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uncomfortable; they so easily miss the mark. But here was a definite exception—a fine statement and a testimony to the rewards of undertaking risk. Next I cruised down the corridor and took in the wonderful mural on its interior wall—a life-sized black and white photocollage of relevant faces, poses, action shots of key players and coaches over the years. Hey! There’s Lance with hair. And I always loved that shot of Len Sargent with hockey stick and whistle. And here’s my cousin Kate Schutt’s radiant
face with classmate A.J. Mleczko ’93 and their epic team. What a terrific record they had at Taft (and after)! I moved on to the foyer, stopping to peer at the various trophies and awards. When you view a compilation of teams over many more years than are spent as a student at Taft, you see things in a more comprehensive and honest perspective. It was comforting to see my name flash by among the others. I rounded the bend and looked down a corridor with shiny new squash
Jol Everett, left, with Lance Odden, Hal Erdman and his three hockey-playing sons: Fred ’71, Carl ’77, and Guy ’68
Peter Maro ’83 makes the save as Kyle Reis ’93 waits for the rebound.
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Spring 2001
courts on the left and windows to the exercise room on the right. What a sight! There was a full-blown match in progress portside, complete with abundant spectators, and then a perfect cross-section of the student body wringing out the various contraptions to the starboard. It seemed to me that none were idle. I couldn’t help thinking how much healthier they all seemed in comparison to my memory of our student body. Or was it just my age? I tiptoed past the matches in progress and made my way toward the Mays Rink. I wanted to pay my respects and take one more long drink from that barrel. I wasn’t sure of the exact way in. I made a quick change of direction instinctively, as I sometimes would do when carrying the puck into the enemy zone, there to drop it for Sam “without looking”—then hard to the net. (A good portion of what goals I scored came from Sam’s rebounds.) I made that move and, bingo, there stood Sam Crocker ’60—looking just as he always does and smiling that fetching smile—and his delightful daughter, Wizzie. Without the slightest bit of communication, once again we had, “without looking,” remade our connection with each other and with the old Winter Palace. That moment alone was worth the trip.
Classmates Dave Forster and Bryan Remer ’62 present Lance with his own commemorative photo of the 1962 hockey season— Lance’s first season at Taft.