stay connected... spend a lot of time in the western North Carolina mountains, drinking red wine and eating good food. Between meals, Bill runs, plays some golf, hikes, and bird watches. He sees a few Andover folks in town: Bill Wilson ’72 and Thatcher Townsend ’76. He talks to Myles Standish a few times a year; Myles has moved over to the Raleigh area but spends half of his time in Idaho managing his business. Alan Senior had a family reunion, too. “Not hiding under a rock or running from an angry wife, but still operating out my offices in Bellevue, Wash., and New Castle, Del.,” he wrote. From the mouth of the Dancing Bear: “There are many things that put a smile on my face, but joining the Andover reunion team creates a stupid grin and brings back great memories. So getting ready for the next one, the big 4-5, I should warn everyone that I’ve discovered religion, given up drinking, hate to have fun, and I’m boring as s***—all not true.… I’m the same Big Al, have all my hair, most of the teeth, and 50 percent of my brain cells and love to watch football, hockey, lacrosse, and Duck Dynasty.” Peter Fernberger also had a proper excuse for missing the 40th. His daughter, Emma, was about to get married and the prep was building up. From Peter: “I recently returned to Andover for Jack Richards’s memorial service. Thankfully, it was an event not without humor, especially from the two boys, one of whom described Jack’s little-recognized love of speed, especially, in this case, driving fast.” Peter lives/works in NYC—a producer/ director/cameraman for television promos and commercials now. He writes, “Previously, I spent 15 years in TV production on shows like The West Wing, Third Watch, New York Undercover, etc., as the director of photography of the location unit (DC for West Wing) or action unit (car chases, gunfights, high falls, stabbings, drug deals)—you know, exactly what our Andover education prepared us for, tactical police drama.” Greg Hammer checked in, too, with a lot of cool news. “I have had get-togethers with Artie Winter, Peter Shanholt, and Lawson Fisher. Since I am a physician at Stanford…I did get to spend time with Sully and his wonderful family before and after he was admitted here. Great to read Ray Stecker’s book and then talk to him on the phone for an hour afterward several months ago. Otherwise I have to settle for workouts with a few alums (from other classes) at the local Equinox. I got married to a wonderful woman in August…. Life is pretty utopian in Stanford.” Ken Ehrlich must have been under a deadline, as his response was unduly terse. Ken is a partner at Nutter, McClennen & Fish, where he is one of the nation’s leading lawyers in banking and financial services (I got this from the website, not him). He says, “My third child will graduate from college in May, and that just leaves one more, who’s in high school.” James Rydell called me from Beaverton, Ore. After a health scare, he retired from the brokerage business to the fresh air of the Pacific Northwest and is taking care of his father and still following the market. He sounded great.
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Andover | Spring 2014
Greg Hatton is burning up the civil dockets in southern California, an authentic answer to Melvin Belli. In October, I joined Will Schutte for a trip down to Monterey to participate in the Sully Memorial Golf Tournament. Hanging out with Sully’s brothers was a blast, as was rubbing elbows with Silicon Valley’s crème de la crème. Unfortunately, I missed the annual trip to Ekwanok, in Vermont, with John McDonald and Dave Donahue, where we join Steve Rooney for golf and frivolity. No worries; Dave Swanson proved to be a robust fourth. Instead, I took Gene Dallago and his wife, Julie, on a “leaf peeping” tour, and we shared a delightful lunch. Gene’s eye surgery was a big success; he continues to show great improvement and vigor. After teaching high school math for many years in his hometown of Red Oak, Iowa, Swanson retired and relocated to the Boston area, where he is an adjunct professor of math at several area colleges. That’s it. Contact info above. Don’t make me find you.
1974 40th REUNION June 13–15, 2014 Jack Gray 80 Central Park West, Apt. 20F New York NY 10023-5215 212-496-1594 jackgray@BlueLink.Andover.edu
Writing in early January as winter has its way with Manhattan and holiday laze snaps to this year’s objectives, thoughts turn to summer. Specifically, the second weekend in June. The harvest of holiday cards included beaming Robin and Ted Maynard, with daughter Sophie in full high-school-graduation regalia. Bruce Fleming and his wife (and college sweetheart), Mary Beth, included (along with sardonic empty-nest commentary) a picture of their two sons gamely posing for a family portrait. The young men even appear to enjoy the ritual, no longer just tolerating the annual event but owning it too. The main story this time (I’m sorry to say) is another loss to death—this time Laura Richards’s father and our old friend, mentor, and sometime antagonist Jack Richards. PA ’74 was well represented at his memorial at Andover in early December. That Saturday morning I met Tony Armour at Logan Airport, where we rented a car and pointed it north. Tony drove—he knew the way well from visits to his son, a lower at PA. On arrival, there were Tom Mitchell, Keith Kloza, and Scott McIsaac. All three were friendly, serious, and appropriately cheerful on the occasion of this celebration of a life well and fully lived. We recalled some old times (Keith’s innovative use of a wide-angle lens
while photographing from the sideline of a football game in 1973), reviewed the recent past (Andover golf-team stories circa 2010), and planned the near future (our next reunion). John MacWilliams, who has recently assumed a big job at the U.S. Department of Energy, in Washington, made the trip to comfort his friend Laura. Bruce Bacon, Charlie Nadler, and Kevin Retelle joined us as we took our places together in Cochran Chapel as it filled to capacity. The service touched on courage, work, and fun. It prompted reflection on big questions like the legacy of work and the nature of love. A memorable recollection was of a high-speed automobile tour of a (fortunately) deserted New Hampshire byway, piloted by Jack’s son Chris Richards ’81 when his father was too weak to drive (very fast, his default mode) himself. Former dean of students Richards enjoyed that particular rule violation. Both legacy and love came to my mind as I heard that anecdote. Though certainly some of us will disagree, I think that (based on my own experience at Andover) Jack Richards knew that the application of PA justice also required compassion to be fair. Perhaps his appreciation for risky thrills played into that. Hale Sturges spoke of working closely with Jack Richards for most of both their lives. His demeanor, as much as what he said, communicated the fact that he was having a difficult time grasping the gap now opened in his company of close friends. Laura remembered her father with a passionate reading of Maya Angelou’s “When Great Trees Fall.” Laura’s daughters, nieces, and nephews stood proud and brave and read scripture to the crowd. Wendy Richards (still called “Mom” by many of us) summoned the strength to speak, though she had not planned to. At the lunch afterward, Peter Currie mingled in the gathering that was Andover at its best—a community of students, alumni, faculty, administrators, parents, and volunteers there to support a bereaved family, one of our own. Like George Ireland, Betsy Evans Hunt, and many others there, Peter wears several of those hats. Watching him move through the room with the seriousness the occasion demanded, born of the loss that we all felt, was an impressive show of leadership. After lunch, Tony Armour and Duke Burnham met their boys (Duke also has a son at PA), and we watched a hockey game with Doug Greeff. Doug and I noticed that when we ignored the game to catch up with each other, Andover scored, but when we paid attention, the other team did. As for me, that day I almost didn’t go at all. I’d had enough of death. An encouraging e-mail from Tony prompted last-minute travel plans, and there I was. When I saw Laura, my friend and reunion colleague, just before the service, I thought I could help. We hugged for a long time and cried a little. We talked about loss and what she would do in the next hour. Sometimes, non sibi is pro sibi. See you soon.