MS. STAMBAUGH: It is a tradition in this organization for us to read memorial resolutions for members who have died. There are four such people, the first of which will be read for B.J. Calhoun by Kiki Johnson.
MS. JOHNSON: Betty Jo, BJ, Calhoun died Saturday, January 31, 2004, in Middlebury, Vermont, after a long battle with cancer. She was 74.
Following an active 30-year career as an educator, she marked her next 20 years in Vermont with significant effort and commitment to a wide variety of community activities.
Born in Cleveland, Ohio, BJ was graduated from the Laurel School, earned her BA from Wellesley, and her MBA at Case Western Reserve. She returned to Laurel to teach mathematics during the headship of Ms. Edna Lake, a mentor, and subsequently moved to Worcester, Massachusetts, where she taught, served as dean at the Bancroft School, and then went to the Lincoln School in Providence, where she held a number of leadership roles, among them assistant headmistress, business manager, college counselor, and head of upper school.
A visitor to her office there might have thought they had mistakenly wandered into a branch of FAO Schwartz toy store as it featured a steadily growing corner piled high with teddy bears and stuffed animals, gifts from her students.
BJ's years at Lincoln overlapped with the headship of Mary Schaffner, who sponsored and encouraged her active participation for many years as a member of this organization, as well as The Head Mistresses Association of the East. An excellent knitter, BJ started and finished a number of complicated Aran Isle sweaters during those meetings, quietly counting and clicking away all the while following the speaker and questions quite closely. She also scoped out the best places to have dinner on free evenings -- and chose well, a time-honored NAPSG tradition.
Colleagues in those years, the 1970s and early 1980s at Lincoln -- Carol Peter, Margaret MacDonald, Jane Shipp -- all of whom went on to head their own schools, added to the strong sense of collegiality present at Lincoln at that time, and these were friendships with BJ truly appreciated and enjoyed. Her Lincoln years also saw her actively serve as a board member of the New England Association: Commission on Independent Schools.
Upon moving to Cornwall, Vermont, a town of about 300 families just a few miles south of Middlebury in 1983, BJ quickly immersed herself in areas of importance to her and to the greater community. At the same time, she created an entirely new and equally productive life for herself with her colleague and great good friend, Peg Keith, with whom she shared a home and garden which they named Cider Mill Farm.
Serving as an example that there's more than one way to follow a great career in independent schools, BJ shifted her focus from education to serving her local community, and for 20 years she led a life that was full, rich, and important to the greater Middlebury community. In that town she was a board member of Frog Hollow Craft Center, also at one point serving as their acting director, and for many years was treasurer of the Middlebury Volunteer Ambulance Association. She particularly loved the one day a year of the Memorial Day parade, when she sat in the rear of the ambulance modestly but enthusiastically waving to the children along the parade route and throwing candy.
She was for many years treasurer of the Porter Medical Center Auxiliary, and treasurer also for the Capital Campaign for the County Humane Society. BJ loved dogs, never had fewer than two, and a true anglophile, usually named one of each resident pair for a British prime minister. It's Thatcher who misses BJ right now.
BJ was also a long-time faithful volunteer for the Henry Sheldon Museum in Middlebury and its annual symphony concert. In the town of Cornwall she was elected a town auditor nine times and also elected nine years to the town planning commission. Attendees at Cornwall's annual March town meeting soon came to learn the detail that went into her work and the hard questions she posed to others.
In 2000, creating as part of its 200th birthday a Citizens Medal, Middlebury College sought to recognize and honor annually a small group of townspeople whose work over the years, often unsung, has truly made a difference. In the fall of 2003, BJ was honored for her achievements in this area by being named the recipient of the Middlebury Bicentennial Citizens Medal. Her citation, presented by Middlebury president John McCardell last November, read in part, "The community and municipal organizations you have served have been made better because of all the time and energy you have devoted to them."
More recently, another community leader noted her interest, resolve, dedication and particularly her example as someone who made a big difference to this community.
When I learned that BJ had been selected for this honor, I was out of town but I called her and said, "Isn't this wonderful?"
And she said, "I cannot imagine why I was chosen for this honor. I have only lived here 20 years."
She knew how slowly Vermonters can be to accept flatlanders, those of us who have not been born and lived there all our lives. Over the years in her school days until very recently, BJ always found time to further her lifelong interest as a woodworker, turning bowls and other implements, even making furniture in the shop at Cider Mill Farm.
Many years ago at this conference, not long after BJ moved to Vermont, Nancy Kussrow asked me if BJ was okay in a financial sense, having taken early retirement. She was, having followed her father's advice to always pay herself first in her working years. But when I probed Nancy as to why she had asked, she said, "Well, I just had a letter from BJ and she mentioned she had to sign off and go out to the shop. Is she selling crafts and wares from her house and garden?"
The image of BJ with a roadside stand was a great one to those of us who know her. But in fact, her shop, which included a whole floor of her large heated barn, several lathes, and more woodworking tools than I could name, was her second home.
BJ also took great pride in planning and growing an ever-expanded series of vegetable gardens and in planning equally successful ways to keep out marauders. In fact, she could have had a roadside stand, but instead she gave much away. "I'm a gardener who never knows when well enough is enough," she said. Midsummer or midwinter, her table and those of her friends were full of her home-grown bounty. On winter Sundays after church, Bloody Marys by the fire, made from homemade Cider Mill Farm tomato juice with a supply ample enough to last every Sunday of the winter, were a special treat.
BJ also took special pride in keeping active through the bitterest, most frigid winter days. We've had 20 below Celsius too, here, this winter -- chiding me when I skipped a trip to town when it was 20 below -- even as she relished thoughts of the turning of the seasons.
This January, her last, is the first I can remember walking into the house and not seeing seed catalogs, pages carefully earmarked for further study and maybe even purchase, stacked in a big pile by her favorite chair. She faced her battle with cancer over 18 years with great courage. Two weeks before she died, BJ handed me several carefully saved 20-pound notes as I left for a brief trip to England. She wanted new books by a favorite author and a pair of gloves to replace ones she had bought in the 1960s, looking forward to more years than she was granted.
She is survived by her brother, William D., of Canfield, Ohio; a step-mother, Betty Dean Calhoun; two nieces, a nephew, several great-nieces and nephews. A celebration of her life is planned for early May on the weekend marking her 75th birthday in the garden she loved so well. "Early May," said an old-time Vermonter, "in the garden. We'll have to wear snowshoes." BJ would have loved that.
MS. STAMBAUGH: The next resolution is for Bob Chumbook, and it was written by Barbara Wagner, who could not be here.
Robert A. Chumbook passed away on November 19, 2003, at the age of 70 from complications following unanticipated open-heart surgery for an aortic aneurysm.
Raised and educated on the East Coast, Bob Chumbook graduated from Bates College and was a pilot in the US Navy prior to a lengthy and successful career in education. He was first a public schoolteacher and coach before his appointment as headmaster of Kent Hills School in 1965.
Bob's career path took him to the Marlborough School in Los Angeles in 1970, where he dedicated 20 years as its seventh head. During his tenure at Marlborough, Bob worked tirelessly to promote high standards of excellence in all areas of school life, with particular focus on promoting diversity, improving faculty compensation, strengthening the academic program, lending great spirit and enthusiasm for athletics, and above all, creating a learning environment that emphasized honor and integrity.
A strong, decisive leader and consummate gentleman, Bob exuded style, grace, and confidence. Often seen walking about the school with a coffee cup in hand, Bob was generous in the interest and support he extended to others.
After his departure from Marlborough, Bob remained involved in independent school administration at Hawaii Preparatory Academy and Oregon Episcopal School before settling into semi-retirement in the Pacific Northwest and, most recently, in Arizona. He is survived by his wife, Rona, four children, two grandchildren, and many other relatives, colleagues, and friends, who remember Bob, as Rona described him, and I quote, "a positive, playful, loving man who gave freely of himself, spoke straight and true, laughed and cried readily, thought keenly, and felt ever so deeply."
Bob firmly believed that "one of the things that separates a great school from a good school is its ability to develop a deep sense of self-worth in the individual student." In addition, he felt "the goals of love and understanding, sensitivity and concern, warmth and caring, affirmation and acceptance, are not inconsistent with academic goals."
At the school's centennial festivities in 1989, Bob was clear in expressing the values he embraced: "It has been said that goodness without knowledge is weak and feeble, yet knowledge without goodness is dangerous, and that both united form the noblest of character."
Bob Chumbook always wanted the heart to distinguish education for the young women at Marlborough. His legacy will ensure that it always will.
The next tribute is to Agathe Keliher Crouter, and was written by Priscilla Sands, who could not be here.
Agathe Keliher Crouter was a remarkable woman and an exceptional headmistress who devoted her professional life to the education of girls. Her leadership at Springside, her teaching positions at Winsor and Spence Schools, her final position as head of the Hewitt School in New York, enriched the lives of thousands of young women as well as the faculty who taught them.
A graduate of Smith College and Columbia University, Agathe was committed to the active and vibrant life of the mind. I am every day indebted to her for her leadership and her vision as well as her unflinching commitment to the lives of our students and her professional respect for the faculty.
During her tenure at Springside, which included the tumultuous 1970s, a time when students tested their boundaries with great imagination, spirit, spunk, and determination, the community looked to Agathe to set high moral standards and intellectual leadership. True to her Smith roots, Agathe stood firm in her belief that there is great value for a school committed to the education of girls and young women, and dedicated to the development of their capacity for leadership. And while chaos and student protests, complete with a rejection of adult values, was the norm on many campuses, Agathe embarked on a period of academic enlightenment. She embraced the issues of the women's movement with a goal of encouraging confidence, courage, and leadership skills for all of her students. Agathe's strong will and convictions Carried the school through many a test.
A true intellectual, Agathe is remembered by the faculty as someone who had great respect for their work, and who encouraged them to further their own education, to be professional in every aspect of their demeanor, to understand and embrace and engage in pedagogical conversation. One said, "Agathe always began faculty meetings with a wonderful quote or reference to a New York Times article or a book she had recently read. She was constantly acquiring knowledge and information herself, and wanted her faculty to set the same example for students."
She was fair, generous and compassionate. I would add that she was extraordinarily courageous, as well. Upon hearing the news of her death, I thought of a quote from Truman Capote. I'm not sure how Agathe would have felt about that, but he once said, "Life is a moderately good play with a miserable third act."
Agathe's life was a spectacular standing-ovation kind of production with far too short a final act. Her leadership was filled with firmness, grace, and poise, and she brought a new sense of a community to the school, one that was dedicated to instilling in girls and faculty seriousness of academic purpose. She will be remembered, she will be missed, and she will never be forgotten.
The final memorial resolution is for Earl G. Harrison, Junior, and it was written by Joyce McCray.
Our friend and colleague Earl G. Harrison, Junior, died at home on November 10, 2003, shortly after his 71st birthday. He could visit with family and friends at home and he could view his beautiful garden and, in fact, give us all orders about what needed to be pruned.
Earl grew up in Rose Valley, Pennsylvania, attended the school in Rose Valley, graduated from the Westtown School, earned his BA from Haverford College, a bachelor of divinity degree from Yale Divinity School, and an MA in education from Columbia Teachers College.
I have known Earl and Jean since 1955. Dick McCray and he were classmates at the Yale Divinity School. Earl then took time away from Yale, earning his degree later, and taught at Antioch in Ohio. I wish you could have seen his performance there in "Androcles and the Lion." No, he was not Androcles, but his lion galumphed around the arena in perfect form.
A short time later we were all together in New York City when Earl was executive director of the Council for Religion in Independent Schools. He taught at Brooklyn Friends School in Brooklyn and then at the William Penn Charter School in Philadelphia. At a recent meeting at Penn Charter, two current overseers told stories about Earl as their teacher and their soccer coach.
Earl served as the headmaster of the Westtown School from 1968 to 1978, and then of Sidwell Friends School from 1978 to 1998. One story I particularly like was from his tenure at Westtown. He had broken a leg playing soccer and had trouble sleeping one night in winter. He hobbled to the Westtown Lake and there, in the moonlight, were a large number of students ice skating and breaking every rule. He watched for a while from behind a tree, and then returned home.
He served on many boards, including the board of managers of Haverford College. He was awarded honorary degrees from Haverford and from the Yale Divinity School. For many years he was an off-island trustee of the Good Hope School in St. Croix, US Virgin Islands. He also served as interim director of Friends Council on Education.
Earl Harrison was a man of many talents which allowed him success as an educator, son, husband, father, grandfather, brother, and most certainly friend. In fact, he was a truly great educator and a great Quaker educator. He brought clarity and renewed concern for Quaker values to his school. He was never too busy to help another school, to mentor a colleague, often the younger and newer Quaker heads. His comments at the Quaker Heads' Meetings had substance and his contributions were thoughtful, always humorous, and always meaningful.
He was spiritual, always "in search," and thus always learning. He was an astute and careful listener, thus always learning also. He was a partner and expert at many sports and always learning. Anyone who has played tennis with Earl knew to try to position himself on Earl's side of the net. He won a gold medal running anchor in the School Boy Mile Relay in the 1950 Penn relays, and only this last summer did he tell me about this last accomplishment. There was a humility that allowed him to learn. And there was a twinkle in those eyes. He loved a good story from which he would learn.
And the learning became teaching. At the Memorial Meeting in December there were many stories and through the messages was a continuing metaphor about Earl and his garden. "Tending the garden was like caring for the children in our schools." I suggest that it is more profound. He gave, always gave, from that garden. He never came to my house, even this past summer, without bringing flowers. So he nurtured friendships as he did other relationships, and we could enjoy him, laugh with him, rearrange the flowers, and learn from him.
Shall we miss him? Oh, my, yes. But then I remember some exchange, some tennis point, some mediation at the board meeting, and I smile and know he is still teaching and that we are still learning.
I now invite you all to stand and observe a memorial minute for our colleagues.
Thank you.
MS. BRIZINDINE: Thank you, Blair. I'd like to take a moment here and acknowledge that many of us don't miss a business meeting, wonderful reporting aside, but to hear those memorials that Blair has done year in and year out, and if you will join me in our great appreciation for Blair. (Applause.)
So transitions indeed, and I thought I would close with a poem about the very thing that Blair has had us honor. This comes from a collection from Billy Collins, who is our Poet Laureate, and it is a wonderful collection called 180 Poems, the premise of which is that you share a poem a day with a school, a class, a friend, and I recommend this book. It's a wonderful collection for all of our schools and for all of our leadership. This one in particular goes out for Blair, and also for all that she's done for us in the memorials. And it's by Robert Bly, wonderful poet, and it's called "Gratitude to Old Teachers," because indeed we just heard about four wonderful teachers in our lives.
Gratitude to Old Teachers
"When we stride or stroll across the frozen lake,
We place our feet where they have never been.
We walk upon the unwalked. But we are uneasy.
Who is down there but our old teachers?
Water that once could take no human weight --
We were students then -- holds up our feet,
And goes on ahead of us for a mile.
Beneath us the teachers, and around us the stillness."
So thank you, Blair, for ushering in these transitions to us. I invite you all now to take a brief break and be back here for the evening's events.