It was quite a week. On Tuesday, we checked in to the Sheraton Commander Hotel in Cambridge, MA so that we would be walking distance from events, and for the next four days, we dove into my 50th Harvard Reunion.
It seems impossible that so many years have gone by since I graduated, and even longer since I arrived freshman year to take on the role of Harvard student. I’d always been a studious smart kid, and getting into Harvard was the culmination of my young life, when all I knew was that good kids went to college. I graduated with my class (1973), even though I took a term off, and stayed an extra semester at the end of my four years.
Reunions are a combination of convention, retirement party, and seminar. Even before the reception the first evening, we met old friends and began to connect with the group I know best. I found friends from Comstock (my freshman dorm) and Adams House (my upperclass dorm), and sure enough, everyone was recognizable, though name tags helped.
Women who lived in Comstock Hall my freshman year, fall of 1969. (L-R): Vivian Lewis, Sharon Shurts Tisher, Sophia Lee, Louise Reid Ritchie, Sandra Matthews. Far right photo top row (L-R): Christine Pittel, Leslie Tolbert, Winifred Creamer, Linda Jackson Sowell. Bottom row (L-R): Ann Fay Mick, Amanda Cross, Joyce Heard, Cyndi Mitchell.
After conviviality and dinner, we moved to the adjacent theater for the evening’s program, a documentary on the WPA project to record accounts by survivors of slavery. Created by classmate Donna Brown Guillaume for HBO, the show was moving and impressive. It didn’t need to take a side, it quoted directly from the narratives of former slaves as they described how hard they worked, how little free time they had, and how deep the cruelty of slave-owners could be, separating families, couples, siblings, friends. From there we went home to get some rest.
Unchained Memories (Link to the documentary on You Tube)
Breakfast was each day’s first opportunity to find more long lost classmates. I have attended reunions of my class every five years or so, and find that as the years go by, people are increasingly friendly, and it becomes a pleasure to talk with anyone with whom I can find a common thread, whether I knew them in days past or not. One person I chatted with was in a production of Die Fledermaus our freshman year that remains the best English translation I’ve ever heard. I wasn’t in it, but I did attend several performances to see a friend in the chorus, and because there was a talented and handsome senior in one of the roles. I still remember it fondly.
The program began with the class survey. A general questionnaire is produced every five years. The results are always interesting–as a group, we are much more contented today than we might have once thought we’d be. A panel discussion on aging did not yield a new magic bullet to deter our gradual disintegration. Next up was lunch and more conversation. I enjoyed finding people I remembered and catching up on their families, the exotic locations in which they live or have lived, and their interests (travel, music, family, travel, and travel).
A memorial service was held in the early afternoon. Though not a churchgoer, I enjoy the memorial as a moment to think about the people who have not made it this far in life. Time takes its toll. I know the stories of only a very few: AIDS, murder, brain aneurysm, and have read about others in the compilation of personal accounts called the Red Book that comes out every five years for each class. The readings and music of the service were comforting as well as an opportunity to appreciate the vocal and instrumental ability of class members who volunteered their talents.
Following the memorial service, we met for a class photo in front of Widener Library, the building that dominates Harvard Yard. Afterward, I gathered the members of my freshman dorm for a photo. From there, I scurried to the next event called “Me in Three”, when classmates were invited to spend 3 minutes talking about whatever they wanted to. As a member of the organizing committee interested in alternative programming, I was recruited to be one of the speakers, and I practiced my bit to fit in the time constraints. My talk was, “An Indelible Memory”, about move-in day of freshman year. It is attached at the end of this post.
I had to skip the end of the session to prepare for our next event, a dinner of former Crimson staffers, called Crimeds. I was a photographer for the Crimson (campus newspaper), even though not everyone could remember me. At the Crimson I learned how to roll bulk film onto a cassette for a 35 mm camera, how to develop and print black and white photos, how to dodge and how to burn. It was an important moment for me, both building a skill, and belonging to a group, (I failed in my initial effort to be accepted as a writer, and was very pleased to make the photo board). The Crimson Photo Board was essential but very much behind the scenes. I was often around as pages and pages of text were proof-read, laid out, and pasted up for printing, and I was there when the basement press was retired.
The dinner was excellent, and the company sublime. So many people from the Crimson had careers as writers, people whose bylines you’ve read in the New Yorker, the New York Times, Washington Post, LA Times, Dallas Morning News; in addition to reporters and writers, there were politicians, ambassadors, entrepreneurs. The requisite documentary photo was taken, and we were all released back into our particular habitats, talked out for the day.
The benefit of the Sheraton Commander during reunion week is location, location, etc. It is easy walking distance to Harvard’s Science Center, ground zero for all things reunion, and made it possible to rush home and drop into bed, while still being able to arise for another day of earnest conversation.
So much to talk about, so little time. Thursday began with symposium on American democracy that didn’t have much new to say, but allowed people to express their concerns. This was followed by a symposium on the current state of the arts as a force for change, a session that I found gratifying. There are theater groups trying to become more inclusive, and museums trying to find new audiences. A different group discussed the cleanup of the Charles River and looked for threads of optimism in the area of the environment.
Another break for lunch and conversation, followed by a visit to what remains of Radcliffe, which is very little. The Radcliffe Yard was the administrative and classroom center when the two schools were separate, when I was a freshman. Today, Radcliffe consists of a post-graduate center, the Radcliffe Institute (recently renamed the Harvard-Radcliffe Institute), and a library of women’s history, though with the latest name change, Harvard seems about to execute the coup de grace and erase Radcliffe entirely. My visit to the Radcliffe Yard evoked pleasant memories, but by the afternoon (It was day three) I had to return to the hotel for some rest before the evening’s events. The weather was glorious, with higher temperatures each successive day, which put us in the 80s on Thursday.
There was a wine tasting, hot and crowded (the wine was good) and then a lengthy bus ride to travel a short distance (one way streets!) to the Radcliffe Quad for our dinner dance. A large tent and tables provided lots of space, and entertainment began with the Kuumba Singers, went to the Reunion Chorus, and ended with Sundance, the rock band of classmates that has entertained at every reunion I’ve attended.
Clockwise from upper L: Ron & Bob, Hurlbut freshmen, Sandy & Mara, Marc, me, Elizabeth, Ira, Ann, Ray, Michele, & Ron, Jonathan & Jeff
The evening was summery, allowing us to float around in our dresses and leave coats hanging on chairs. Even with all this chatting and sitting around, I still missed the chance to visit with some of the people I’ve known the longest. Perhaps I can pick up via email with those I missed, or with some of those who were unable to get to Cambridge on these particular days, though I am not sanguine about seeing Larry-who-moved-to-Australia any time soon (but I’ll read his latest book).
By Friday, the final morning of the reunion, many friends had already departed for home, vacation, or on their way to other places. I still managed to meet a few old friends and make a new one. The final symposium was one of the best, focusing on efforts at Harvard and elsewhere at racial reconciliation. Each speaker had a different perspective, a black woman who has headed a largely white prep school (Rebecca Sykes), a white man who led Harvard’s defense of affirmative action in admissions before the Supreme Court (Seth Waxman), a young Harvard chaplain, a member of the Harvard Remembrance Project, and another classmate as moderator (Sylvester Monroe).
We had to leave before the end of the session to get to our scheduled visit to the Harvard Art Museums. There was an opportunity to see a series of prints by Edvard Munch. Though he’s best known for The Scream, Munch was something of a mad printmaker, often changing prints as they were about to go to press. Parents of classmate Phil Strauss collected many versions of some of Munch’s prints and eventually donated them to Harvard. The staff were informative and welcoming, and pointed out characteristics of different time periods in the various works. I include two images that show the broad range of work that Munch produced:
The final day had many events, as the end of our 50th reunion overlapped with the new Alumni Day begun two years ago when reunions were moved away from graduation weekend. From the Art Museums, I went into Harvard Yard and heard Larry Bacow give his final remarks as president of the university. I haven’t been much of a fan of Bacow as president, not just because I was looking forward to being at graduation for our reunion (Tom Hanks spoke). Others have pointed out that Bacow was not a Harvarad undergrad and will never understand why the 50th reunion (and possibly others) want to be at graduation. I’m also disgruntled at how Harvard has handled the allegations of improper behavior among Anthropology professors. We’ll see how the new president does. Claudine Gay starts her term as president of Harvard on July first.
After the platitudes, there was some good music, but the invited speaker, NPR reporter and host Mary Louise Kelly, didn’t get to speak until almost 1 pm. That was when lunch began all over Harvard Yard and in the adjacent buildings. Thus, the most interesting part of the program began as people started to drift toward the food trucks invitingly parked nearby. I heard a bit of her talk, though I had agreed to meet Jonathan at 1 pm and could only push the time a few minutes.
We left Cambridge after lunch and headed back to Boston for our final day and a half. I was exhausted from all the visiting and walking back and forth, but happily so, and an afternoon nap fixed me up. I am glad that I went to the reunion. It was wonderful to meet up with old friends. I stand by my assertion that people grow kinder and friendlier as they grow older. If you have a notable reunion coming up, high school or college, I highly recommend attending and talking to absolutely everyone.
My Me-In-Three Presentation
First: Some of the women who you will hear about:
Title: An Indelible Memory
Llywindatravels 2024 