos on This Bus”?

Robin was absolutely great at allaying the dread of parents who had to come to school for a conference about their child’s behavior.

She’d be quick to point out the time one of her two (who were really about the nicest kids you could ever imagine) had done something similar. This reaching across the icy expanse of ‘no-man’s land’ to offer soothing words to another fellow parent alone would mark Robin as extraordinary. But her wise commentary was really saying, “Hey, they’re kids. And this too shall pass.”

Robin would field some real whoppers from parents too. There’d be calls about bringing pet iguanas, special requests about the dress code, asking if Little Suzy might be excused from her calculus exam, or (my favorite) we’re taking Jimmy to shop for his favorite video game.

“Could you have the faculty get together all of his work and homework for us to pick up? We’ll be by in 15 minutes.” Parents would always end their request to Robin with, “Is it alright?” That’s when Robin, using a tone only the most gifted and veteran diplomat could muster, would say, “Have you read the Handbook? The answer’s inside.”

One of the principal jobs Robin had, one of incredible scope, was typing up the Head’s remarks for the graduation. Talk about pressure. Talk about deadlines. Talk about coordinating rental items.

Getting the diplomas all completed. And we would all show up for

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Graduation Day and the whole pageant would unfold beautifully as if it was choreographed by a genius. It was.

Thanks to Robin Hockman.

Robin and her beloved spouse Steve moved to their new house in Pennsylvania when his job changed. We literally all cried when she left.

The third person Sue mentioned was me. (I have avoided writing this section for months. I was going to get a colleague to write this portion. But then a new friend I’ve made urged me to do it. She said that too often we hide our own light when there are ways that we may speak of ourselves candidly which are truthful and don’t aggrandize ourselves. Here goes.) Sue Scarborough mentioned that my strong suits were kindness, I was a good listener, and I often taught through stories. She also mentioned that I could be a trusted confidant. I certainly realized that being the Head was a hard, sometimes lonely job.

Such a person benefits from someone who listens, reflects truthfully, and keeps the conversation overheard to himself. I was fortunate in that people such as Billy Peebles, John Lathrop, Sue Scarborough, and many of my colleagues used me as a sounding board. I always treated their confidences with a sacred trust.

Two anecdotes will illustrate everything of best note about me: First of all, I was born into one of the best families for raising kids.

My grandparents, my aunts and uncles, and my mom and dad all loved kids. The best way to entertain any pod of my family then gathered was to put a baby in their midst. Everyone wanted to hold him, talk to her, play with him. Every child in my extended family was surrounded by a wall of smiles and breathed in air full of laughter and delight. The star in this pageant was my mother Anne Ridgeway Bell. Besides being a beauty, mother was intelligent, a terrific athlete, and had the morals of a saint. Because I was a sickly child, I missed a great deal of school (for years I averaged over 50 days missed a year). The routine was I got to spend the day in mom and dad’s bed. I was nursed by mom. And I got to read books, books which were then reviewed and enlarged by mother’s archly asked questions and dialogue. It was like being tutored

by William Shakespeare, Marie Curie, Isaac Newton, and Eleanor Roosevelt. I can’t tell you how much all that extra attention advanced my skills. When I was in sixth grade, Iowa Basics (the standardized tests 253

my school system used) indicated that I was, in fact, reading at the level of a college freshman about to enter his sophomore year. Mother had accomplished her mission well.

Then I joined the faculty at Powhatan and was with a multitude of children daily. I got to be with smart, enthusiastic children who were just joys to be around. It was then that I was able to employ the full gamut of my family’s gifts. The stories I told and the techniques I used all came from my family and other masterful adults who had taken an interest in me when I was young. When Sue Scarborough said to me, “I’ve never heard you say a negative comment about a student,” she was complimenting all the kindnesses modeled for me by my adult relatives.

The message I got from them was “each of us is unique and worthy of our attention and respect.” I never met a kid who undermined that message.

The other anecdote refers to an epiphany I had while coaching at the Quadri-School Mile Run at Hill School one year not so many years ago. It was during a lull in the races while I was drinking in the fabulous beauty of a fall day in Virginia’s Horse Country. I was thinking (my absolute favorite intellectual activity) when it came clear to me that my intelligence flourished in an intellectual dialogue where I was being listened to closely by another who then answered analytically and candidly.

I then realized that my entire adult career had been an expression of that ideal; for, I had taught sixth through eighth graders: individuals who had newly minted brains with adult-level cognition and open horizons.

The universe had placed me exactly in the best possible place for me to realize my potential. So all the years of listening and challenging, the foundation of excellent dialogue, were beyond superb. All the years with countless days when I would go home thinking, “You actually got paid for today!” I recall wanting to share my epiphany so I turned to my track co-judges Tom Northrup, Head of Hill, and Randy Hollister, Head of Loudoun Country Day School. They listened (the most powerful verb in the English language) and affirmed me in my insight.

When I look back at my career at Powhatan, I am filled with gratitude and humility – and wonder that I was able to experience it all.

Sue Scarborough spoke of that wonder too. She recalled listening to the eighth grade Graduation speech in which Tabor Thwing said, “I will always have Powhatan in my heart.” She talked of the family 254

values epitomized in the school’s mission and its values. Values that the school and the people who worked here employed every day to make a difference. Values which created an experience in which Beau Thwing, Tabor’s brother, said, “Gave me an opportunity to be a leader.”

The hardest task in her becoming Head was learning the community and all of its nuances and depths. The tasks required of a Head of School are multiple and complex. The work is never-ending.

Sue valued the time from 5:30 – 7:00 pm when she could address her work in an uninterrupted atmosphere, an atmosphere which would allow reflection and memory – like the moment when Powhatan runner Daniel York was knocked to the ground well into his distance race at Quadri-School Track Meet by an unfocused student helper not paying attention and rose to overtake the field and win. It was the essence of a Powhatan moment.

Sue Scarborough continued the tradition of outstanding Powhatan Heads of School. She brought with her matchless experience from Pittsburgh’s Winchester Thurston School and Cambridge’s Buckingham, Browne, and Nichols. She advanced and enlarged Powhatan’s mission. And she said, “No matter, the Powhatan Spirit will go on. We shall never be too big, but we shall always keep building.”

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Three generations of Powhatan students, alumna Mary Davis Roxer, her son Liam who will graduate in 2023, and her Aunt Betsy Stafford.

Mary Davis Roxer, ‘96, Eileen Davis and Betsy Stafford, ‘55 It was around two weeks before Shakespeare, and the rehearsal blocks were still rough. It was crossing my mind as director that things should be moving toward fluidity by now. Mary Davis was the principal actor in that day’s scene rehearsals, and she and her partners came out and nailed a difficult scene – well-acted, timing down pat. Mary and I have talked about it since: she remembers it as A Midsummer Night’s Dream; I recall it as Twelfth Night. No matter. I knew from that moment on the play would be fine. Because every year, when one or several actors rose above the hubbub and staked their claim to excellence, that marked the point when the play began to gel. That day I told the class that Mary’s scene was the precursor of things to come and the play would be fine.

Thanks to Mary Davis and her fellow actors that year’s play, I recall, went on to be one of the best. Whatever it was.

Mary and her infant Charlie joined me first. We were waiting for her mom Eileen to arrive with her aunt, her dad Blackie’s sister, Betsy 257

Stafford, who was visiting from California. Betsy was an alumna of Blue Ridge Country Day and three years ahead of her brother Blackie, Mary’s dad, who had passed away years earlier.

Blackie deserves a parenthetical mention here. In one of the standardized tests I had administered over the years, there was the story in the reading section of Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell, the first woman to become a physician in America. I knew that Blackie was short for Blackwell, and I finally got around to asking either Blackie or Eileen if the doctor was a relative. I was delighted to find out she was. Just another distinguished connection in the Powhatan community which is a surprise when it comes to light.

Mary was ready for the interview. She said, “When I think of Powhatan, the word I come up with is forever.” She went on to say that three generations of her family had attended school here, beginning with Betsy and Blackie and now represented by current student, son Liam. The family had started in Millwood and followed the school to Boyce. She added that she was much closer to her Powhatan friends and family than she was to those of her high school experience. Mary went on to say that big plays like HMS Pinafore and A Midsummer Night’s Dream, traditional projects like the third grade’s cross-stitch, and overnight field trips in grades three and above underlined and accentuated the hands-on experiences, learning which engaged the senses, and other active learning which occurred daily at Powhatan. She described the process as learning which “…sticks to you.”

I asked her if she had experience with Shakespeare after Powhatan, and Mary said that she had taken a Shakespeare class in high school.

Like almost all of her past peers, this proved to be a rewarding and affirming experience. Mary found that her writing ability and prior experience with Shakespeare generally made the course easy. “I felt like I was very well-prepared for college from my Powhatan work.” It’s funny how performing Shakespeare explodes much of the mystery his work inspires.

Mary could remember she started school at Powhatan in second grade, the year after the fire. At that moment in walked Eileen (Mary’s mother) and Aunt Betsy. We had to move a few chairs and a curious box on the table in the Alumni Room to make room. Lying on the open 258

box, which appeared full of papers, was a receipt of an estimate from Thompson and Ogden of Berryville to a P. H. Mayo to build a house for I believe it was $7,000.00. We all agreed it was probably for the initial building of Powhatan. The document was dated 1887.

Everyone settled in and Betsy began. She had attended Blue Ridge Country Day. She described her class in the seventh grade as “six girls and Tommy Dunning.” In the eighth grade it was just six girls because Tommy had left for boarding school. She talked about the Blue Goose, a name she credited to her brother Blackie, the bus which wound all over Jefferson and Clarke counties until it picked up Bobby Wyatt.

When you arrived at the Little Red Schoolhouse in Millwood, you were met by Mr. Bradley, the Headmaster, (whom she described as “such a force”) and “really good teachers.” In the main room the students would gather around little tables and begin the day by all singing songs – Betsy remembered them as from Gilbert and Sullivan – before beginning their morning academics. The whole gestalt was so like a family. Betsy sighed, “It was great.”

At this point the word ‘magical’ appeared. Betsy and Mary described their interrelated school experiences that way. Eileen chimed in enthusiastically with agreement.

Betsy described Mr. Bradley as “really an English teacher who made us all feel special.” He would meet his class in his office and would assign one or two wordy paragraphs, which the class would have to reduce into a precis of just a few sentences. It was a tough piece of homework that kept her up late at night, but it challenged her to appreciate good writing and encouraged her on the path to a career as an editor, working for Scribners, Harcourt Brace, and Sunset Magazine.

Ms. Stafford described the whole academic experience as classic liberal arts (Beethoven playing softly in the background during lunch).

She went on to mention – after again noting how good her teachers were (“I don’t know how he found them” – meaning Mr. Bradley) – that she had a superb French teacher, whose name she could no longer recall, who was a real polymath.

Mary added at this point that she had Fabienne Modesitt, our own polymath, who spoke or knew seven languages, for French. Madame

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Modesitt accomplished so much, much of it conversationally, that Mary described her high school experience with the language as “a piece of cake.” Much of that surety came from the homework she gave. Mary pointed out how well Powhatan assigned homework which secured and enhanced lessons learned at school.

Mary added that programs such as Winter Tuesday cemented a mind/body curriculum which led to a healthy development of life skills. Eileen pointed out that this total climate for education of the mind and body had been one of the principal reasons she and Blackie had enrolled Mary and her brother Tommy in Powhatan. Betsy said the same for Blue Ridge, which in addition to fine academics, gave her opportunities to do track and field, play football, and learn to bowl. Mary said that sports at Powhatan taught independence and opportunity. She noted, “It was a long way from the locker room to the fields, more than enough time to get into trouble.” Sports and programs such as Winter Tuesday, many of which boys and girls did together – along with class field trips, taught kids how to interact in the best possible way with the world. Mary can still recall the final instruction, “Have your Powhatan manners on,” as the class would leave out of the door. All three noted that there was no difference in how girls or boys were treated.

We stayed with the theme of equal opportunity for women for a while and how Powhatan and Blue Ridge Country Day sent the clear message to these women that there wasn’t anything they could not do.

Eileen pointed out that Blackie had been in Drew Gilpin’s class, who as Drew Gilpin Faust, eminent historian, went on to become the first female president of Harvard University. Mary quickly added that her son Liam currently had Mrs. Ryan Gilpin, Dr. Faust’s cousin-in-law, as his teacher. Connections. Connections.

Betsy Stafford then stated that the seventh and eighth grades at Blue Ridge Country Day were the best years in school she ever had. She cited the “intense report cards,” which drew a chorus of “they still are” from Eileen and Mary, the learning we all did on a school bus, and the “Thank you, Ma’ams,” the series of small bumps on Old Chapel Road coming into Boyce that the kids would beg their driver to speed over so they could all fly into the air. They’re still there. And kids still beg the driver to hit them full blast.

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The bus caused Eileen to reflect on Blackie reuniting with Millie Hummer, his old bus driver, at the end of the lane as she slowed to pick up Mary and Tommy one morning. Millie was returning for her second incarnation as Charles Town bus driver. They had a grand reunion.

Betsy concluded that part of the magic of Blue Ridge Country Day was it could have been very strict, but it wasn’t. It was an island – very open and child-centered. “Just like Powhatan,” Eileen punctuated.

“There was automatic trust built right into the culture.” Mary said, “If you needed to go to the bathroom, you just got up and went.” That was certainly my experience. Kids would rise and indicate by gesture or quick remark that they needed to use the restroom, and I’d always signal my assent. “When you visited the school, the kids made noise. They moved around,” Eileen noted. “You could see good behavior and cooperation being modeled everywhere.” Betsy and Mary both commented on Powhatan’s Honor System which was unstructured, informal, and authentic. No oaths, no student courts, just a foundational expectation that your work was your own, an expectation that all students acceded to nearly all the time.

“We were respected,” Betsy said and Mary agreed. Betsy went on to say in her experience that there was no bullying, and Mary added that with the arrival of the advisor/advisee system students were actively coached in toleration where they got the vocabulary and skills to inculcate that virtue of civility. I then asked if that feeling made classmates into siblings of a sort. No one used that term, but all parties agreed that the school with its small classes, often furnished with a couch or bean bags in the room, was like family.

That family leitmotif bled into all areas. Mary remembered attending the funeral of schoolmate Gordon Johnson, where I gave the eulogy. I told her that it had been the hardest thing up to that point in my life I had ever done. I have incredible NES, Naked Exposure Syndrome, commonly called stage fright. Over the years at Powhatan, I worked on my stage fright through speeches, performances, and deliveries, and by the time of Gordon’s funeral, it was manageable. It continued with effort to lessen over the years so that in December, 2017, I was able to officiate my mother’s funeral. Mary said because of Chapel Talks and acting she too gained poise and comfort with public speaking. So, when

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her father Blackie passed away, she was able to officiate at his funeral too. More gifts that Powhatan has given us all to make us more present with the world in which we live.

Betsy affirmed the same perspective and made the point again about schools and success, “The key which Mr. Bradley accomplished brilliantly was finding the right teachers.” She then went on to say that she was her class Salutatorian and added that Blue Ridge Country Day, in addition to public speaking, taught her the lifelong skills of how to write and how to study. Eileen marveled at the scope of it all: an elementary school which crowns its eighth graders with Shakespeare – and they “Get it.” “We would watch the play, and the kids all knew their parts. They understood what they were saying! Then you’d come out with the world’s biggest smile. And the audience would erupt.”

In so many ways, these three women, Mary Davis, her mother Eileen, and Aunt Betsy Stafford, captured the essence and foundations of the school begun in 1948 and continuing today. They were personifications of the hopes, grace, and imprint Powhatan has left with us all. Liam joined us from class after dismissal so that he could ride home with his mom, baby brother, grandmother, and Aunt Betsy.

Upon leaving, he stopped, looked me in the eye, and shook my hand.

Some things are forever.

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High O’er the Lonely Hills (Dawn)

by T. H. Ingham

High o’er the lonely hills Black turns to gray Birdsong the valley fills Mists fold away Gray wakes to green again Beauty is seen again Gold and serene again Dawneth the day So, o’er the hills of life Stormy forlorn Out of the cloud and strife Sunrise is born Swift grows the light for us Ended is night for us Soundless and bright for us Breaketh God’s morn Hear we no beat of drums Fanfare nor cry When Christ the herald comes Quietly nigh Splendor He makes on earth Color awakes on earth Suddenly breaks on earth Light from the sky Bid then farewell to sleep Rise up and run!

What though the hill be steep?

Strength’s in the sun Now shall you find at last Night’s left behind at last And for mankind at last Day has begun!

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