MS. STAMBAUGH: The first memorial resolution will be given by Charlotte Rea, head of the Williams School.

MS. REA: Marion Hamilton, who was the headmistress of the Williams School from 1963 to 1978, died on Thursday, September 28th, at the age of 93. A dynamic, dedicated woman who served others all her life, Marion was very much an example to me. As current head of the Williams School, I am the beneficiary and, more importantly, so is the school, of everything she did to keep it highly academic and supportive of human values. She was a formidable presence, as anybody who knew her could tell you. She was a great public speaker, a witty conversationalist, and passionate about education and politics.

The Williams School to which she arrived in 1963 had been enrolling more than 600 girls in the 1940s. But after all the local towns built their own high schools, enrollment dropped. Marion was then the head of the Ellis School in Pittsburgh, and had been lured to Connecticut to teach English at Connecticut College. Williams School was on the campus of Connecticut College, and at that point was actually administered by the college.

When she arrived, however, having given up her headship and moved, the president of the college told her that the person she was to replace to teach English had decided not to retire, but there was this very nice girls' school right on the campus that was fully enrolled. So Marion said, "Okay. All right."

In fact, she got there and discovered that there were 44 girls enrolled for next September. Well, not daunted and ever practical, Marion opened the closet, and apparently there were loads of letters from parents asking to have their daughters admitted, but nobody had bothered to open them. So she finally, in the fall of 1963, opened with 88 girls.

The school grew from there. Under her leadership, she changed the name from the Williams Memorial Institute to the Williams School, increased enrollment, joined NAIS and NAPSG, and I'll come back to that in a minute.

A graduate of Highlands College, Marion had first worked at Cooper Union Art School in New York City doing administrative duties. She then entered the University of Virginia to study English literature and received her Ph.D.

With her graduate degree in hand, she returned to New York City in 1940 to become an editorial assistant, and was very much thinking of that kind of a career. World War II began, and a good friend happened to ask her what she was doing for the cause. So being Marion, she started thinking, gave up her career, and joined the American Red Cross. She was secretly shipped to England, where she opened the Red Cross Servicemen's Club in Kettering, became the club director, and worked tirelessly for the servicemen, always making them feel at home. In fact, she received a presidential citation for meritorious World War II work and was presented to King George VI at Buckingham Palace. Apparently she was quite awed, but after having curtsied, she told the King that her mother kept a scrapbook, and always had, of the two young princesses. Apparently the king liked the idea so much that both of them finally relaxed.

Marion went home and became dean of students and professor of English at the University of Richmond and then at Wellesley College. In 1955 she became the headmistress of the Ellis School in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and moved that school to national recognition. As I said, in 1963 she became the headmistress of the Williams School, where she was famous for her ability to inspire students, her love of learning and teaching, and her very particular full-bodied oversight of all aspects of school life. She is still famous, I'm telling you. She oversaw not only the curriculum; she made sure that the school still taught Milton. She oversaw the portions at lunch, how many phone calls the faculty had made, which colleges the girls could apply to, which words were taught in English, the speed at which exams were to be returned (within 48 hours), and the way the lobby was swept. One famous story had her taking the broom from the hands of the custodian and showing him how to sweep. In his indignation he could only sputter, "You Communist."

Marion finally made the decision to admit boys, a step that was taken to improve enrollment and appease the local parents who then had no independent day school for their sons. Marion hired a young man who became a much beloved history teacher, who actually died within three months of Marion, I'm sorry to say, but she gave that young man the duty of dealing with "the boy problem." He was to open up the athletics program.

Marion was devoted to Williams, and she brought it into the fellowship of professional associations like NAPSG. She became the president of NAPSG, as Blair has said, and Blair tells the story that she was so devoted that one time in the days when women still wore long dresses and there was always a centerpiece -- and Blair, I'm sure you can tell the story much better than I can -- apparently, she had on a flowered dress and the centerpiece didn't get delivered, so Marion, a very dignified woman, just laid down on the table and was the centerpiece. That's according to Blair.

Marian's passions extended beyond literature and Williams and NAPSG. She loved riding horses and loved steering her motorboat, apparently rather quickly, around the coast of New Jersey, where she had a summer home for many years. Apparently she would single-handedly hook up the motorboat to her car and tear off down I-91 from New London to New Jersey every summer, launch the boat, and speed around the shore.

She also loved her many cats, who were exceptionally well-spoiled including finally the beautiful black-and-white Cordelia. Her other passions were the crossword puzzle from the New York Times, and the British royal family, but her abiding energy was always for politics. She was a staunch Democrat, and I apologize to our Republican colleagues, because I'm going to tell a story about that.

She and I had many great conversations about the old days at Williams, about beloved long-term board members. Even as her sight failed, she was fully current on the news and the New York Times and Time Magazine and what was on television. One hot summer day two years ago, three years ago, I guess, when we were under construction, my office was in a classroom. I got a phone call from Marion. She had read the New York Times Magazine cover story on teenagers hooking up, and she wanted to know if Williams students did that. I gulped and said, "Oh, I don't think very many of them do. I'm sure they don't."

We chatted a little bit more about the vagaries of student life in the early 20th century and about mutual friends. Toward the end of the conversation, apropos of nothing we were talking about -- and again, I apologize to our Republican colleagues, she said -- "And what are you doing in school to defeat that man in the White House?"

A long-time and committed Democrat, Marion could always be counted on for a good political argument. One probably apocryphal tale had her asking perspective teaching candidates if they were Republicans or Democrats. I defy you to do that.

After leaving Williams she moved to a retirement community in Essex, Connecticut, where she became the executive director and ran things rather well apparently for a number of years. In her final year, the failing eyesight and memory often betrayed her, as did her legs and finally her body, but she was so revered that many people stayed with her until the end.

The world has lost a model of integrity, intellectual passion, administrative drive and efficiency, and a true educator. I'd like to read to you just some of her words about education in general. "Of even greater importance than our academic aims, we consider the necessity of strengthening the moral fiber of each individual. Our ultimate objective is to teach our students respect for human values, the joy of intellectual curiosity, the challenge of making the right decisions, and the need always to search for the truth."

At her memorial service, her long-time English teacher, friend, and colleague noted that Marion had planned the service even down to the songs that were sung and the psalms that were read. Marion is probably in heaven surrounded by all the cats she loved and lost, said her friend, explaining to God how to straighten out those clouds, and offering a few tips on how to make heaven a little bit better.

I miss Marion very much. Thank you.

MS. STAMBAUGH: Our final resolution is for Mary Schaffner. Mary Louise Schaffner, former headmistress of the Lincoln School in Providence, Rhode Island from 1959 to 1982, died on September 5, 2006. Born in 1919, the fourth of fifth children, Mary grew up in Dover, Massachusetts, near Boston. She graduated from Radcliffe College and earned a master's degree from the school of education at Columbia University. She then taught English in several girls' schools before becoming director of the middle school at the Baldwin School. Though a Unitarian, she became head of the Lincoln School, a Quaker institution, where she exemplified the Quaker belief, "There is that of God in every person."

While at Lincoln she mentored students and faculty, three of whom became school heads themselves. Jane Shipp, now headmistress of the Renbrook School in West Hartford, Connecticut, wrote, "I met Mary, whom I would never have called by her first name in those early days, when I applied for a teaching position at Lincoln in 1970. It was my first encounter with an independent school, and to me, Mary Schaffner represented the image of a New England headmistress as I had always imagined one might be. Tall, silver-haired, dignified, posed, kind, and -- or so I thought -- just a little stern. Some years later I took over the admissions office of the school as an interim director, and I was then in closer and more regular contact with Mary. I came to know and love her warmth, intelligence, humaneness and wit. If I thought I could be half of what I saw in her, I would retire a happy woman."

Margaret MacDonald, former headmistress of Ashley Hall in Charleston, South Carolina, added the following. "My years at Lincoln provided a multitude of experiences, beginning with Miss Schaffner's quiet and competent oversight. She believed in those she employed. Hers was a hands-off style, but she was ready with a hand, a serious discussion or supportive word. She put people together and gave them a charge. Somehow she knew that we could produce more than the sum of the parts. Of course, with that competence behind us, we did, more often than not."

"Micromanage" was not in Mary Schaffner's vocabulary. Incredibly, she also sensed when things weren't going well and her clear questions or quiet comments gave us notice. That would cause a pause, with redirection frequently following.

Mary had the tiniest office in the school. It was also full of pads of papers, books, journals and notes to the degree that she sometimes appeared to be threatened by the sheer bulk of it all. However, she could lay her hands on the desired document or text without fail. Winter and summer she wore a suit, often a Bleyle, although occasionally it was a blazer and slacks during vacation. She never seemed to care about appearances, but was always correctly turned out. She wrote fluently and always correctly. I treasured my Christmas letters (which sometimes came in February) for many years.

After she retired, she and her friend, Gene Smith, decided to see the country in their own way. They rented a big RV and set off to visit the state parks. I wish I could remember many details of their travel. Mary drove, with Gene managing the maps. Mary said she was fine going forward, but backing nearly always gave her trouble. Once she backed over the electric hookup, caught the trailer on it, and had to wait until daylight to get readjusted. Those of us who remember her voice, can't we just hear that description?

Carolyn Peter, former chair of the English department at Lincoln and former director of the Winsor School in Boston, wrote, and I quote, "Mary Schaffner was a great headmistress among a generation of wonderful heads of girls schools. In some ways she fulfilled the expected image of a headmistress, but in other ways, she was uniquely herself. She was an intelligent and intellectual person, one who read widely and was informed about education, the arts, politics, and social issues. She cared deeply about ideas and was a wonderful writer. As a leader, she was calm, fair, and steady. For me, Carolyn, an inexperienced teacher fresh out of graduate school when I arrived at Lincoln School to cover a sabbatical leave in the English department, I was gradually reassured by her strength, her quiet competence, and her clear sense of purpose. She had high expectation for her faculty. At first, I wondered if I could truly earn her praise and confidence. She seemed somewhat austere to me, but I soon learned about her warmth and generosity. Very shortly after school opened in the fall of 1976, my first year at Lincoln, my six-year-old son suffered a serious skating injury and I had to be away from school for a few days to care for him. I hadn't taught even a week before I had to be absent, my first real experience with the tension between work and family commitments. As I explained my situation to Mary, she quietly nodded her support, helped me make the arrangements with the English department, never giving me the sense that I was complicating the opening of school. She instantly earned my loyalty.

"Later that fall, one morning before my first class, Mary walked into my classroom to speak with me. I remember that I was standing by the window looking out at the ravine collecting my thoughts. She walked over to me and said, 'Carolyn, I don't know how we're going to do this, but we want you to stay at Lincoln. I don't know yet if we have an opening, but there's going to be a place for you.'

"She spoke in her usual understated way, in a low voice, but her invitation brought tears of joy to my eyes. She was a reserved person and those words may have been the highest praise Mary ever gave to me. I still treasure them, because I know she was expressing her belief in me. It made all the difference. Although she was never a cheerleader, Mary was a superb mentor, and she distributed opportunities and gentle but firm guidance to those whom she thought ready and willing.

"Thinking about my 12 years at Lincoln School, I remember particularly the spirit of community which Mary Schaffner created. She led the school with dignity, compassion, and intelligence, always adhering to the mission of the school. Although like all faculties, we had our 'sibling' rivalries, Mary helped us to work together cohesively and respectfully. We were loyal to her and believed in her leadership. We were proud to be her colleagues."

A few other facts of Mary's life are worth mentioning. Carol Carpenter, former director of development at Lincoln, put it this way. "Mary's low-key approach to many things masked her strength of convictions. She believed in hard work. 'You can tell who is the headmaster. He is the man on the ladder changing the light bulb.' She believed in education. 'We've done our job if a graduate could get along if she were stranded on a desert island with nothing but a good library.' She believed in kindness, excellence, and in giving students a second chance. One time she took on a pair of borders who had been expelled from another independent school. They acted out a bit, but when the huge blizzard of '78 hit and Lincoln was swamped with people who sought shelter for days because they couldn't get home, her two "bad hats" turned out to be talented cooks who fed the hungry staff, students, and visitors and saved the day. It was a turning point for them, and they ended up succeeding at Lincoln.

Patience was another of Mary's virtues. Sometimes faculty and staff become impatient with the pace of decision-making. But I doubt that there was a member of her faculty (staff and administrators rated as faculty, too, in Mary's school) who had not sought or received Mary's wise counsel at some point, be it about a personal crisis or a professional dilemma. She led the school when coeducation was sweeping the educational world. The Overseers and the New England Yearly Meeting of Friends took their time exploring the pros and cons. Mary's reaction: "Reaching consensus can be a slow process, but the Quakers always manage to end up on the right side." Lincoln remains a girls' school and continues to thrive, offering choice for families when school-shopping. Lincoln earns the respect in which it is held. Mary shared that respect and Lincoln was fortunate indeed in her leadership.

To those of us lucky enough to know her as a close personal friend, her incisive mind, dry sense of humor, loyalty and clear-eyed reactions made her a friend to cherish. When Mary retired to Kendal at Hanover, her leadership was spotted, and she was made a member of the Kendal at Hanover Board. Typically, as one walked around Kendal at Hanover with her, she knew everyone, whether workers or residents, and had a cheerful greeting for each. When eventually her health required her to move to an assisted living apartment, she drove her motorized cart around with the same pleasure and skill she had always exhibited driving her car or RV in the earlier years.

Mary Schaffner was the genuine article. She was the same to everyone: Stalwart, caring, and responsible. I'm proud to say she mentored me, along with those whose words you have already heard. She gave me a summer office when I visited a friend who worked at Lincoln. She enrolled my sons in Lincoln's day camp. She championed success, helped avert disasters and counseled during crisis. She was very human. She shopped until she dropped and she kept house like Fibber McGee. She will be missed.

I want to thank Julia Eells, head of Lincoln, and her staff, Margo Johnson, former head of Milton Academy Girls' School and a fellow resident at Kendal Retirement Community for their help, as well as those quoted. If it takes a village to raise a child, then it takes many to do Mary Schaffner justice.

Thank you very much. We will take a five-minute recess and then we will continue with the program.