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Alumni
Interactive
Dr. Glenn
Fleisig ’80 becomes an “MVP” for
Major League Baseball
When New York Yankees pitching ace CC
Sabathia took the mound against the
Philadelphia Phillies’ star Cliff Lee in the
first game of the 2009 World Series, sports
commentators were abuzz over the fact that
the players once shared pitching
responsibilities as teammates on the
Cleveland Indians.
The two also shared another
common experience: both had their pitching
mechanics analyzed by Horace Mann School
alumnus Glenn Fleisig, Ph.D. (HM ’80). Dr.
Fleisig is the world-renowned expert in
helping baseball pitchers minimize the risk
of injury and maximize performance. Dr.
Fleisig is the Research Director at the
American Sports Medicine Institute (ASMI) in
Birmingham, Alabama (www.ASMI.org),
and his advice is sought out by Major League
Baseball pitchers and the teams that send
their pitching staffs to his institute.
As Sports Illustrated.com
blogger Chris Ballard wrote in an August
2009 post: “Fleisig is on the cutting edge
of pitching biomechanics, working closely
with Dr. James Andrews, who you may know as
‘That Guy Who Performs All Those Arm
Operations.’ Each year five to 10 major
league teams send three dozen or so pitchers
to the lab at ASMI. The goal is to identify
potential flaws that could lead to later
injury.” Dr. Andrews, in turn, has been
quoted as saying that he hopes the research
his colleague Dr. Fleisig is doing will
eventually make those sports-related
surgeries a thing of the past. As Medical
Director and Founder of ASMI, and the top
baseball surgeon in the world, that’s saying
a lot.
From the World Series pitching mound back to
Horace Mann
If Glenn Fleisig helped assure
the health of the stars pitching in the 2009
World Series, some steps along their road to
the top of the MLB mound lead back to this
alumnus. And Dr. Fleisig traces the work he
does with athletes today back to his
education at Horace Mann.
Fleisig’s story begins as do
many biographies of people involved with
sports. “Essentially, as a little kid, all I
wanted to do was be a baseball player,” Dr.
Fleisig recalled. After playing freshman and
JV Baseball in 9th and 10th
grades, Fleisig tried out for HM’s varsity
baseball team. “I didn’t make Mr. Clark’s
team [then Head of School Inslee (Ink)
Clark]. I continued playing football and
baseball on intramural teams.”
Describing himself as “a math
and science guy” Fleisig said he focused on
these areas as a student at Horace Mann.
Going on to MIT, the HM alumnus said he
found himself well prepared for the
challenging studies there.
“I had three teachers at Horace
Mann whose education in particular helped me
greatly at MIT, and ever since. One was Joan
Bowen in math,” said Dr. Fleisig of his
teacher who retired from Horace Mann in
2007. “I learned science from (former
teacher) Robert Cairo and Dr. Jeff Weitz
(current HM physics teacher).”
“I never imagined that my math
and science studies and my love of sports
would ever coincide, but what I learned at
Horace Mann is actually the foundation for
what I do today,” said Dr. Fleisig. “In my
work I still use physics and calculators. I
still use Newtonian physics. Obviously, I
use more advanced techniques as well. But
what I gained from Horace Mann first, and
then from MIT, was the ability to learn and
solve problems.”
It was the capacity to learn and
solve problems that Dr. Fleisig cultivated
as a student that eventually brought him to
his pre-eminent position in the world of
athletics and biomechanics. “At MIT I
majored in mechanical engineering. You had
to do a senior project. I wasn’t sure what I
was going to do for my project. Trying to
figure this out I wandered into the
biomechanics lab. People in the lab were
measuring how people move. I was fascinated.
Up until that point I always viewed math and
science as my academics, and my love of
sports as my recreational interest. That’s
when I began to see where biomechanics could
be applied to sports. I asked my professor
at MIT how I could get a job doing
biomechanics and sports. It was 1984 and the
Olympics were going to be held in Los
Angeles. My professor pointed me toward an
internship at the US Olympic Training Center
in Colorado Springs, where I worked with
athletes training for the Olympics.”
“This was a very exciting time
because of the Olympics Games that year in
Los Angeles,” Dr. Fleisig recalled. “People
there who knew of my interests began telling
me about a young up-and-coming doctor named
James Andrews who had the same interests I
did. He was the rising star in sports
medicine, particularly in baseball. He had
already operated on Roger Clemens. Dr.
Andrews was starting to become ‘the man.’ He
was working for another doctor at the time,
but he had a vision. He really wanted to set
up a complete sports medicine center. In
1984 he was a 40-something doctor and I was
a 20-something intern. I told him, if he
ever set this up, he should give me a call.”
Three years later Glenn Fleisig
was back in New York visiting his parents
for Thanksgiving and received a phone call
from Dr. Andrews. “He called me out of the
blue and said, ‘I’m ready. Do you want to
join me?’ I was surprised that he remembered
me and pleased to get that call. I answered,
‘I’m ready, too’.
“This was 1987. I was pursuing a
Masters degree in mechanical engineering
from Washington University in St. Louis, and
was almost done. But opportunity was
knocking. I just walked away from my degree
and moved to Birmingham. I’ve been here ever
since.”
Dr. Fleisig did eventually
complete his masters degree at Washington
University then went on to earn his PhD at
the University of Alabama at Birmingham (UAB),
all the while helping develop ASMI.
An institute as big as a
ballfield
“Dr. Andrews’ original idea was
to set up two places—a medical center and a
research center,” said Dr. Fleisig. “The
medical center was the Alabama Sports
Medicine and Orthopedic Center (ASMOC) at
the HealthSouth Medical Center, where Dr.
Andrews became one of the foremost surgeons
in the U.S. for knee and elbow surgeries,
and the world expert on the shoulder surgery
commonly known as “Tommy John surgery.” The
center moved to St. Vincent’s Hospital in
Birmingham in 2005, and was renamed the
Andrews Sports Medicine and Orthopedic
Center.
The research part of Dr.
Andrews’ vision took the form of the
American Sports Medical Institute, set up as
a non-profit center to do research and run
training programs for doctors. “Dr. Andrews
wanted me to head up the research, studying
the biomechanics of why people get hurt, and
how they could avoid getting hurt. He also
hired a director for the education program,”
said Dr. Fleisig.
Dr. Andrews chose Birmingham to
set up his sports medicine center. The
relatively low cost of real estate in
Birmingham made it feasible for ASMI to
acquire a space large enough to fulfill its
research and educational mission. The
Institute is equipped with training,
exercise and rehabilitation equipment. The
highlight is ASMI’s 80 foot x 20 foot x 15
foot biomechanics laboratory, housing an
eight-camera motion analysis system and a
60-foot 6-inch space—the regulation distance
between an indoor pitching mound and a home
plate. Here pitchers can actually throw as
they would on a major league ball field.
High speed cameras capture their pitching
mechanics and the images are automatically
digitized and analyzed.
“When we started the
biomechanical research we were trying to
help doctors and trainers. We were able to
show them the mechanics of elite pitchers,
particularly the motions and joint forces
produced at the shoulder and elbow. We could
quantify the demands that would be required
for a surgically repaired shoulder or elbow
of a baseball pitcher, which was drastically
different than the demands to be faced by an
elderly patient in their daily activities.
Our early studies were able to answer
questions many doctors had.”
Dr. Fleisig noted that ASMI’s
research has affected the way physical
therapy is designed for various types of
athletes. “In physical therapy, someone
might lift a heavy weight slowly. But that’s
not what a baseball player does. He should
lift a small weight quickly. I’m proud and
humbled by how ASMI has changed how doctors,
physical therapists, and athletic trainers
treat baseball injuries.”
ASMI’s research and treatment extends to all
sports, but the Institute staff have become
specialists in the baseball pitch and golf
swing, because of its emphasis on repetitive
movements. “There are a lot of differences
between a self-induced overuse injury and an
injury caused by two big football players
crashing into each other.”
From treating the injured to preventing
injuries
After over a decade of work and
research Dr. Andrews and Dr. Fleisig began
to change the focus of the Institute. “We
had had success helping people who were
hurt, but, by about 2002, we decided to also
focus on ways for people not to get hurt. We
started opening our doors to athletes and
teams who wanted to prevent injuries,”
related Dr. Fleisig. “The Mets and Yankees
are among the teams that have sent pitchers
down here. Teams tend to send their minor
leaguers, their up-and-coming guys who will
become their Major Leaguers later on if they
can stay healthy and continue improving.”
A typical visit with a pitcher
or group of pitchers would include data
capture of their pitching and then analyzing
every single aspect of their movement. “When
a pitcher comes down here, we attach
reflective markers up and down their body so
when they pitch the cameras can track the
movements of their body segments. We compute
their three-dimensional kinematics (motions)
and kinetics (forces), and compare their
data to a database of elite, healthy
pitchers,” Dr. Fleisig explained.
“We analyze parameters such as
shoulder angle and stride length. Based on
the elite database we can determine whether
they are in the normal range or out of it.
That’s where the physics I’ve learned comes
in. Some computations are simple geometry
like elbow joint angle, and others are more
complex, like elbow or shoulder torque from
three-dimensional inverse dynamics.
“It’s never guesswork. Based on
calculations, I can say to a pitcher or a
pitching coach something like, ‘he needs to
rotate his hips more.’ If someone has
something wrong with his biomechanics, we
can find it,” said Dr. Fleisig.
However, he emphasized, finding
what is wrong is only the start of the
solution. “The pitching coaches and strength
coaches have the really challenging work.
Once they understand what needs to be
improved, they need to train the athletes
and fix their flaws. The credit for the
success of pitchers analyzed at ASMI goes to
the coaches and athletes that have made the
changes.”
Major Leaguers and Little Leaguers
Whether an athlete comes from
the Mets, the Yankees or, as Dr. Fleisig
said, “is a kid from down the street” ASMI
is committed to preserving the healthful and
enjoyable aspects of athletics, instead of
watching sports become more dangerous to
those participating. He definitely sees an
increasing risk among younger athletes.
“When I got here the age of
baseball pitchers coming in for surgery was
between 25 to 35. Now we have 16-year-olds
coming in for surgery. We have found kids
are playing organized sports more now, and
they are playing longer amounts of time.
They play on travel teams and independent
teams, besides high school teams and Little
League. The ones who are getting surgery are
the ones pitching too many games.”
Drs. Fleisig and Andrews have
spent perhaps more time studying youth
baseball than pro baseball. Since the
mid-1990’s ASMI has conducted epidemiologic
studies on risk factors for youth pitchers.
Dr. Fleisig serves as a pitching safety
consultant for Little League International
and is a member of the USA Baseball Medical
Safety Advisory Committee. USA Baseball is
the governing body for all amateur baseball
in the United States.
In August 2006 Little League baseball
changed its decades-old pitching rules, to
adopt a pitch count. The pitch count,
approved by the Little League International
Board of Directors, impacts pitchers in all
divisions of Little League Baseball, from
age 7 to 18, by limiting the number of
pitches delivered in a game, based on age.
The number of pitches per game also
determines the amount of rest a player must
have before pitching again. The change was
made largely on recommendations made by Dr.
Andrews and Dr. Fleisig, who campaigned for
the safety of young athletes. While both
take pride in their work with professional
athletes, they are most proud on their
contributions to the safety of youth sports.
The new pitching rules went into
effect in April 2007. “The rules have been
well-accepted. Most moms and dads are really
pleased with them too,” said Dr. Fleisig.
“But these days there are so many
independent teams and travel teams, and they
are not regulated. Kids often play on two
teams, or they play longer, throughout the
year. Here in Alabama, where it is warm,
teams play into November and December. It’s
not the youth infielders and outfielders we
see in our operating rooms. It’s the
pitchers.”
Dr. Fleisig urges parents to
become more aware of the risks to their
kids, and not to involve them in so intense
a schedule. “Another problem comes from kids
playing one sport year around. They
specialize too early. A kid today is not
considered an ‘athlete’ but rather a
‘baseball player,’ ‘gymnast,’ or ‘soccer
player.’ Our research shows that kids who
advance to high-level sports are more often
the well-rounded athletes. We are trying to
help them find this balance.”
An MVP in every league
Glenn Fleisig has found balance himself, in
his life in Birmingham, Alabama. He’s not
the Major League ballplayer he dreamed of
becoming as a young boy, but his research
and counseling has made him MVP of major,
minor, and Little League baseball, in all
divisions.
As far as sports, he says “When
I watch baseball, I still root for the
Mets—and all of the pitchers we’ve worked
with. I find it hard to watch a football
game for pleasure, because I see the players
coming in for surgeries.”
Fleisig still plays softball
himself twice a week, and thus understands
the amateur athlete’s and weekend warrior’s
passion for the game. He has made close
friends in his adopted city of Birmingham,
and reconnected there with HM classmate Eric
Fox ’80, founder of Brittain Capital
Management, LLC. The sports authority also
has a brother in Birmingham—Dr. Wayne
Fleisig ’81, a noted psychologist at The
Children’s Hospital of Alabama.
Dr. Glenn Fleisig’s own family
includes two daughters, age 11 and 15, who
haven’t exactly pursued their father’s
passion for sports. “I love sports for the
enjoyment of it, and I tried to share that
with my children from when they were little
kids. But it’s not what they like; they like
acting and singing and dancing. Instead,
they taught me what they love. I’ve seen a
lot of musicals.”
He also greatly enjoys
replicating the experience he had with his
teachers at Horace Mann and MIT with
students of his own, including medical
students, college students, and PhD
candidates from all over the world who come
to ASMI to work with him, or conduct
research under his guidance. Along with its
pitching biomechanics evaluations, strength
and conditioning programs, and pitching
instruction, ASMI runs training programs
throughout the year for physicians,
therapists, coaches, and team trainers. It
also hosts orthopedic foot and ankle
fellowship programs, an orthopedic sports
medicine program, and a primary care sports
medicine fellowship. A student researcher
program enables undergraduate and graduate
students to spend time away from their
college or university doing research at ASMI,
with the possibility of receiving credit. To
Dr. Fleisig, mentoring those students is
both enlightening, and a labor of love.
Recalling how he “learned to
solve problems” at Horace Mann Dr. Fleisig
said, “the reason we have been so successful
at ASMI is because a lot of our work is
based on an exchange of ideas. We listen to
other colleagues and learn from each other.
We did not invent the field of biomechanics.
Our work advanced it for the field of
pitching and throwing. We took something
that didn’t exist, and we became the center
for studying it.
“My teachers at Horace Mann were
very influential to me. I hope we can
provide that for our students at ASMI.”
Interactive
Articles from Fall 2008 Magazine Coming Soon
....
Don Maggin '44
Looks at a Life in Public
Service and Literature
It
was hot that day, blisteringly hot as is
typical of an August afternoon in
Washington D.C. But, nothing else was
typical about that afternoon back in
1963 that has entered into history—least
of all the memorable words that rang out
that day from the steps of the Lincoln
Memorial.
They were the words of a young minister
calling out to some quarter-of-a-million
people gathered before him.
“I have a dream,” shouted the minister,
“that one day this nation will rise up
and live out the true meaning of its
creed: ‘We hold these truths to be
self-evident, that all men are created
equal¼. ’”
The crowd cheered as the speaker went
on: “I have a dream that one day on the
red hills of Georgia the sons of former
slaves and the sons of former slave
owners will be able to sit down together
at the table of brotherhood¼.
“I have a dream that my four little
children will one day live in a nation
where they will not be judged by the
color of their skin but by the content
of their character¼.
“I have a dream today.”
The day was August 28, 1963 and the
audience had come from all parts of the
country to participate in the March on
Washington to lobby for passage of the
Civil Rights bill then before
Congress. People of all races and
creeds, all ages and economic
backgrounds, had joined the march. Those
gathered at the Lincoln Memorial
realized they were witnessing
history-in-the-making as they listened
to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. exhort
all Americans to “let freedom ring.”
Don Maggin ’44 was in the audience, in a
distinctive spot near the podium, where
he had listened to one after another of
the esteemed speakers and legendary
performers call and sing for equal
rights in the 95 degree heat. And he
almost missed the historic speech. He
was about to step away because it was so
hot and King was two hours behind
schedule. But something kept him
planted where he stood—something that
put him front and center of that
historic moment—and he heard the
immortal speech directly from its
author, directly from up front of the
Lincoln Memorial.
Maggin was there for that historic
moment, as he has managed to be
repeatedly at different moments
throughout his life. For, at significant
points in this country’s history, this
HM alumnus was not only present—he was
working behind the scenes to make the
moment happen.
“Moments” like the founding of Project
Head Start, for which Maggin served as
national field director of this pivotal
20th Century American program
in education and social development. He
played a role in the efforts to bring
Robert F. Kennedy to the Senate and the
White House—efforts cut short by the
Senator’s assassination. And, he was
there in the White House itself—as part
of President Jimmy Carter’s
administration.
Through it all Don Maggin was a writer,
ever applying a talent awakened in him
soon after he entered Horace Mann in the
ninth grade, and which he honed into a
skill as a student at the School.
Writing was a talent Maggin used in his
continuing pursuit of a life in public
service and the arts. One such effort
had Maggin chronicle the Savings and
Loan crisis of the late 1970s through
mid-1980s that many believe still
effects our economy today. Maggin’s
reporting became the basis for his book
Bankers, Builders, Knaves and Thieves.
The book remains an important
contribution to understanding the
economic history of our country in
recent decades.
But politics and economics represent
just the tip of the many areas of
expertise of this alumnus. With
interests as diverse as Maggin’s are, it
is not surprising that his other books
reflect his involvement with the arts.
These include biographies of jazz greats
Dizzy Gillespie and Stan Getz—Dizzy, the
Life and Times of John Birks Gillespie,
and Stan Getz, a Life in Jazz. But
there’s more. Maggin’s literary
accomplishments have led him in another
direction still—to join the editorial
board of the literary magazine, The
Reading Room, created by Barbara Probst
Solomon to bring to the public quality
poetry, short stories, essays, and
art. Maggin himself is a regular
contributor of poetry.
Disparate as his political and literary
lives may have been, Maggin’s own
history speaks to the seamlessness with
which he combined a life in the arts
with one of public service—a feat he
attributes, not in small part, to his
education at Horace Mann. For, as Maggin
emphatically states, it was at Horace
Mann that he discovered his love of
writing—both as a reader, and as a
writer himself. It’s a passion that has
fueled the octogenarian’s undiminished
energy ever since. Readers can find that
passion in lines from a poem such as
Maggin’s “Stomping the Blues Away”
published in the first volume of “The
Reading Room” series in 2000.
“The beat in my blood
Lifting me to joy
In the mote-filled sunlight
Of the living room.”
It’s a poem that speaks to how life’s
most miniscule moments of inaction can
nevertheless lead to powerful emotion.
And he says, forcefully, “I am prouder
of my poetry than anything else I’ve
done.”
Maggin expressed that kind of passion
publicly in a presentation at New York’s
Merkin Concert Hall just last winter at
a rousing concert on the religious roots
of jazz that he produced and narrated.
Explaining, at the concert, the Lucumi/Santeria
roots within jazz of the African-based
religion of African peoples in the
Caribbean, Maggin told the audience, “If
the essence of jazz is improvisation,
then its soul is rhythm¼. An essential
thing to know about jazz, whether it
comes from a Christian religious
tradition or a Lucumi one, is that it is
a music of pulse, of rhythm, of
heartbeat¼. “
Audiences had the chance to hear Maggin
expound further on rhythm in a radio
show broadcast on New York’s leading
jazz station, WBGO, on October 21, 2007
in commemoration of Dizzy Gillespie’s
birthday. This jazz great would have
been 90, and his music would be a
defining presence throughout much of
Maggin’s adult lifetime—a lifetime the
alumnus recalls as having been greatly
enhanced by his years at Horace Mann.
A great awakening
Maggin describes his transition from
public school in New York at PS 166 to
high school at Horace Mann as his
“awakening.”
“My grade average at 166 was 82. My
father told me that wouldn’t cut it at
HM, and that I would have to think about
something other than sports. I was
really into football, basketball,
swimming,” said the alumnus who still
swims five times a week, and continued
to play tennis at clubs around New York
throughout his life.
A graduate in engineering from Cooper
Union, Maggin’s father, said the son,
believed that “Engineering and science
was the priesthood. And I was no good
at it. His life was in manufacturing,
and he didn’t think I’d amount to much.
“When I came to Horace Mann everything
changed. Ninth grade was extremely
important to me, and greatly influenced
what I did in later life,” stated Maggin
emphatically.
One of Maggin’s first experiences at HM
was “In an English class where the
teacher, HM grad John Reeves ‘32, asked
us each to ‘get up and tell us about the
books you’ve read.’ I had only read
three books --- Tom Sawyer, a football
book, and one other. The other boys were
naming 30 books. Well—I was the near
illiterate in the class, and I realized
it was time to change that. It was a
great awakening for me.”
At Horace Mann Maggin recalled being
exposed to Robert Frost, Edgar Lee
Masters, and Carl Sandburg in the ninth
grade. “And my tenth-grade English
teacher, Richard Wooster, started every
class by reading a poem. I thought that
was wonderful.”
“Quarterly themes” were mandatory
writing assignments in the HM of Donald
Maggin’s day. “We had to write four
creative pieces a year. They had to be
stories. I remember really sweating over
them. That was my first real writing
task. It was tough, but my teachers were
inspiring,” said Maggin adding William
Blake to a list that included Alfred
Baruth, along with Wooster and Reeves.
“I had Mr. Blake my senior year. He
would make us do a tough little exercise
everyday. We had to define a word, or
explain a line from Shakespeare.”
Attending school with such future
prominent writers as Anthony Lewis ’44,
Maggin recalled the “strong atmosphere
of good writing” that prevailed at
Horace Mann. “Peter Viereck, who had
graduated about a decade before us (in
1933) was prominent at the time. We were
very aware of the literary heritage of
the School.”
For Maggin, who would become part of
that heritage, the transition from
“jock” to jock with literary aspirations
came as a surprise to his family. On
HM’s football, basketball and track
teams—where he won a city-wide gold
medal in his event, the shot put—Maggin
was also “on every publication they had
at Horace Mann—The Record, The Mannikin,
The Quarterly, everything. My family
couldn’t believe it. They’d just joke,
‘Oh my God, he’s writing a story,’”
Maggin laughed. “Well, I never came home
from Horace Mann until 7 p.m. I was
doing so many things there.”
Living the life as a NY HMer—1940s style
Despite his athletic activities and his
newly-found literary interests Maggin
and his friends managed to get around
town and live it up during the pre-war
and war years of the 1940s. Maggin was
friends with Aram (Al) Avakian ’43, a
fellow member of the football team.
Avakian would later gain prominence as a
film editor and television director
(including of Edward R. Murrow’s “See it
Now” series), but back in high school
one of his claims to fame was his older
brother George Avakian ’37 who was
already making a name for himself in the
world of jazz.
“The roots of my knowledge of jazz began
at HM. Al Avakian would learn from his
brother George where the jam sessions
were, who was playing in the clubs, and
what record stores to go to. We would
visit the Commodore Record Shop on 42nd
Street and go into these booths they had
and listen to about 15 records and then
buy one. Billy Crystal’s father managed
the store.
“We would also go to a place called
Nick’s on Seventh Avenue and Tenth
Street and hear jazz. We were 15 years
old and we would order scotches and no
one blinked an eye. One night I had a
conversion experience. We listened to
Billy Butterfield, who had been a
trumpet star with Artie Shaw, and he was
so brilliant that he hooked me forever
on jazz. That was a turning point.
“Another night I went to Nick’s with a
classmate, Bert (Lambert) Prettyman ’44.
Fats Waller dropped by, and the great
man asked me and Bert to reposition the
piano so he could jam more easily with
Nick’s musicians. We will never forget
that moment.”
Maggin, Prettyman, and his friends would
also go to Saturday Night Groups—dances
with the girls from the Horace Mann
School for Girls at the gym in their
building at Teacher’s College on the
Columbia University campus. But, he
recalled, his group also dated girls
from Riverdale and Fieldston, whom they
flirted with on the IRT Number One train
heading to school in the mornings.
“There was a lot of social life going on
then. This was at the end of the
Depression, and there were many empty
apartments. You would go to a building
and ask the doorman to let you in to an
empty apartment—for a tip of course—and
then bring the beers and sodas and a
record player¼ ”
To university, Europe, and Back
From Horace Mann Maggin went on to
Princeton University, focusing his
studies in the University’s American
Civilization program, with a goal of
going into politics. He followed this
with an MA in the School of Politics,
Philosophy, and Economics at The Queen’s
College, Oxford. Oxford was
stimulating and liberating after
Princeton, which he found snobbish and
limiting,
His career went into high gear a few
years after Oxford when he joined Booz,
Allen, and Hamilton, the gold standard
in management consulting. “After a stint
in the U.S., Booz Allen sent me to
Europe to assist the partner who was
opening the company’s first office
there. It was the late fifties, and
American companies were beginning to see
the potential of European markets. I
was living in Zurich, but only spending
25 percent of my time there, as I
traveled throughout the Continent
working for clients such as
Transamerica, RKO Films, RCA, Libbey
Owens Ford Glass, Johnson’s Wax, and
American Motors. I was working an
exciting and hefty 220 hours per month,
making good money, and truly enjoying
the European life style.”
Public service and private investment
“But I was severely conflicted, because
I wanted very much to get into political
life back in the States. So I made the
most difficult decision of my career.
I quit Booz Allen and the good life in
Europe and joined the New York
gubernatorial campaign of Robert
Morgenthau, a Kennedy loyalist who was
opposing Nelson Rockefeller.”
While Morgenthau’s run was unsuccessful,
Maggin’s newly formed political
connection brought him into the sphere
of President John F. Kennedy’s
associates.
One of the first jobs he undertook in
response to a Kennedy initiative was to
head a successful drive to register
voters in the Bedford Stuyvesant area of
Brooklyn, N.Y. The effort was spurred by
Robert Kennedy, and its success
strengthened Maggin’s ties with RFK.
Recalled Maggin, “I was preparing for a
meeting to evaluate the Bedford
Stuyvesant results with Kennedy’s
brother-in-law, Steve Smith when we
heard the news of JFK’s assassination,
on November 22, 1963.”
When Robert Kennedy launched his
successful 1964 campaign for a New York
Senate seat, Maggin ran New York City
field operations as he opened 17
storefront campaign offices throughout
the five boroughs.
All the while Maggin characteristically
kept his hands in the various pies that
have defined his life—including
business, writing, and the arts. “At the
same time that I was doing Bobby’s
campaign I was working in business,
managing assets for several clients. We
financed and produced a children’s show
on CBS called Linus the Lionhearted with
Ruth Bussey, Mel Brooks, and Sheldon
Leonard doing dialogue. Several of the
characters appeared on the cereal boxes
of the sponsor, General Foods. We
decorated my daughter’s room with ‘cels’
from the animators.”
While Maggin was earning money for
himself and others in the private
sector, he continued his pursuit of
public service. The two sides of Don
Maggin came together when the alum was
called to Washington D.C. to consult on
what would become Project Head Start.
The activist presidency of Lyndon Baines
Johnson was challenged with fulfilling
the promise of a better society that
JFK’s Camelot administration had
awakened. Characterized by his passage
of the Civil Rights Act and his launch
of the War on Poverty programs,
President Johnson focused particular
attention on children, beginning with
the youngest.
The goal was to give pre-schoolers the
wherewithal to make the most of their
future educational opportunities. As
Maggin explained, “Project Head Start
began with a $25 million program LBJ had
originally undertaken to evaluate the
effects of childhood poverty on
learning. In 1965 he turned it into a
$350 million country-wide summer program
which would include education,
pediatrics (physical exams, free
eyeglasses for kids who needed them),
and hot meals.”
Head Start is one of the few 1960s
social programs which continue to
flourish today. Launched by the Office
of Economic Opportunity in 1965, Head
Start was transferred, in 1969, to the
Office of Child Development in the U.S.
Department of Health, Education and
Welfare, and is now a program within the
Administration on Children, Youth and
Families in the Department of Health and
Human Services. Back when the program
began, it was Maggin who was called upon
“to iron out operation issues.”
Maggin remembers, “I got a call from
Washington asking if I could come down
and become National Operations
Director. Our main task was to
negotiate 13,000 separate contracts,
because the costs for each of the 13,000
local operators varied greatly. For
instance, a school lunch didn’t cost the
same in New York as it did in other
communities. We had to get the programs
up and running in a scant three months,
and my staff of 300 often worked until 9
or 10 PM. One of the good things we did
was to funnel half of Mississippi’s
money into Black organizations despite
vociferous opposition from the state’s
white power structure.”
The following year Washington asked
Maggin to straighten out New York City’s
faltering Head Start operation. During
this six-month assignment, he met Jane
Correa, who would become his wife. She
had founded in Harlem the Addie Mae
Collins Community Center (named for one
of the girls murdered in the 1964
Birmingham church bombing), where she
ran Head Start and other social
programs. Divorced now, the two remain
good friends and spend time together
frequently with their daughter and her
family.
The work not only fulfilled Maggin’s
idealism—it kept him connected with his
jazz interests, and brought him together
with Dizzy Gillespie about whom he would
later write. “I met Dizzy when I asked
him to participate in a benefit for a
Harlem Head Start center where I served
on the board. I went to his home in
Englewood, New Jersey, and he took me
downstairs where he had his piano and
other musical equipment and right away
he played me something he had been
composing. He always had to have a piano
around to work out his harmonic ideas.
Only after he played this for me, did we
begin talking, and he agreed to
participate.”
Maggin crossed paths with Dizzy again a
couple of years later, when he helped
NYU get a National Endowment for the
Arts grant for five concerts on jazz
history, and produced the events with
such luminaries as Gillespie, Max Roach,
Eubie Blake, The Thad Jones-Mel Lewis
Orchestra, Sonny Stitt, and Les McCann.
From the Kennedy Clan to the Carter
White House
In 1966 Maggin began a 25-year career as
a free-lance writer for The Christian
Science Monitor, covering such varied
subjects as the future of cable TV (“I didn’t
think it was too promising. I was
wrong,” admits Maggin), Japanese
imports, and Dizzy, which later became
the basis for his book Dizzy, the Life
and Times of John Birks Gillespie.
Maggin’s writing kept his focus away
from politics in the aftermath of the
tragic deaths of John and Robert
Kennedy. “With the Kennedys in eclipse,
I didn’t know when I would get back into
politics. After Bobby’s 1968
assassination I just hibernated
politically for awhile,” he recalled.
Then, in the 1970s Maggin’s interest in
politics returned full force. By the
mid-seventies “I was feeling that the
Democratic Party should move toward the
center, and I really liked Jimmy Carter.
I thought he could take the party
there.” said Maggin.
In spite of the advice of political
friends, Maggin joined the Carter
campaign. He took the number two spot
in Florida, a pivotal state which Carter
won, and as a reward for that work, was
appointed Executive Director of the
Democratic National Committee.
Soon after, Maggin was asked to become
part of a White House management
consulting team which would reorganize
the Executive Office of the President,
“the President’s Shop” which included
the White House, the National Security
Council, the Office of Management and
Budget, the Council of Economic
Advisors, the Trade Representative, and
several smaller units. “We reduced 19
existing units to 13, cut the staff by
25 percent, and streamlined the domestic
policy mechanism,” said Maggin.
A few months later, Don Maggin became a
permanent member of the White House
staff and stayed on until Carter left
office in 1981. Building on his Booz
Allen experience, he spent two years
working at evaluating the performance of
the Administration’s cadre of Under
Secretaries and Assistant Secretaries
and recruiting new management talent as
necessary. During Maggin’s final White
House year, he concentrated on energy
policy and helped create the Synthetic
Fuels Corporation.
The alumnus would later write about
managing the presidency and Carter’s
reorganization efforts. Using his
personal experience as the basis for an
article was a throwback to the training
the journalist received at Horace Mann.
“Mr. Baruth used to give assignments to
go out and experience something and then
write about it. I went to Aqueduct race
track and worked as a groom, and at
day’s end they would let me ride the
quarter horses out onto the race track.
Then I wrote a piece about it which
appeared in The Quarterly.”
Writing, real estate and jazz, of course
When Maggin’s time in the White House
came to an end, he returned to writing.
Combining his business acumen with his
journalistic skills, he landed on a
juicy beat—the Savings and Loan scandals
which unfolded in the late 1970s and
continued to have aftershocks into the
80s, and beyond. Maggin’s book on the
subject Bankers, Builders, Knaves and
Thieves tells the story.
During the 1980s, he worked at the
investment management firm, Train Smith,
and is currently associated with a
successor company, Montrose Advisors.
Maggin also got seriously into real
estate during the 1980s and 1990s. He
participated in partnerships with his
wife and others to buy three Manhattan
commercial buildings and convert them to
residential use, creating more than 100
apartments. And, on his own, he
developed and sold off a 52-acre
subdivision in the Hamptons.
It was a Maggin article on Dizzy
Gillespie that interested his literary
agent—and led her to ask for a book on
jazz saxophonist Stan Getz. The book on
Gillespie followed the one on Getz, and,
now, for anyone with any doubt about
Maggin’s expertise on these two jazz
giants, he chose the tracks and wrote
the explanatory notes for Verve Record
Company CDs on both artists. He also
wrote a 7,500 word essay which
accompanied a 2006 Mosaic Records boxed
reissue set of seven Gillespie CDs.
Maggin feels he has a few more books
inside him, and he’s researching one
now, on Katherine Dunham, who brought
African dance into this country’s
classical and modern dance world.
Maggin’s writing today continues to
include poetry—particularly for the
Reading Room, which brings him back to
another Horace Mann connection.
The magazine is the brainchild of
Barbara Probst Solomon—the U. S.
Cultural correspondent for the great
Spanish Newspaper El Pais, the author
of six books, contributor to many U.S.
publications including The Wall Street
Journal, The L. A. Times, Slate, and The
New Yorker, formerly professor of
literature at Sarah Lawrence and CUNY.
Maggin said he first became acquainted
with the publisher’s family through her
brother Mark Probst ’43, whom he
remembered as a “very sophisticated,
dapper guy”—though the two were only a
grade apart.
The name came back into Maggin’s
consciousness through a Solomon article
which appeared in The New Yorker in 1996.
The article, which focused on F. Scott
Fitzgerald, mentioned one of two
freestanding mansions still remaining on the
Upper West Side of Manhattan. There was an
editorial glitch about the mansions, and
Maggin wrote to The New Yorker about it. He
knew about one of the buildings because an
HM classmate, Leon Schinasi ‘44, lived in
it.
Maggin recalled. “He was a really nice guy,
very generous and sophisticated, but kind of
lonely. His dad was dead, his mother was
seldom around, and he and his sister and a
few servants lived in this huge place (now a
school) which stretches for half a block
down Riverside Drive. I lived nearby, and I
would go over there sometimes on weekends
and hang out with him. He threw our senior
party in the mansion, with a live band and
lots of booze, and I got drunk. I believe
he was the first one in our class to pass
away.”
Maggin recalled, “Barbara Solomon called me
personally to respond to my letter. She told
me the mistake was an editorial error at the
magazine, but then we got to talking about
her brother and Horace Mann, and Dalton
where she went to school, and the people we
knew in common. I was engaged to two girls
who went to Dalton. Then, after talking for
about 20 minutes, we decided to meet for
lunch.”
Solomon told Maggin about her idea for a
literary magazine that would publish first
class prose, poetry, and art work. And he
was honored when she asked him to contribute
poetry and help out editorially.
Maggin commented, “Barbara is a terrific
magnet for talent—attracting Saul Bellow,
Norman Mailer, the great painter Larry
Rivers, Stanley Crouch, and the outstanding
Spanish writer Juan Goytisolo to the Reading
Room advisory board. I was captivated by
the very high quality of the writing and art
work. We have published, for example, two
Nobel Prize winners (Bellow and Jose
Saramago), the great inter-war writer Joseph
Roth, Goytisolo, Robert Bly, Crouch, James
Purdy, and Madison Smartt Bell, and three of
our covers were by Rivers. The other
things that drew me to the Reading Room were
its international scope (writings from
India, Kenya, Portugal, Morocco, Spain,
Israel, Cuba, France, and Russia, and art
from Holland and Spain) and its openness to
young writers.”
Thus—HM
alumnus Donald Maggin has come full circle,
through his associations with Horace Mann,
to pursue what he learned to love at the
School some 65 years ago: jazz, as a
recognized expert; writing; and
publications, on The Reading Room editorial
board as he once was on The Record, The
Quarterly and Mannikin at Horace Mann. He
also continues to enjoy stong and lasting HM
friendships—while still exploring
“assignments” left to write.
Jody Lewen ’82,
Prison Professor
“Through education, which has
given me so much hope and an avenue for
change, my mind has expanded and my moral
values have been challenged to rethink my
world view. I credit education for showing me
that I do have what it takes to be a better
citizen, and a better father with much to
contribute to society…. Now my aspirations are
such that I want to pursue a career in social
work in the field of reentry, helping people
like myself reenter their communities as
productive citizens, never to return to a life
of crime and violence.” – from the valedictory
speech of Bobby Evans, Patten University at
San Quentin class of 2006, and a former
student of Dr. Jody Lewen ’82, Executive
Director, the Prison University Project.
For Jody
Lewen ’82, one of the most profound memories
of going to Horace Mann School was the actual
going there—on a bus ride from her Manhattan
home through the burned out upper reaches of
the borough and of the South Bronx of the late
1970s.
The young
student loved the bucolic atmosphere of her
Riverdale campus, but could never stop
thinking of the privilege that was hers—to go
to school on a picturesque campus while her
peers from the neighborhoods she passed along
the way darted through broken glass and
needle-strewn playgrounds to classrooms in
time worn and often substandard school
buildings.
The awareness that others were not able to
claim the advantages that were hers persisted
in Jody’s consciousness throughout her Horace
Mann, college, and graduate school years.
Thus, when as a graduate student in the
Department of Rhetoric at the University of
California at Berkeley, she became aware of a
teaching opportunity she felt would truly
enhance the lives of others, she seized it.
The venue was about as far from the academic
setting she had studied in as a young woman as
possible: it was a classroom at San Quentin
State Prison, where she came to teach in a
college program there, which was run entirely
with volunteer instructors. “As a graduate
student preparing for an academic career at an
‘elite research institution,’ I was almost
resigned to the idea that I would end up
teaching in classrooms filled mostly with 18
to 22-year-old white people. I thought if I
wanted to be an academic, I would just have to
continue pursuing a traditional career in
higher education. When I heard about the
program at San Quentin, this just lit up for
me.”
Built by
inmates in 1852, San Quentin is one of the
country’s best-known prisons. It’s a
surrounding where death sentences are carried
out and life sentences make its walls a final
address for many among the 5,500 inmates.
Today Dr. Lewen is executive director of the
Prison University Project and site director of
the San Quentin campus of Patten University.
Both positions became hers through her own
efforts first to save and then strengthen the
program after she began teaching at San
Quentin in 1999.
Filling a
need
The college
itself was started in 1996, when a professor
from the University of California at Davis,
administrators from then-Patten College (today
a small independent university in Oakland,
California), and a few volunteer instructors
working with donated textbooks and no budget
whatsoever, created a plan for a small college
at the prison. The need for such a program
became apparent in 1994, when the Violent
Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act barred
all prisoners in the U.S. from receiving Pell
Grants. Until that time, this financial
need-based federal grant program had been the
primary source of funding for prison higher
education programs throughout the country. As
a result of this Act, almost overnight, all
but a handful of such programs shut down for
lack of funds. By 1996 fewer than 10 programs
existed—down from 360 in the late 1980’s.
Within the
last decade, Patten University at San Quentin
has grown into a program that conducts three
13-week semesters per year, with approximately
12 classes each semester in the humanities,
social sciences, math, and science. Students
who complete the entire 60-unit curriculum can
earn an Associate of Arts degree in liberal
arts. Students are required to hold a GED or
high school diploma before they can enroll in
the program. Sixty-one students have completed
their degree while at San Quentin, and many
more are now continuing their studies on the
outside. All the instructors in the program
still work as volunteers.
In her first year teaching at San Quentin Jody
Lewen’s courses covered literature,
communications, critical thinking, and
composition. She was taken with the enthusiasm
of the students, and the intelligence and
creativity she found among them. Participating
in the program was so intellectually
invigorating and emotionally fulfilling that
she was anxious to continue. But in August of
2000, the volunteer coordinator of the program
suddenly announced that he was leaving, and it
was clear that the program would not be able
to go on without someone to guide it. Unable
to accept how the loss would affect the
program’s students, Lewen stepped in as
director. A doctoral candidate at the time,
she also went on to complete her PhD, and
ultimately to found the Prison University
Project (www.prisonuniversityproject.org).
PUP goes
beyond the College Program at San Quentin. A
non-profit organization, its mission is to
provide free, high-quality higher education
for people incarcerated at San Quentin State
Prison and throughout the California State
Prison system; to create a national model for
such programs; and to generate support for
prison education, training, and recovery
programs.
According to
Dr. Lewen, many of the inmates—including some
who will never leave San Quentin—have found
that attending classes is a freeing experience
in itself, with its own intrinsic value. These
include some inmates who know they may never
leave San Quentin and apply what they have
learned to life on the “outside,” she said.
For those who
will eventually re-enter the world at large,
the program is a tool of great value to
society. As Dr. Lewen told Larry King when he
and his CNN camera crews visited the prison in
June 2006, “Prison education is crime
prevention. It’s about public safety. It’s
making a choice about society. Are we going to
prioritize public safety, or are we going to
prioritize vengeance?”
For Dr. Lewen,
the choice is clear. And it’s no different
than the one her father and mother, Bert Lewen,
a former HM Trustee, and Lynne Rubin, made for
their daughter when she was a young woman
going to Horace Mann—to make available the
absolute best education possible to everyone
who wants and needs it. As Bert Lewen
recalled, he was as proud on June 29, 2006—the
day his daughter presided over graduation
exercises at San Quentin—as he was the day she
graduated from Horace Mann.
Following
the “Academy”— from learning at Horace Mann to
teaching at San Quentin
For Professor
Jody Lewen the experience of attending Horace
Mann in her formative years underlies her
motivation in pursuing the work she does
today. It also informs how she goes about that
work.
“When people
ask me what I do, someone always says I must
be motivated by white guilt,” said Dr. Lewen
of her deep involvement with the Prison
University Project at San Quentin—a prison
that incarcerates people of all races and
strata of society. “That’s not it. I think
what drives me is a sense of the wastefulness
and absurdity of inequality.”
Dr. Lewen
traces her sensitivity to inequality to her
childhood and schooling at Horace Mann. “The
experience of the exclusivity of Horace
Mann—being shipped out of Manhattan and going
on the school bus through Harlem to Riverdale
– was strange. As a kid I had this sense of
disbelief. Being in an environment like Horace
Mann’s and seeing the contrast on the way to
school left me in a lot of confusion. School
was like a planet we were transported to a
spaceship. I wondered why these other schools
we passed on the way weren’t good enough for
me. I was a curious kid and I was seeing these
discrepancies. I never got over that.
“The
concentration of wealth and privilege seemed
irrational to me. It still does. But I don’t
do this work because I feel badly about
myself. I just feel the inequality doesn’t
make sense. It also feels unethical to allow
it to continue.”
Dr. Lewen’s
thoughts certainly apply to the social and
economic discrepancies of the world. But as an
educator she focuses, specifically, on the
shortcomings she sees in schools. “For most
kids, especially at urban public schools,
being at school is like being at a crowded
beach with just one person there who’s
supposed to make sure you don’t drown. At
Horace Mann it was more like you were at a
private beach where there is one lifeguard for
every ten kids,” she said. “It’s not that we
don’t know how to run good schools in this
country. And yet not many schools are run this
well.”
Basic
skills and teachers’ attention
Like many HM
alums, Dr. Lewen continues to appreciate the
focus on basic skills that characterized her
Horace Mann education—and served as tools to
apply to critical thinking.
“The high
quality of the education I received just in
mastering basic skills is so important to me,
even today. I remember mostly learning to
write well, in small classes. We had so much
access to our teachers, who were themselves
very skilled. I don’t know what I would have
done without this education. Writing is such
an important part of my life.”
One of the
things that most impressed Jody Lewen about
her Horace Mann education was the attention
the teachers paid to their students. “We had
teachers who would work on something with you
until you got it.”
Among those
teachers Dr. Lewen recalls, particularly,
Gordon Newcomb, Tek Young Lin, and “Bill Jahn,
who coached track and taught psychology.” A
self-proclaimed “terrible math student” Lewen
said she was “very involved in running” while
at Horace Mann.
“For me,
starting out in life and going out in the
world, it was a given that any school you were
in would have teachers who wouldn’t quit until
you ‘got’ what you were supposed to learn. If
you haven’t been exposed to that kind of
education, you don’t know what it’s like. But
if you have, well, it’s like driving a great
car. It’s hard to go back.
“Horace Mann
gave me a vision, an understanding of the
quality of care each child should receive.”
Coming to
teach at San Quentin was eye-opening to Dr.
Lewen in dozens of ways. In terms of quality
of education, she learned that the
discrepancies were even more profound than she
had imagined. “At San Quentin I meet people
who have graduated high school and yet can
barely read or write. It makes you wonder,
what in the world is going on out there?
Making sure students can read well is one
thing a school should be expected to do; no
matter where they are, parents should be able
to expect teachers to teach.”
To ensure
that students interested in the College
Program at San Quentin will be able to keep up
with its demands, all students are required
not only to have either a high school diploma
or a GED, but to take a year of college
preparatory courses in math and English,
unless they pass out of those courses through
a placement exam. For Dr. Lewen, it wasn’t
enough for students’ writing to be
intelligible; it needed to be strong. This, in
turn, would make their academic experiences
more meaningful, as well as making them more
effective and successful in their future
professional lives.
“Here’s where you can see my Horace Mann
background raising its head,” Dr. Lewen
laughed. “Here I am, still Little Miss Private
School thinking, ‘I don’t care if you are
doing life without parole – you still need to
know how to use a comma!’ Even in college I
was interested in the politics of educational
access – largely because I saw how strongly
quality of education influenced outcomes later
in life. Here – seeing the need, the desire,
and the potential of these students – I’ve
become a zealot. But now that I think of it,
you could say I’m just advocating like the
average HM parent does for their kids!”
The lack of knowledge of basic skills Jody
Lewen first saw among her students at San
Quentin was one of the things that deepened
her involvement with the program from one of a
volunteer who came to teach a semester’s class
to a volunteer who came back to improve the
program itself from within. “When I started
volunteering I realized pretty quickly that
there was important remedial work that was not
being done. That first semester, when I got
my first set of papers back and found all this
evident in the students’ writing, I told them,
‘there is a whole bunch of stuff you all still
need to learn about academic writing.’
Eventually I talked to them frankly about my
concern that we were inadvertently lowering
the bar, maybe for fear of overwhelming them,
and that I felt we were patronizing them by
not challenging them as rigorously as we would
if they were, say, at Berkeley. I basically
asked them, ‘where do you want us to set the
bar?’ One guy said, ‘I don’t want to be in a
‘prison college program’ – I want to be in
college. And everyone else nodded
vigorously. So before going back to where
we’d begun, I started teaching them the
basics. The results were unbelievable. I’ve
never seen people learn so fast – they were
like sponges. When I think about it,
especially as a teacher and an administrator,
that semester changed my whole life.
“Formally we talk about adult education, but
in reality we often seem to assume that once
someone’s an adult, it’s no longer possible to
give them what they – for whatever reason –
missed when they were young. We act like it’d
be unreasonable or ineffective to invest the
resources in adults that we should have
invested in them when they were children.
Instead we act like it’s no longer an option –
like ‘woops, sure messed that one up – oh
well, too late.’ Nowhere is this mentality
more extreme than when people consider the
idea of helping people in prison.
“So anyway, I started holding meetings with
other people teaching in the program, asking,
why aren’t we holding these students to the
same standards as we would other adult
students? Part of it, I think, was a sort of
unconscious racist, classist attitude – an
underlying belief that these students might be
incapable of learning all these details of
standard written English, or even that it
would be inappropriate to expect them to.”
Dr. Lewen
learned the problem is not one limited to high
schools. “Occasionally we get students who
have done one or two years in community
college, and they still don’t have the skills
they need. Somebody, actively or implicitly,
or by default, gave up on them. Actually, in
the case of these students, hundreds of people
have given up on them along the way.”
In answer to the concern Dr. Lewen identified,
she and her colleagues initiated a program of
preparatory classes for those entering the
college program. “It completely changed the
academic standards of the program. I think it
also enormously strengthened our credibility
in the eyes of our students.”
The
personality of prison life
The second revelation to Dr. Lewen is the one
that piques the interest of most who want to
know what life inside the prison is like—from
her friends as well as those who have
interviewed her, particularly for several
major newspapers and television programs. That
is: how does she find the prison population
and how does she work with the prisoners.
Here Dr. Lewen’s answer speaks more to the
society surrounding San Quentin than to the
one within its walls.
“First of
all, there’s really no “They” there; people in
prison are not all the same – they are as
diverse characterologically as people on the
street. What they frequently have in common
is a poor economic background, a low level of
education, and/or a history of drug or alcohol
addiction. But none of this actually tells
you anything about an individual’s
personality, or their dreams, or their
potential. If we imagine people in prison as
just stupid and mean, we have no expectations
of them or for them,” Dr. Lewen said. “But if
we think of them as bright and capable, we
start to wonder what happened, how they got
there. We start to think about what we, or
they, might’ve done differently to keep them
from ending up where they are now. You start
to lose interest in blame and you start
wondering about possibility – about strategies
for intervention, about prevention, about
recovery – about what it takes to give a human
being the tools they need to live a safe,
healthy, productive life.
“My dad used
to tease us by doing the math to figure out
how much money we would have cost him by the
time we finished college – today I imagine
what their lives would have been like if that
much money had been invested in every one of
these guys, starting with pre-school. And
yet we don’t think of people having ended up
in prison. We think of criminals as having
ended up in prison – as if it had always been
their destiny to end up there – as if there
were something natural about the situation. A
huge part of my job is, in a sense, to
denaturalize incarceration – to see people in
prison as in every way part of the larger
society, and to help others see them this
way,” said Dr. Lewen.
Enabling others to see prisoners as she now
does constitutes a significant part of the
work Dr. Lewen does today as executive
director of PUP—particularly funders and
policy-makers who could help ensure the future
of the program at San Quentin, and others like
it. Doing so would not only help those in
prison but would benefit society, she
explained.
Benefits
to society, and to prison culture
“There are
173,000 people in prison in California – over
two million in this country – California
spends about $9 billion per year just on
Corrections. And yet we, as a society, don’t
want to know about them. That, ironically, is
the problem we face in trying to fund this
sort of thing. We spend billions to warehouse
people but no one wants to spend a few million
to educate them. We even run into that within
the philanthropic community. We often get a
lukewarm reaction to requests for funding,
even from folks whose stated mission is to
provide access to higher education to
disadvantaged populations, because the
philanthropic community sees prisons as
something completely apart from the society as
a whole. And people think that somehow it’s
too late for those in prison. I’m always
asking, ‘Too late for what?’”
However, Dr.
Lewen continued, there are important arguments
as to why to strengthen education programs.
One is fiscal. “Education level is directly
connected to recidivism,” she said. “In
California, 70 percent of people who come out
of prison are back in within three years. But,
that figure drops into the single digits for
those who have attended college while inside.
In California, it costs about $35,000 a year
to keep someone in prison. Most prisons are
operating at around 200% of their design
capacity, and the system is dangerously
overcrowded. We urgently need to reduce the
prison population. Plus, ninety-five percent
of people in prison do come back out sooner or
later, so what happens to them inside – and
how it affects their physical and mental
health, and their ability to hold a decent job
and raise their kids – is also a public health
and safety issue.”
The
difficulty former prisoners have finding a job
when they return to society is understood. But
those who have completed or even participated
in classes while at San Quentin have found the
experience to be advantageous when they go out
seeking work. One San Quentin alumnus wrote
back to those still in prison about how the
transcripts and recommendation letters he
compiled from his time in the San Quentin
College Program helped him obtain a job on the
outside. “All the positive work you do in
prison—it does hold water in society. I would
encourage anybody to throw that TV out of your
cell, throw out those dominos, and know that
life can change right there where you are
at—because there are numerous volunteers who
are willing to give up their time so you won’t
have to do time ever again.”
But what of those remaining on the inside? Dr.
Lewen describes the positive effects of
education even on these prisoners. Along with
the sense of dignity the prisoners themselves
gain, many continue to interact with family
members on the outside. “There is the
‘breaking the cycle’ argument,” she said.
“More than half of prisoners have children,
and fifty percent of the children of prisoners
end up in prison themselves. We think a lot
about the kind of impact this program can have
on the next generation. When our students get
out, they have a chance to break that cycle,
by actively supporting their children’s
education. Even while their dads are in
prison—you find that the children of prisoners
who are in school take their own schoolwork
more seriously. Our students often talk about
this – and about how they finally have
something they are proud of that they can
share with their kids. They talk during visits
about homework both are doing. They talk about
their schoolwork when they write letters home,
they send each other copies of their work.”
Especially with those serving life sentences,
their participation in education influences
the culture of the prison, Dr. Lewen
explained. “Those are often the role models –
they’re often older, almost like father
figures to a lot of the other younger
prisoners – and their participation is a
powerful reason why a lot of the younger guys
join the program. Our students walk around
carrying calculators! It makes an impression.
In addition, they are often strong advocates
for education – they often actively recruit
and mentor other prisoners – including those
who are just learning to read,” said Dr. Lewen.
The classroom is a place of relative physical
and emotional security. It thus frequently
becomes a site not only of intellectual
growth, but of both personal reflection and
psychological healing. “The classroom becomes
a place to improve critical thinking skills.
This often translates into a person becoming a
much more confident, vibrant social being.
Also, education is traditionally a racism-free
zone, relative to the rest of the prison. Our
students spend a lot of time with people from
other races in classes, when in the regular
prison setting they would never have had the
chance to get to know each other. This also
presents issues they have to deal with, like,
‘we’re friends when we’re in school. How do we
interact outside of the classroom?’”
Teaching
Frankenstein and other insights
Aside from the fulfillment she
finds running the program at San Quentin, for
Dr. Lewen the experience of teaching there has
been as intellectually challenging as anything
she’s encountered in the analytic life of one
immersed in traditional academics. She
described the insights she gained through
teaching Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein to
inmates in a paper she delivered to the
American Comparative Literature Association at
Yale University in February 2000.
“Student
essays on this novel which I have read in the
past have often been in some sense influenced
by autobiographical reflections; but the
essays these students wrote on Frankenstein
brought my understanding of the possibility of
reader identification to a whole new level.
And this was true not only for students in the
class who had actually at some point in their
lives committed murder. ... They were
extremely astute readers of what I would call
the psychological experience of the turn to
evil.”
A number of
Dr. Lewen’s San Quentin students spoke of
Victor Frankenstein in legal terms. “They said
he was obviously an accessory. They felt he
knew what was going on with the monster and he
didn’t tell anybody. He didn’t report it, so
he was complicit.
“That is the
thing that shocked me the most, because it was
so different from what the stereotype teaches
you to expect. A lot of people in prison feel
they’ve done terrible things in their lives.
For many, a sense of grief and horror over
what they have done is the central motivating
force in their lives. They are also deeply
suspicious of and often thoroughly disgusted
by excuses, so they were incredibly impatient
with Dr. Frankenstein. The irony is that in
spite of what we often imagine, a lot of
people in prison are light-years ahead of
people on the street in terms of recognizing
and accepting responsibility for their own
actions. Sometimes this almost goes overboard
– at times they’ll try to ‘accept’
responsibility for things over which they had
no control.”
One of Dr.
Lewen’s students was not able to turn in a
paper he had completed because it was
destroyed during a search by prison guards for
something that had gone missing. “He didn’t
want to tell me what had happened, for fear
that I would think he was making excuses for
himself. He had no concept that there could be
a valid excuse for something! They are
constantly screening for BS – both in others
and in themselves.”
When people
hear Dr. Lewen works in a prison, they often
imagine she has left – or even “sacrificed” –
a career in academia to become an activist.
She bristles at the assumption. “I generally
feel this career is the logical progression of
my education.” A graduate of Wesleyan
University, Jody Lewen earned a Master’s
degree at the Freie Universität, Berlin in
comparative literature and philosophy, with an
emphasis on early 20th century
Jewish German and Austrian authors. Said Dr.
Lewen, “I feel so much of what I studied in
Europe and in particular the literature of the
time between the wars helped me prepare for
the prison experience – the mind-numbing
bureaucracy, the authoritarian, paramilitary
culture.
“Maybe even
more importantly, studying in Germany I spent
a lot of time contemplating how people did
nothing in the face of evil – how an entire
society could become completely indifferent to
the welfare of an entire category of people,
largely as a result of demonic stereotypes
which had become utterly entrenched in the
culture. It is a privilege to have a job that
allows you to intervene even in the smallest
way in something like this. For me, leaving
traditional academia and entering the prison
was like moving from reading cookbooks, to
actually cooking.
“What I’m
doing today feels like the actual living of a
conscious intellectual life. I finally feel
like I could actually look all those authors
in eye, and explain the decisions I’ve made.
The argumentative and persuasive essays I used
to write for conferences or journals are the
grant applications and op-ed pieces I write
now – I’m simply putting what I learned into
practice.”
Dr. Lewen
says she is deeply “humbled” by her ongoing
contact with the prisoners in her program.
“When I think about the reading I didn’t do in
college, or the papers I wrote the night
before... What’s different here is that no
one is pressuring these students to be in
class. In an 8 a.m. class on most college
campuses, about 30 percent of students are
dozing off in the back row. Most of our
students get up by 5am, work all day for about
13 cents an hour, and attend class from 6:30pm
till 8:45pm – and yet I’ve never seen anyone
fall asleep.
Continuing
the quest
News about
the Prison University Project and its success
has attracted great interest. Though her
primary job at the College is to oversee
academic programs – curriculum development,
faculty recruitment and training, teacher and
student advising – she is also completely
responsible for the financial development of
PUP, as the program receives no state or
federal funding. A capital campaign is in the
works to raise funds for an endowment for the
program, and eventually, for a new education
building inside San Quentin “to provide
classroom space and meet the strong demand
among inmates for higher education,” she
said. “Unfortunately, the California
Department of Corrections is too mired in
politics, bureaucracy, and endless other
severe crises to address our need for
additional space. But I’m just not willing to
give up on this.”
This leads to
another way her Horace Mann background
influences her work today: Dr. Lewen reflected
on the changes that have taken place on the
campus in the last decade. “I know buildings
can be built. I know capital campaigns work.
I’ve been listening to my dad talk about HM’s
capital campaigns for decades. And that has
created a monster, because no matter how many
people tell me this can’t be done, I am not
going to rest until I have adequate classroom
space at San Quentin.”
Until a
recent grant enabled her to fund regular
salaries for the program’s two full-time
administrators, Dr. Lewen was not even drawing
regular payment for the intense work she was
doing. “My father was always wondering how I
could go on like this – getting paid one
month, but not the next. But when he and Ros
(Roslyn Allison)
came to graduation this past June – met not
just our students, but their parents, their
wives, their kids – I think they finally
understood. It’s the opportunity of a
lifetime.”
Donald S. Hillman ’42,
TV Pioneer: making history through history
Along with the turkey and trimmings, the
confluence of family, friends and football,
alumni of the Class of 1942, and all other HM
classes for that matter, can look forward to
another treat over Thanksgiving 2006.
If you turn your TV to The History Channel
you’ll see a detailed account of such
Thanksgiving traditions as the annual Macy’s
parade. Watched by millions the live broadcast
of balloons, floats, marching bands and
segments from Broadway musicals, the show is a
challenge to produce today. Imagine what it
was like in the early days of television—say,
back in 1949—when Donald S. Hillman ’42
produced the first-ever live broadcast of the
Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade for NBC TV.
“I was the producer/director for this
historic, often hysteric, first TV network
coverage of this traditional event,” said
Hillman.
While The History Channel filmed Hillman
discussing his launch of the Thanksgiving
Parade coverage, the interviewers might also
have asked this alumnus what it was like, in
general, to be part of the dawn of what is
arguably the most influential media expression
of the modern age. For, Donald Hillman was
among the originators of TV programming in the
second half of the last century, inventing the
medium even as it was being developed, and
captivating the attention of modern society
ever since.
Pictured: Television pioneer
Donald S. Hillman '42 (second from end, far
right) worked with First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt
(center) on the program Prospects of Mankind
when he was Executive Director of National
Educational Television in the 1950s.
Hillman was there through local television’s
evolution into network TV in the 1950s and, as
the first executive producer of National
Educational Television (NET) his footprint is
indelible at what became the Public
Broadcasting System (PBS, Inc.)
Along the way Hillman met and produced
broadcasts with presidents and prime
ministers, classical artists and movie stars.
Among the most memorable of these figures, for
Hillman, was First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt. As
executive producer of Prospects of Mankind
with Eleanor Roosevelt Hillman enabled her
timeless wisdom to reach the consciousness of
the expanded public that national television
provided. In May 2005 Hillman was invited to
share his reflections on his days working with
Mrs. Roosevelt with the historians at the
Franklin D. Roosevelt Library at the Roosevelt
Estate in Hyde Park, New York. He traveled
there with his wife Enid, and recorded an oral
history for the library. “I’m glad I did,” he
said modestly.
Sam Spade and Saturday Nights
Don Hillman was the kind of kid who always had
a story swirling around in his head, and
Horace Mann was the kind of school that
encouraged Hillman’s writing. When he was 16
years old a friend-of-the-family-type
connection to Fred Allen gave Hillman the
opportunity to meet with the radio giant of
his youth. “Fred Allen was king at NBC. When I
got a chance to meet with him, I jumped. When
he offered me a chance to write some material
for him, I couldn’t believe it. I went home,
and I sat at my typewriter and went through
reams of paper. As funny as I thought I could
be, my pieces weren’t accepted.”
Hillman did manage to sell two scripts to
radio–one for The Fat Man and the other for
the Sam Spade series. Both were broadcast. But
comedy? “Not until I was producing comedy
shows myself did I realize I could not write
comedic scripts, and I understood why Fred
Allen hired only the best comedy writers
around.”
Giving up on becoming part of Allen’s stable
of jokesters, Hillman settled into the rest of
his school days at Horace Mann–making the most
of his time here with a joie de vivre that
created the memories that have kept him deeply
involved with his alma mater throughout his
alumni years. He remains a member of the HM
Alumni Council and has already begun planning
his Class of ’42’s sixty-fifth reunion in
2007.
“At Horace Mann in those days you had 98 kids
in the Sixth Form. It cost $450 bucks to go
here—plus books. Most of us took the subway
from Manhattan and trudged up the hill for
school and went back down at the end of the
day.” To add some zest to the routine Hillman
became co-chairman of the Saturday Night Group
or SNG, a group that organized dances with the
women of the Horace Mann School for Girls.
Miss A. Berdena MacIntosh – who is so fondly
recalled by many alums – served as advisor.
Hillman also recalls the fun of performing
with the Glee Club and traveling to and
meeting his peers from other schools.
The Greatest Generation
The generation
that graduated from Horace Mann in the 1940s
stood at the crossroads of history. Members of
"The Greatest Generation" they stepped out of
high school into a universe in which World War
II was raging. Many entered the armed services
during or straight after their college years.
The post-war world in which they began their
careers coincided with the dawning of a modern
age.
Donald Hillman is a member of that generation,
but his story is cutting-edge today. During
WWII Hillman served in the Adjutant-General’s
Department of the Army, where he supervised a
cadre of writers and also wrote and directed
half-hour dramatic radio shows for the program
entitled Voice of the Army that featured
interviews with army personnel, and Sound
Off—a radio variety show. Upon his discharge
from the army Hillman completed college at
Washington and Lee University in 1948, and
went on to graduate school at Columbia
University. However, a job offer enticed him
away from his studies.
“I followed that clown” – into history
“Voice of the Army was recorded at the NBC
radio studios. Because of my experience there
I was called in to NBC for a position as a
radio writer. When I arrived for my meeting I
stepped into an elevator with a clown riding
inside. I followed that clown—right into the
studio,” Hillman said matter-of-factly. “He
turned out to be Clarabelle of The Howdy Doody
Show. I looked around the studio, with its
humongous cameras and crew people running all
around. The atmosphere was so exciting, I went
over to personnel and said I appreciated the
offer in radio, but I preferred to work in TV.
I was told that I was making a mistake because
television would never last.”
Bitten by the television bug Hillman felt he
had to be part of this new medium. He was
hired, at the age of 23, as a stage manager at
NBC-TV. Within a few months Hillman became a
director. “Half of the place was filled with
Yale Drama School grads, but nobody knew
anything about television. We were all
learning as we went along, even the
engineers.”
Television engineers in those days, Hillman
recalled, all came from radio backgrounds and
were learning to convert radio stations into
TV stations. “I was assigned to a mobile unit.
Most of our shows were done from the outside.”
Hillman was with the medium nearly at its
inception, when TV broadcasting was converting
from its base in local studios to a national
network system. He stayed with TV into the
halcyon days of what has been called the
medium’s golden age. If Hillman’s stories of
the madcap adventures depicted in the 1982 My
Favorite Year come to mind, the director finds
little exaggeration in that film. For one
thing, the film was based on the famous Show
of Shows with Sid Caesar, several productions
of which Hillman directed. For another, the
learning curve of the day led to what Hillman
described as “some memorable mistakes.”
A director of
the first-ever televised broadcast of an opera
Hillman described the airing of one scene
never before seen in Puccini’s classic
Madama
Butterfly. “RCA sponsored this first opera
broadcast with the NBC symphony orchestra. We
had six days of preparing by blocking shots
before we went on the air. Everything was
going fine up to the climactic point where
Madame Butterfly—Cio-Cio San—commits
hari-kiri. We had a cue to
the stage manager to pull in a set of Japanese
shoji screens, and then a second set of
screens. When we pulled in the third set of
screens for this scene, you could see a stage
hand picking his nose. People say it didn’t
happen, but it happened,” laughed the TV
pioneer.
“I used to go to bed in those days counting
shots, not sheep,” said Hillman.
One of the most exciting experiences of those
early days for Hillman was being part of the
transformation of regional television to
national network broadcasts. Hillman, who
directed the first network broadcast,
described the moment as akin to such
communication firsts as the beginning of
telegraph and telephone communication.
Pictured: Don Hillman recorded
his reflections on Eleanor Roosevelt as an oral
history with archivists at the Franklin Delano
Roosevelt Library in Hyde Park, New York in
spring 2005.
From local studio to network TV
“Television at first
was organized through different sectors. For
example, the Eastern network stretched as far
north as Boston, and as far south as Richmond,
Va. Black and white kinescopes of programming would be distributed to the
stations there. It wasn’t until January or
February of ’49 that the coaxial cable was
constructed from the West Coast to the East
Coast and that’s when network television
occurred. I had joined NBC in September of
1948. I became a director three or four months
later, and I directed the opening of the
coaxial cable. When I saw
Chicago come up on
the screen it was like Columbus Discovering
America,” said Hillman.
“That was the start of television in what they
now call the Golden Years. I was very
fortunate to be connected with shows that went
back to Arturo Toscanini’s first concert at
NBC. I did several of those, and then we did
New York Philharmonic concerts. For many of
these shows it was the first time such
programs were ever done. We did sports, like
the first broadcast of the Army/Navy game,
national presidential conventions, and then
some of the shows became series – like Your
Show of Shows with Sid Caeser, Imogene Coca,
and Dinah Shore,” along with the Saturday
night ritual of Perry Como, among others.
Hillman also televised the opening sessions of
the United Nations when the organization was
still meeting at Lake Success, before its New
York headquarters were completed.
Winner of many distinguished awards in the
broadcast industry, Hillman eventually moved
from NBC to CBS where he was involved as a
producer/director on the prestigious Omnibus
series. “It was a very highly creative series
with Alistair Cook. There I had a chance to
co-produce with many brilliant colleagues, not
including myself. We were able to bring in
whomever we wanted as guests. It became one of
the top shows in television,” Hillman said.
Omnibus was underwritten by the Ford
Foundation. During the time he was
producing the show Hillman met Joseph
McDaniel, who was secretary treasurer of The
Foundation. “He asked me if I would be
interested in going over to one of the
Foundation’s projects, which was educational
television—National Educational Television, or
NET. This was around ’54 or ’55. I went there
as the program associate for public affairs
and as their executive producer,” Hillman
recalled.
Making history, and Remembering Eleanor
Roosevelt
Hillman’s journey to NET helped launch another
phase of television history. “The
administrative headquarters were at 10
Columbus Circle in New York. Shows were taped
in a separate operation. In those days NET was
not a connected network like the commercial
networks. They had a tape-transfer operation
in Ann Arbor, Michigan. So, if shows were
done, say at WGBH Boston, or in Texas, or
California, at educational stations or
university educational stations, the master
tape would be sent to us. If we were to
distribute the shows the master tape would be
sent to Ann Arbor and they would go out. In
essence, we were helping create a fourth
network, and today that’s PBS.
Hillman’s position at NET was the experience
that brought him into contact with
Eleanor Roosevelt, and his relationship with
Prospects of Mankind which NET produced.
“Prospects of Mankind was developed in Boston,
at WGBH,” recalled Hillman. “That was one of
our stellar educational stations. One of their
executive producers was Henry Morgenthau III,
whose family had been affiliated with
President Roosevelt. They were neighbors.
Morgenthau and his associates at WGBH were the
prime people producing the show, and many of
the shows were done up at Brandeis University.
My interest was that, as NET’s executive
producer, I represented its interests in the
program. I didn’t discuss the plan for each
show with Mrs. Roosevelt, but I did discuss
the content with her and the directors. My
role was more to represent NET’s interests as
a liaison,” said Hillman.
“Once I knew the subject of a show, and the
way they were going to approach it, I could
then discuss it with my associates. Not that
we ever had anything to say, really. I mean we
didn’t tell Mrs. Roosevelt ‘you can’t do
this.’ It was more or less a protocol.”
Hillman recalled that Prospects of Mankind was
seen on Saturdays and Sundays throughout the
country, but the shows, about 30 in all over a
course of three years, were not aired on a
regularly scheduled basis, because the
production of the programs depended on the
availability of the guests Mrs. Roosevelt was
interested in inviting. Among them were
Krishna Menon, Ralph Bunche, John Kenneth
Galbraith, Edward R. Murrow, Henry Kissinger,
Bertrand Russell, Adlai Stevenson, and John F.
Kennedy. “She could get whoever she wanted. As
far as honorariums, I don’t think there were
any,” Hillman said, noting that he was more
directly involved with the production of some
of the programs shot in New York, at the
United Nations. However, on several occasions
he traveled to Boston where filming was taking
place.
Mrs. Roosevelt and Mr. Kennedy
Once such occasion yielded one of Don
Hillman’s most revealing memories of Mrs.
Roosevelt. “One very meaningful story comes to
mind,” he said. “I was up at Brandeis. I think
it might have been the Newton Minow show that
Mrs. Roosevelt was doing. She said to us, ‘I
just heard that Mr. Kennedy is coming to see
me. I think I know why.’”
At the time John F. Kennedy was the junior
senator in Massachusetts, but he had set his
sights on the presidency—which Mrs.
Roosevelt’s friend, then Governor Adlai
Stevenson, was also seeking. “Mrs. Roosevelt
continued, ‘He knows that I’m very fond of
Governor Stevenson and there is a bad feeling
in the Kennedy family toward me. I know that
Mr. Kennedy would like to heal the parting, so
that there would be unification, and I would
be the catalyst to do that,’” Hillman
reported.
“This was interesting to me because one of my
last big shows I did at NBC was a
thing called Man of the Year for Time
Magazine, sponsored by Parker Pen. Jack
Kennedy had just gotten married. He had been
given last rites for his back problems. We had
many of these well-known people on the show.
It was the year (Sir Edmund) Hillary climbed
Mt. Everest.
“Kennedy invited me to have dinner with him
and Jackie at “21” and several other people
after the show. And now, here we are, in 1959,
and I had not seen him for several years,”
said Hillman. “Well, Mrs. Roosevelt proceeded
to tell the story that happened when his
father, Joseph Kennedy, was Ambassador to the
Court of Saint James. I believe Jack Kennedy
was over there at the time, writing Why
England Slept. Ambassador Kennedy would be
sending cables to President Roosevelt, very
much concerned about the Lend-Lease destroyer
situation, and urging the President to remain
neutral, inasmuch as he felt that Germany had
a good chance of winning the War and the U.S.
should not become involved to such an extent.
Hillman recounted Mrs. Roosevelt saying that
the President asked him to come to Hyde Park.
“The morning Kennedy came the President was
very busy. He said, ‘Eleanor, would you mind
going with Joe into the study? Please
entertain him, and I’ll be with you as soon as
I can.’ Ambassador Kennedy proceeded to try to
convince Eleanor that what he had been doing
was the right thing and that she should try to
convince the President that what he was saying
was in the best interest of the United States.
It got to the point that she drew herself up
and said, ‘Mr. Ambassador. Don’t you think
you’re being frightfully pro-Irish?’ At that
point, FDR, always the master of timing, was
through with his meeting. The door opened. I
imagine Kennedy must have been about to
explode. The President said, ‘I see you and
Eleanor are having a lovely conversation. Come
on to my office.’
“Well, a few months later Ambassador Kennedy
was recalled from England,” Hillman said. “As
Jack Kennedy told me later on—because I had
carte blanche in the White House during his
administration—that in his family saying
‘Grace’ every morning would open with a ‘Damn
Eleanor Roosevelt.’ Joseph Kennedy always
blamed Eleanor for his being recalled as
ambassador,” Hillman said.
Continuing the story of what happened at
Brandeis the day he was visiting there for the
taping of Progress of Mankind Hillman said,
“So, Jack Kennedy walks in with Bobby, Larry
O’Brien, and Kenny O’Donnell. The first thing,
Kennedy turns to me and says, ‘Don Hillman!
How are you? What are you doing here?!’ That
shows you the charisma he had. He didn’t know
I was going to be there that day, and he
hadn’t seen me in about six years. I was privy
when he made his presentation, apologizing for
his father. But, as he did, Bobby Kennedy
almost went off the wall. He didn’t say
anything, but you could see Bobby Kennedy just
didn’t want to be there.”
That meeting took place in the fall of 1959,
Hillman said, before the younger Kennedy had
been nominated for President. “He was not
scheduled to be on Prospects of Mankind. He
had just come to the studio to make overtures
to Eleanor.”
The visits Hillman made to Mrs. Roosevelt in
the brownstone where she spent
her Manhattan days were marked by the former
First Lady’s gracious hospitality and
thoughtful conversation, the alum recalled.
But, after Progress of Mankind ended he did
not see Mrs. Roosevelt very often. “I went to
her funeral. It was a very sad, very moving
occasion. It wasn’t until several years later
I came to see her up here, where she is
buried,” Hillman said during his interview at
Hyde Park.
Hillman continues to ponder the evolution of
television as networks are overtaken by cable,
and the Internet moves into familiar TV
territory. He also remains involved with
Horace Mann, attending Homecoming and other
alumni events, and continuing his involvement
with the Alumni Council. With his 65th
class reunion one year away he also reminds
his classmates to “be sure mark their
calendars and attend This Blessed Event.”
David Arnold ’65
Lights the Torch of Education for Those Who
Might be Missed
When David
Arnold came to Horace Mann School as a “First
Former” in 1959, a world opened up to him. It
was former Admissions Director Harry Allison
who convinced Arnold’s parents that Horace
Mann was the right place for their
intellectually curious son, despite the fact
that he would be commuting from Woodcliff
Lake, New Jersey, an hour and a half long
ride.
Coming to
Horace Mann was a heady experience for the
young Arnold who encountered, for the first
time, boys like himself who were active
thinkers, and whose lively discussions in
class and in the bookstore they frequented
down the hill from the School was
intoxicating. The journey to Horace Mann was
arduous for a seventh-grader. “My mother woke
me up at 5:30 a.m. to take the Red and Tan to
168th Street and Broadway and then
to the Broadway IRT up to 242nd
Street. Then I walked up the hill,” Arnold
recalled. Despite all this travel, Arnold felt
energized by his new school.
“When I came
to Horace Mann I would watch these kids going
down the hill. I just had to know where they
were going with so much intensity, so I
followed them into the bookstore that was
underneath the subway lines. You’d see them
poring over the books. For me, as a seventh
grader, that was magic.”
Arnold’s
romance with HM ended abruptly, however, when,
as a ninth grader, his father passed away
suddenly. An only child who describes himself
as being very close with his parents, he spent
the rest of the year awash in pain, with no
one to help relieve it. “Horace Mann was not
that kind of place at the time. It was
rigorous, and the teachers worked at bringing
the best out of the boys intellectually,”
Arnold recalled. But, he felt there was no one
to turn to help quell the emptiness in his
soul.
“I vowed then
and there that if I were ever in a situation
like that, perhaps as a teacher, I would
never, ever leave a boy alone,” Arnold said.
“The good thing about that experience was that
it really sensitized me to wanting to be there
for the students I would teach in the
future.”
Throughout a
lifetime in education as a teacher and
administrator, Arnold has kept that tenet in
mind. Today he is one of the major advocates
for a small population of boys who might
otherwise find themselves left out, as Arnold
himself once felt. David Arnold is Head of
School at George Jackson Academy (GJA) in New
York City. The school is a unique educational
enterprise geared to boys in fourth through
eighth grade—boys who are at risk of
sacrificing their intellectual potential to
the lure of the street.
Opened in
2003, the aim of GJA is “to help bright boys
from low-income families identify and
celebrate their gifts in a community that will
teach them to be successful men.” The school
was founded by Brother Brian Carty, founder
and Headmaster of the famous co-ed De La Salle
Academy, which, throughout its two decades
plus existence, has proven able to inspire
intellectually gifted, potentially at-risk
students similar to the students at GJA. GJA’s
philosophy echoes that of De La Salle. The
focus at GJA, however, is on elementary and
middle school-aged boys who are at a very
critical phase of their development, explained
Arnold.
“Research
shows that boys begin to lose an emotional
connection to school at a much younger than
girls do. Experience shows that boys struggle
to define themselves during elementary school
and early adolescence. Boys need the support
of an educational community which nurtures
their specific needs and which bolsters them
during their most formative years,” says the
school’s Annual Report.
“For most of
these kids, it’s not cool to be smart in an
inner city classroom. Some of the most gifted
boys start to turn off to formal education in
the third grade. George Jackson Academy is
dedicated to catching these boys before they
become lost boys,” said Arnold.
As Head of
School at GJA, presiding over classes and
curriculum for 120 students from throughout
New York City, Arnold has fulfilled a dream of
serving as an advocate for a population of
young, impressionable students. The small
classroom size enables his students to become
as intoxicated with education as he himself
was at their age. From GJA, students are
placed in some of the city’s top independent
schools and in selective boarding schools
throughout the country.
From HM to boarding school and
back
Many years
back Arnold, too, found himself at a boarding
school. Following that pivotal year of his
father’s death, he enrolled in Worcester
Academy. “The minute I left Horace Mann, I
realized there was a significant difference in
the schools. Worcester was a very good school,
but it was not Horace Mann. I was at a
boarding school working as a dishwasher on
scholarship. This work-study was a quality of
boarding school life I think I had outgrown.”
Despite the
fact that Horace Mann was, at times, “a
terribly competitive and cold world,” Arnold
missed the rigor of its classes, and the
feeling of joyful abandon which he had playing
“a silly game called
saluggi consisting of
tossing a ball around with reckless abandon on
crisp autumn days.” He also recalled fondly
raising his voice during the sing-alongs led
by “Happy” Harry Allison.
“I had
halcyon days at Horace Mann. There was nothing
better than when my dad would come to the
school on a Friday and we would watch Stanley
Thomas ’60 play football,” Arnold said of HM’s
big man on campus in his day. Thomas was
student council president and a star in three
sports who went on to Yale, and passed away in
1995. “We would watch Stanley devour the
competition.”
When I was a
sophomore I came to visit Mitchell Gratwick to
see if the school would allow me to come back.
They finally did, perhaps much to their
chagrin” Arnold recalled.
“Horace Mann
left a significant impact on me in good ways
and bad. I think it has, however, informed me
as an educator,” said Arnold.
Arnold
entered Columbia College, Columbia University
after Horace Mann. “The school was wrong for
me. I got very little in the way of a decent
education because it was the height of the
Sixties, and the Columbia campus was in
constant turmoil. I thought of going on for a
Ph.D. in history but, the Vietnam war was on.”
From the classroom to
administration
Like many
young men of his generation, Arnold re-entered
the classroom—this time as a teacher—in hopes
of being able to be deferred from service in
the armed forces. He had received a letter the
day after graduating from Columbia stating
that he was “1A,” and had spent the ensuing
summer studying to pass the public school
certifying exam. He passed easily, but there
were no jobs to be had. About to apply to the
Naval Officers’ Candidate School at Columbia,
Arnold was called in by a counselor from the
university’s teacher career services office,
and told about a job teaching at a girls’ high
school in Jersey City, New Jersey. He accepted
the post and taught for two years.
Nevertheless, when the lottery was installed
in 1971, Arnold drew the immediate ticket into
service, and probably overseas, with number
32. Despite the fact that he was a sole
surviving son in the family of a widowed
mother, as well as a teacher, the future was
not promising. But Arnold was pleased to fail
one test in his long career in academia: the
blood pressure test during his army physical.
With a medical deferment, Arnold’s worries
were over, and he was ready to move on to the
next phase of his life, and pursue a new
venture.
By this time,
however, Arnold said he had learned how he
felt about teaching. “I learned to love it.
Unfortunately, at Horace Mann and then at
Columbia, I had often felt personally
insignificant. But, these high school girls I
was teaching couldn’t have been more
responsive to me as a person and professional.
They couldn’t have been more engaging, and the
experience couldn’t have been more affirming.
They loved the classes and I loved teaching. I
taught six classes a day, plus PE, for $125 a
week, and I absolutely loved it.”
Arnold said
he was also buoyed by being with other “very
talented but equally inexperienced young
teachers.” In 1973 Arnold took a position as a
history teacher at Dalton, and, in 1974,
became Assistant Director of Dalton’s high
school.
“I was at
Dalton from 1973 through 1977,” said Arnold.
“Dalton in the Seventies had an ideal student
body. They were intrinsic learners. It was a
treat to be around them. Those kids really
made me feel the joyful importance of what I
was doing as a mentor.”
By this time,
Arnold had earned a masters degree in history
at Columbia. During his time in the classroom,
lessons from his own history came to mind.
“Little by little, with each passing year, the
connections were being made. I had had Ian
Theodore, Danny Alexander and Tek Young Lin as
teachers. All of the ideas from back then
started to percolate.” Arnold remembers these
teachers getting him to read “books of ancient
cultures and medieval tomes.” He remembered
his teachers’ individual teaching styles—the
super organized system of lecturing of Dan
Alexander, for instance. These experiences
continued to resonate with Arnold as he moved
on through his career in academia—a journey
that took him to administrative positions as a
high school or upper division head at such
schools as Woodmere Academy in Long Island,
The Buckley School in Sherman Oaks, Ca.,
Friends Seminary, and Rodeph Sholom (where he
was Associate Headmaster), before GJA. During
this period Arnold also managed to take time
off to earn a master’s degree in philosophy at
Columbia.
The insights
Arnold gleaned from studying philosophy, the
experience of moving from the classroom to
administration, and particularly his
experience with The Friends Seminary culture,
reinvigorated Arnold’s appreciation for his
profession—one he now recognizes is not a
career, but “a calling.” For Arnold, all of
these experiences have culminated in his
finding the answer to that calling at George
Jackson Academy.
Insights and inspiration
Of these
experiences Arnold says, “I had the
opportunity to take some time off to get a
master’s in philosophy—of all things! That
gave me the opportunity to look at what I had
been doing, and what I now think of as a
calling. Teaching is a calling, but,
specifically, this school (GJA) called out to
me.”
Arnold’s
experience at Friends Seminary was
particularly enlightening to him, even after
all the years he had spent teaching at some of
the country’s top independent schools. “I
became enamored of the Friend’s culture, their
use of the silence and collective silence, and
the wisdom of using silence in teaching and
learning.
“I learned
about silence. I learned about reflection. I
thought about how schools promote genuine
thought and liberated thought. ‘Friends’ was a
very important experience. It was a tonic to
the mind. It showed me what schools ought to
be doing. School is not a place where kids
should be trapped, and teachers embedded.
Sometimes I look back and weep for those
moments that are being lost to kids, when so
much about some schools is about making a
reputation and for students about ‘making the
grade’,” said Arnold.
“Kids are
stuffed full of seemingly unrelated knowledge
bytes. That’s how I was taught. I have come to
learn that education is about getting kids to
derive meaning from what they learn. A school
that doesn’t provide students with an
opportunity to make meaning of what they learn
misses out on a powerful opportunity. But if
we don’t provide them with skills to make
meaning from the knowledge they access, then
we as mentors have also missed out.
“A school
must ask what kind of school it wants to be,”
Arnold said he has learned.
Growing up slowly, feeling
safe, and valuing others
According to
Arnold, and to the school’s mission statement,
George Jackson Academy knows exactly what kind
of school it wants to be. “This is a place
where these boys can be allowed to be
themselves. Our first goal was to create an
environment where they can feel safe, where
they don’t have to feel uncomfortable about
remaining boys for a while. We’re trying to
give them time to grow up, to preserve that
last bit of childhood, because kids grow up so
fast these days, and kids in the neighborhoods
where our kids come from have to grow up even
faster.”
Many of the
boys at GJA come from neighborhoods where they
cannot go outside to play in safety. “When I
start tossing a football around with them in
the park, they are just so thrilled,” said
Arnold, who has always indulged in a variety
of athletic activities. “George Jackson is a
magical oasis of hope. Would that I could take
on a thousand of these boys!”
Arnold
explained that his students—some of whom come
from as far as a two-hour commute away—come to
the school after having been recognized by
their teachers as having special abilities.
“Sometimes it’s the parents who bring them
hoping to be admitted. They know, they sense
that their sons need something more.”
An NBC News
feature on the school described it as a place
that is reversing “years of neglect for these
boys.” From GJA, which this year added its
first eighth-grade class, most of the students
will go on to the highly selective independent
boarding and day schools. One or two might go
on to Horace Mann, Riverdale, Dalton or
Friends, and others go on to Hotchkiss,
Groton, Andover, and Peddie,” where they are
removed from the influences of their
neighborhoods.
“It’s hard
when they leave and say goodbye because one of
the things we emphasize here is community,
that I am my brother’s keeper,” said Arnold.
The ultimate goal of the school, said Arnold,
is “to liberate the kids. The question we hope
to ask is not how many of our kids ended up at
Harvard or Yale, but how many got into the
most appropriate college or university for
them. Somewhere in this school I know, we’ve
got a senator. Somewhere in there we’ve got a
president.”
Arnold has
returned to classroom teaching at GJA, while
continuing to pursue his administrative and
development duties on behalf of the school. “I
took on a seventh grade reading class, and
started them with Catcher in the Rye, Goodbye
Columbus and Tom Sawyer. I found their skills
were pretty good. Our discussions were
awesome, as the kids would say. If you throw
out the idea that they can do something, they
will go to the mountaintop. These were kids
who had relegated themselves to video games.
They took to reading the way those boys at the
bookstore did back at Horace Mann.”
Competition
is played down at George Jackson Academy. “We
don’t have honors, and we don’t single kids
out for distinction or distinguished
achievement. We emphasize the good in
everyone,” said Arnold. With a student body in
which the broad diversity of New York’s
population is represented Arnold cites one of
the school’s oft-repeated adages about
behavior and mutual respect: “Let us remember
that we are in the holy presence of our gods
and the holy presence of one another.”
“I tell the
kids, when I was growing up I led this
so-called privileged existence, living in a
wooded, white middle class area in New Jersey.
I remember my parents trying to give me
exposure to different cultures, but now I know
that I was woefully, woefully underprivileged.
My background circumscribed my horizons by not
offering me these different perspectives. “We
have Africans, people from the Caribbean,
Asians. Their perspectives are so rich, so
replete with meaning.”
For Arnold,
the non-competitive approach to learning at
GJA is neither naïve nor adopted without due
consideration. “We have an advisory system. I
take these topics to my faculty, and I ask
them to discuss the ideas with their
advisees—questions like ‘what’s good about
competition? What’s not good about it?’
“Are our kids
going to be prepared to handle competition in
the outside world, or at the other schools
they go on to, or later in life? I’m not
worried about that. Most of our kids are
reading two years above their grade level. But
what is most important is that they have been
inculcated with a sense that learning has its
own intrinsic rewards that will last them a
lifetime and enable them to reach any summit
so long as they are steadfast in its pursuit.
That will carry them along.”
A “magical oasis of hope”
A great
admirer of what has been accomplished at the
De La Salle Academy, Arnold says that the kids
there “genuinely love one another. I believe
that’s because of the communal orientation of
the school. I hope the day will come when that
will be true at George Jackson. How do you
love? You do so with humility and caring and
away from the dictates of an imperious
individualism.”
Will the GJA
boys be able to adjust as they move on,
mostly, to co-ed schools? “Many of them have
sisters. A lot of them come from big families.
I’m not worried,” Arnold laughed.
Arnold also noted
that the boys see both male and female faculty
members as role models. HM alumna Dorianne
Steele ’95 is one of those teachers.
GJA was named
for George A. Jackson—a young boy who was
raised in Harlem by his single mother, and was
a student of De La Salle founder Brother Brian
Carty. Jackson graduated from Harvard
University, and went on to head Motown
Records. The music mogul always remained
committed to the idea that something needed to
be done to reverse the trends among young men
of color, whom he saw as increasingly placed
at risk through a combination of personal
circumstances as well as cultural and
environmental influences. Thus, in some ways,
he was instrumental in his support of his old
mentor Brother Brian at De La Salle Academy
where he served on the board after his return
from L.A. and the sale of Motown to Sony.
However, he continued to dream of opening
another private school for underprivileged
boys similar to the Monsignor Kelly School
where Brother Brian had been the principal.
Upon Jackson’s untimely death in 2000, at the
age of 42, a group of his friends pledged to
bring his vision to life.
“George was a
big guy who was always protecting the little
guys. But, more than that, he was a person who
believed that something was going terribly
awry for disadvantaged young people in this
country,” said Arnold. Jackson was described,
in a eulogy, as someone who benefited greatly
from a nurturing home and educational
environment. Naming the school for him was a
fitting tribute.
“George’s
mother—Miss Hennie—still comes in twice a week
to help out at the school and look after her
boys. This school emerged from a tradition of
heart and soul,” said Arnold.
A trim and
distinguished presence 41 years post
graduation from high school at Horace Mann,
David Arnold laughs, “I’m 59 years old. I
don’t feel 59. Because of the energy I get
from these boys, I feel I’m at the crest of my
life and my career and I am just riding it.
These boys are my Beatrice guiding me through
paradise.”
A return to
Horace Mann for his class’ 40th
reunion during Homecoming 2005 demonstrated to
Arnold that things had changed a lot at the
School since his days as an HM student. From
the look of the campus, the presence of women
students and the roster of activities
fostering community involvement, Arnold
believes that today’s HM is a place where he
would feel most comfortable.
This alum
invites HM’ers to visit his “magical oasis of
hope” in the East Village, at 104 St. Marks
Place, or learn more about George Jackson
Academy by visiting it online at
www.gjacademy.org.
Richard Zacks ’73
hoists the flag on pirate history
An August 2005 article in The New
York Times questioned why readers and
filmgoers in this country are so enamored of
pirate lore. From the enduring popularity of
Treasure Island to the recent awakening to the
romance of pirates by a new generation who
clamored to see Johnny Depp’s portrayal in
Pirates of the Caribbean, The Times mused
about the recent publication of a slew of
books on pirate history.
The Pirate
Coast: Thomas Jefferson, the First Marines,
and the Secret Mission of 1805 by Richard
Zacks ’73 was among the list of the eight
books that The Times reviewed. But Zacks is no
Long-Johnny-come-lately to the study of
pirates. In 2001 his book, The Pirate Hunter:
The True Story of Captain Kidd, told a
powerful story of intrigue and doublecross,
and mapped pirate participation in the
development of Colonial America—including some
sites where we now beach along the Jersey
Shore.
With the
publication of The Pirate Coast Zacks says he
found himself something of a dean of pirate
historians, with upcoming appearances in four
documentaries on pirates, and the media
calling upon him to comment whenever there’s
need for information on these historic
“scoundrels.” Pirates are usually mythologized
romantically, until an incident such as the
November 2005 hold-up of a cruise ship turned
the world’s attention to the fact that high
seas marauders still exist – a fact that “boat
people” refugees, and others mentioned mainly
in UN resolutions on banning piracy have
unfortunately long known.
But, modern
piracy is not Zacks’ area of expertise. He
defers to another member of the HM Class of
1973, Barry Parker, an expert on shipping and
piracy. With a laugh he also tells the story
of the time another historian who writes about
pirates called to suggest establishing an
organization of pirate scholars. “The
Association of Rogue Scholars?” he suggested.
For Zacks, embarking on his journey into
pirate history meant satisfying an interest
born in him when he was very young. “My
fascination with pirates began long before I
ever read Treasure Island or saw any of the
versions of Peter Pan. My curiosity commenced
when, as a 7-or-8-year-old scanning the
bookshelves in our living room, I stumbled on
a book that isn’t especially well remembered
today: Howard Pyle’s Book of Pirates (1921). …
Pyle’s illustrations of ‘buccaneers and
marooners of the Spanish main’ haunted me and
fascinated me and probably set me on my way
toward trying to deliver an authentic history
of a pirate.”
An
historian of the wild
Zacks’ latest
book, The Pirate Coast” brings to life an
important but little-known tale of American
history; he tells of the first U.S. marine
covert operation overseas, in an episode that
constituted not only America’s first foray
into the Middle East, but contributed the
lines “… to the shores of Tripoli” to our
collective lyrical vocabulary. The Pirate
Coast is now being explored not only by pirate
buffs, but foreign policy makers, and Middle
East experts interested in getting to the
roots of U.S. experience with Arab nations. As
for his earlier The Pirate Hunter, director
Nick Cassavetes (“The Notebook”) has bought
film rights and “might actually make the
movie.” After all, it’s a great story, and as
Zacks notes, Cassavetes is “the real deal.”
For now Zacks
has moved on to another subject – one with as
much intrigue, and equally shrouded in the
mists of American history – “a wild, mean,
slave-smuggling story” as he describes it.
And, there WILL be a work of fiction down the
line, a promise that has to delight and
titillate devoted Zacks readers. Before the
publication of his pirate books Zacks gained a
cult following for his works about other edges
of society. In History Laid Bare, published in
1994, Zacks delivered authentic primary source
accounts about sex and love through the ages,
from Mark Twain’s jokes about penis size to
Abraham Lincoln’s letter about being rejected
by a very fat woman. The New York Times noted
that Zacks’ book “specializes in the raunchy
and the perverse.”
Zacks’ second
book is a modern classic. An Underground
Education, published in 1998, relied on the
same primary-source reporting on diverse
topics from medicine to science, to the arts
and crime. In this book Zacks explored, and
sometimes divulged, information about such
things as Thomas Edison’s secret role in
developing the first electric chair, and
Lincoln’s plan to ship out the freed American
slaves to the Caribbean, information about all
of which he found through the meticulous
research that stands as the foundation for all
his work.
Intense
learning with intense teachers
Zacks
developed an appreciation for the offbeat side
of the human beings who are history’s actors
as a student at Horace Mann. That’s where he
also honed his research skills and his
facility with words. With no hesitation he
says, “HM was a huge influence. One reason was
because of all the quirkiness of the teachers.
Mr. Glidden, for instance, had a vocabulary
list of words you didn’t hear anywhere else,”
Zacks said of his former General Language
teacher, Nathaniel Glidden. “He started with
‘zarf’, and then ‘strigil’, and ‘lustrum’.
(zarf: a holder for a hot cup of coffee;
strigil: a skin-scraper used by Greco-Roman
wrestlers; lustrum: a period of five years,
Zacks rattled off immediately, remembering
these definitions to this day) We studied
French, Spanish, German, and Latin all in one
class year,” Zacks said. “And I soon after
started studying Latin, Italian and French,
and I kept studying languages. I was an Arabic
major at the University of Michigan, and then
I switched to Classical Greek.
Zacks
attributes to his classes at Horace Mann his
skill in French – and it’s knowledge he
describes as invaluable. “Having these
languages changed my research. Knowing French
revealed a side of Tripoli I was able to write
about in The Pirate Coast. One of my best
research finds was a 100-page diary in
French. It was handwritten by a Dutch
diplomat, but French was the language of
diplomacy at the time. This document revealed
the inner workings of Tripoli during the time
the Americans were prisoners there.”
Returning to
his recollections of Horace Mann, Zacks
described the “sleeping privileges” Mr.
Glidden allowed his students. “The smartest
kid in the class for that particular week was
granted sleeping privileges. The kid who got
the privilege was allowed to put his head on
his desk and sleep through class. You could
sell sleeping privileges, too. It was a great
system. We all were dying to get them, either
to sleep or to sell them, so we worked hard to
be the smartest kid. I did get sleeping
privileges a few times,” Zacks said.
“We also had
a ‘fit thrower’ in the class, when a kid was
allowed to throw a fit. It worked well for
relaxing the class. Mr. Glidden would count
off on his fingers, like you do in “Eensy,
weensy spider” and then the designated fit
thrower could just yell at the top of his
lungs, roll around and throw a fit. It was
usually Casey Silver ’73. He was a goofy guy
who went on to become a top movie executive,
and certainly one of the most successful guys
in our class,” Zacks said of fellow classmate,
producer Andrew (Casey) Silver.
Finally,
Zacks recalled the “dictionary catcher” who
rounded out the cast of characters in his
teacher’s class. “Mr. Glidden would put a huge
rubber band around the dictionary, and toss
it, and the person who caught it would have to
look up a word, and tell everyone the
definition. We also learned a joke version of
the Notre Dame Fighting Irish theme song,”
Zacks said, intoning the words that are
indelibly etched in his memory.
Robert Berman
was another teacher who not only stands out in
Zacks’ memory. The author dedicated The Pirate
Coast to this teacher, described in the
acknowledgment as “Mentor and tormentor.”
Asked about the dedication by Don Imus in a
radio interview Zacks didn’t fail to supply
details about a time at Horace Mann when
devotees of this long-since retired teacher
dressed like him, and shaved their heads as
was required of a “Bermanite.” But Zacks says
this teacher “definitely changed my life.”
“I was a
sloppy, messy thinker. Robert Berman presented
this world of Melville and Dostoyevsky. Once
he wrote under some of his other comments on a
paper I had written ‘Your intelligence is
manifest and large.’ He wasn’t loose with
compliments so it made a great impression on
me. When someone writes something like this to
a young teenager you can imagine how that
feels.
“I chose not
to become a true Bermanite. Sure I wore a
jacket, but it was a pretty sloppy jacket, and
I wouldn’t shave my head. But, he made me an
offer. He told me, if you cut your hair, not
shave it, just cut it, and if you become more
studious, I will give you this print of
Lawrence of Arabia. It was a nice looking
British Museum print, and I guess it meant a
lot to me at the time. I ended up with that
portrait, and I still have that Lawrence of
Arabia print on the wall of my office today.”
As a teacher,
Robert Berman opened up worlds to his young
student. “Mr. Berman made a list of the 1,000
most important men and women who ever lived. I
researched a lot of them, and knowing who they
are has been important to me.”
Researching
those thousand figures was a different task
back then than it would be today. With no
Internet to aid him Zacks spent hours in the
library doing obscure research that, he says
helped him develop skills that definitely aid
him today. “I started doing the kind of
obscure research early on in life. I didn’t
have a girlfriend, and I had a lot of acne, so
I spent my weekends in The New York Society
Library at 79th and Madison. I once
spent a Saturday there reading Monasteries of
the Levant by Baron Robert Curzon.
Despite his
preference for weekend research rather than
parties, Zacks made some close friends at
Horace Mann, and stays in touch with some of
his classmates. “I didn’t realize that at
first I was sort of a clown at school. I got
elected vice president in seventh grade. I
thought it was because I was popular, and I
kept running for office. My slogan was ‘You
heard the facts. So vote for Zacks.’ But I
never won again. I finally figured out I won
the first time because my name had been put up
as a joke. Zacks describes his persona during
the rest of his days at Horace Mann as
‘bookish, sort of a jock – as a senior I
started on the high school basketball team.”
Scholar,
then slacker, turns author
From his
Upper East Side home, and HM schooling Zacks
headed west, or at least Midwest, to the
University of Michigan. “When I got to the
University of Michigan I talked my way out of
all my freshman classes. I took a 400 level
class on Florence and a 500-level class on the
geography of the Near East. I was a New York
kid from Horace Mann and I was convinced I
could do that,” Zacks said.
“I graduated
college not having a clue what I would do. I’m
not much of a planner. I stayed in Ann Arbor
for a few years, hanging out, painting houses,
going out with girls, which I didn’t do in my
adolescence. I drove a cherry red pick-up
truck and wore bib overalls. Those were great
days.”
To hear him
tell it, one of those days certainly presented
a challenge. It was during an Ann Arbor
winter, and Zacks and a friend found
themselves on “the edge of a snowball fight.”
One of the snowballs from that fight hit and
broke a street lamp, but, says Zacks, it was
not one he or his friend launched. Tossed in
the local jail, the two maintained their
innocence. At one point, Zacks overheard two
officers describing their snowball throwing
act as “malicious destruction of public
property” for which the punishment could be
“two to five” years. Zacks finally convinced
his unwilling friend to plead “no contest” to
a crime he maintains they did not commit.
Finally, it
was time to get back to work and school or
school and work, and Columbia University’s
Graduate School of Journalism seemed the
perfect place for Zacks to learn to combine
his apparent strengths in research and
writing. In class with a former friend from
Horace Mann, New York City Parks Commissioner
Adrian Benepe ’74, Zacks re-ignited a
friendship that is strong today.
A Columbia
assignment gave Zacks the one “clip” he took
to job interviews, and he eventually landed a
plum position as an entertainment columnist on
the New York Daily News for four years. After
working for ten years as a journalist, Zacks
turned his attention back to obscure,
historical research, and retreated into
libraries and archives, and his office in New
York City to write. Living with his wife, Kris
Dahl, and a son and daughter in Pelham, Zacks
commutes to his small office in Manhattan
every day to write. “I’m glad I went to the
University of Michigan for awhile, and got out
of New York. There’s something incestuous
about being in the Northeast. But, I love
coming into the city to write. I am an only
child, so I’m used to being alone in my
office, and I’m really disciplined once I’m on
a project; I tried working at home and
couldn’t. I have to be able to see all the
people moving around.”
Whatever
direction Zacks’ next project takes him, it’s
sure to make an impact. After all, Zacks’ name
is in the public record of the North Carolina
State Legislature. “Some patrons in libraries
in Georgia and North Carolina became aware of
History Laid Bare, and they wanted the book to
be removed from the library,” Zacks said. “One
state legislator argued that if my book were
taken off the shelf, they would have to get
rid of the Bible too. They solved what they
saw as a problem by creating a section in the
library, a ghetto for adult books. But they
didn’t remove my book.”
Robert Margolis ’74 Recounts
his Journey to The Definition of Insanity
Back in his
days as a student at Horace Mann Robert
Margolis ’74 was known as one of the school’s
top runners. A tri-captain of the track team,
he also played football in his freshman year
and baseball later on. Margolis describes the
life he’s led since leaving Horace Mann as a
journey – one he continues to pursue.
Meandering, contemplative, enriched by his
family life and by world travel, that journey
has picked up pace in recent months as the
writer/actor/director now holds an armload of
best picture, best actor and best director
awards from film festivals throughout the
world, honoring his film The Definition of
Insanity.
One of the latest of these awards came in
October from the Virginia Film Festival where
The Definition of Insanity won both the jury
prize and the audience award for the Best
Feature Film of the Year.
So why is
Margolis still running – nowadays to film
festivals and meetings with film company
executives instead of taking a moment to enjoy
his success? Perhaps it’s because those
Virginia festival awards were given in the
category of “Best Undistributed Films of the
Year.”
While The Definition of Insanity claims a
cadre of devoted fans, most of these are among
the cognoscenti – those who go to film
festivals or read the trade press. So far, no
distributor has acted on the advice published
in Variety, that the film is a “brilliant,
audacious indie” which “has snagged awards
wherever it has played and deserves a
theatrical shot.”
Margolis has
a story that may be partly personal, but it
certainly belongs to many – actors as well as
anyone who has never given up on a dream or
idea. He tells that story in a film he
co-wrote, co-directed, co-edited, and in which
he stars. The film examines the way the drive
to act, or get that part, became, for one New
York actor, the definition of insanity the
title describes it as.
An
introspective film, Margolis says it may lack
the elements that appeal to distributors, who
see dozens of new films every week, and have
to put up sizeable amounts of money to release
a film. “The film is not very proactive. It’s
not sexual, and there’s no violence,” Margolis
speculated. “When distributors look at this
film they don’t immediately say, ‘this will
sell.’ The film industry is very corporate.”
The dreams
that keep us going
Like many an
independent filmmaker Margolis invoked The
Blair Witch Project as the independent film
that disproved the hunches of all the big
studios. “That film was passed on by every
studio until Artisan picked it up.”
But, for
every Blair Witch Project there are multiple
the number of actors, who, like Margolis, are
continually trying for that breakthrough role.
Empathically, Margolis and his filmmaking
partner Frank Matter, a Swiss documentary and
film noire director who does the camera work
for the film, describe The Definition of
Insanity as “a tragic-comedy about elusive
dreams, love, loss, and the passions that
drive us. It is structured as a documentary
about Robert (played by Margolis), an actor
moving past his prime who is still running
after that one great role and whose life
begins to unravel as he struggles to survive
in a competitive environment without realizing
how his obsession affects the people close to
him. Like many barely-surviving artists he
faces the existential question: ‘When is it
time to move on?’ Just when it seems he will
be forced by family and financial pressures to
give up everything he has worked for, he meets
legendary filmmaker Peter Bogdanovich. That
encounter changes his life profoundly – but in
a very different way than he had anticipated.
The Definition of Insanity is a film about big
dreams and everyday rituals, humiliating
defeats and little triumphs, and the optimism
– some might call it delusion – that keeps us
going.”
If one were
to exchange the identity of Robert Margolis
’74 with the Robert Margolis in the film, this
alumnus has been beating his head against the
seemingly impenetrable wall of barriers that
prevent a New York actor from actually getting
a role in a major play or film. Unlike the
legions of thespians who wait tables, temp,
and even forge other careers to pursue while
squeezing in auditions before finally moving
on, Margolis hasn’t given up his dream of
acting.
Perhaps
that’s because the dream materialized for
Margolis in his adulthood, and only after he’d
pursued a variety of paths that inform his
current and continuing quest.
After
graduating from Horace Mann, Margolis went on
to Williams College where he earned his degree
in political economics. He then lived in the
Philippines as a Fulbright Scholar. While
teaching there, Margolis became interested in
writing. Upon his return to the U.S. Margolis’
path redirected again. “I moved to
Philadelphia where I was studying to be a
psychoanalyst. I began working as a therapist,
and enjoyed working with other people.”
Writing, therapy, and Margolis’ interest in
translating the unconscious into a form of
self-exploration – his own as well as for
others – evolved into an increasingly driven
interest in acting, and the alumnus moved to
New York to pursue the craft. “I did all the
usual things,” Margolis recalled. “I worked as
a bartender, a groundskeeper. I got a job as a
building superintendent. And, I did a lot of
acting.”
Dedication
or obsession? The question continues to compel
Margolis has
had leading roles as an actor in numerous
independent feature films and is a member of
the Screen Actors Guild. But, he intimately
knows the life of the actor going to audition
after audition in pursuit of that breakthrough
role. Friends and family might think those Don
Quixotes insane, but for Margolis, the
question of when a person crosses beyond the
line of reality is at the crux of this work.
The study and work he did as a therapist “very
much informed this film,” Margolis said. “In
one way, it’s about people trying to heal from
traumatic events. What’s damaging to people is
not necessarily a traumatic event, but not
processing a trauma. It’s important to work
things through. We do so much pretending, and
the pretending is more damaging than the
original traumatic event. That’s what I think
comes out in my writing,” Margolis said.
“On one level
the film is about addiction, self-involvement,
and narcissism. Sometimes, when it crosses the
line, when someone can no longer see what
happens to the people around them, they can
find themselves alone. They’ve lost their
support system. The other issue we’re
exploring is what addiction is and what is
passion? My ultimate example is Van Gogh.
Certainly he was passionate about his work,
and everyone knows his work 100 years later,
but was that passion or addiction?”
Telling the
story of obsession is timeless, says Margolis.
“Just as someone obsessed does the same thing
over and over, our interest in their actions
never ends. We structured the film, in a way,
as a modern Greek tragedy. Everyone knows the
story of Oedipus. We all know he is going to
marry his mother, kill his father, and pluck
his eyes out. But we continue to read and see
this play to try to understand why he does
that. How much of his action is up to him, and
how much is he driven by his obsession?”
Does Margolis
know that kind of addiction from the inside,
either through experience as an actor or his
work as a therapist? “Not only have I seen it,
I am always living on the cusp of it. But, the
difference between me and the ‘Robert’ in the
film is self-awareness. Unlike the character
in the film, I’m actually aware of my son’s
existence,” Margolis said of his son, now
six-year-old-son Dylan, who plays the part of
the film “Robert’s” two-year-old son.
Learning
to value “the process”
To what
extent is the film auto-biographical? Margolis
answered that question in an interview for
NewEnglandFilm.com. “The stock answer is it’s
becoming more autobiographical with each
passing day. Most is fictional, but some
people assume it’s a documentary.” Defining
insanity by blurring the line between a
fiction feature and a documentary contributes
to the naturalism of the film – an effect the
filmmakers hoped to achieve in order to “keep
audiences in a similar state of uncertainty
and anxiety as the main character,” Margolis
said.
Process has
always been important to Margolis. In fact,
he’s been studying the process of how things
come into being, whether an idea, a work of
art, or an individual’s persona since his days
at Horace Mann. “Tek Young Lin was one of my
favorite teachers at Horace Mann. He was a big
influence on me, and he’s all about the
process,” Margolis recalled the former teacher
and coach. It is thus interesting to look at
the process of how one filmmaker approached
making a very personal, independent film, and
how he is attempting to bring it to the public
eye – in short, how Margolis’ consciousness of
“process” translated into the way Margolis and
Matter developed The Definition of Insanity.
“I had been
cast in a film by Frank Matter called Morocco.
We really liked working with each other.
Eventually, we decided to do a film together
that we could pour all our obsessions into,”
Margolis said. “Frank and I had a great
collaboration. The disagreements we had were
creative ones. We had a shooting script, but,
the film is shot like a documentary. While we
were shooting we were actually editing. I
loved the editing process. We’d have some
friends over to watch parts of the film we'd
shot and edit based partly on their reactions
and our discussion. Most of the scenes were
scripted, and some were more tightly
structured than others, but the actors were
allowed to go off their lines. I went off my
lines, especially when I was working off my
son. I had to respond to him.
“I always
secretly wanted to be a sculptor,” Margolis
said. “In a way making a film is like creating
a sculpture. A film is not actually 3-D, but
what you see in it is.”
Screening
copies of Margolis’ docu-fiction film is
making the rounds to studios at a time when,
as he points out, “documentaries have become a
lot more interesting to people. All the
sequels and remakes Hollywood is doing can
become static. That’s why the box office is
down. But, the success of films like March of
the Penguins and other documentaries shows
that people want to leave the theater stirred
up about something.” Margolis also notes that
reality TV – good or bad – has made audiences
more accepting of and comfortable with
focusing on the lives of contemporary
characters around them.
“We first
came up with the idea for the film in 2000. We
filmed for about 18 months, and the film had
its North American premiere in October 2004 at
the Woodstock Film Festival. We’re actually at
the perfect point to have the film make its
rounds. We’ve reached some critical mass of
support,” Margolis said.
Often
securing a chance to have a film distributed
means having to change the film to suit the
vision of the distributing company. Margolis
has had to ask himself how far he is willing
to go to complete his pursuit of his
obsession. “Distributors have good ideas, and
I’m open to feedback,” he said. “I’m willing
to change the title. I guess I’m willing to
consider changes to the music. I love the
music, but that’s one of the things I’m
willing to consider. I’d like to think I
wouldn’t make major changes, if someone
offered me $2 million to distribute the film,
but, I can’t judge that until someone actually
puts me in that situation.”
Margolis is
working on a second film, one he describes as
dealing “with sexual abuse and issues of
trauma. I’m not able to write with the idea of
being wildly successful, but I have to write
with some idea as to who the audience will be.
If I could just make enough money to be able
to make the next film, I think that would be a
good way to go,” he said. And then he laughs.
Noting that his son Dylan enjoys watching the
parts of The Definition of Insanity in which
he appears Margolis laughs, “Hopefully my son
will have a regular job.”
If it seems
Margolis is still running – nowadays to
promote the film at the festivals he attends
throughout the country and around the world.
If his plans, should he be able to continue
his film work in the future sound as if he
will not slow down, then, a sentiment that
resonated with him back in his teen years at
Horace Mann is meaningful still. Among the
selections he chose for his graduation year’s
Mannikin was a poem by
Stephen Crane with these lines:
“I saw a man
pursuing the horizon;
Round and
round they sped.
I was
disturbed at this; I accosted the man.
‘It is
futile,’ I said. You can never –
‘You lie,’ he
cried. And ran on.”
The
Definition of Insanity will next be shown at
the Chuck Rose Filmmakers Symposium in New
Jersey on November 21, 2005 at Loews Theatres
Mountainside, 1021 Route 22 East,
Mountainside, and on November 22 at Loews
Theaters Monmouth Mall, Route 35 and 36,
Eatontown, N.J. A screening is also scheduled
at the Santa Fe Film Festival in New Mexico,
December 9 through 11, followed by a screening
at the Seoul Independent Film Festival in
Seoul, Korea, December 9 - 16, 2005. On
January 31, 2006 The Definition of Insanity
will be as part of the Washington Jewish Film
Festival Screening Room Series in Washington,
D.C.
To find out
other times you can see this riveting film,
check
www.definitionofinsanity.com.
Neil Baldwin ’65 Helps
Americans Understand Themselves
It’s been 20 years since Neil Baldwin ’65
visited his high school alma mater, Horace Mann.
The year was 1985 and the occasion was his
class’ 20th reunion. Baldwin recalled that his
classmates shared with him memories of his
prowess as a track star.
“A three-season track man for
three-years,” as he was described in
The Mannikin, Baldwin captained and co-captained HM’s
cross-country, winter and spring track teams in
his senior year. But the yearbook also recounted
that “joining the Class of ’65 in the Third
Form, Neil immediately became known for his
literary acumen… An Honors English student for
three years, he worked unstintingly as Assistant
Editor of
The Mannikin, Associate editor of
Quest,
and contributing editor of
The Record.
Readers of
The Record eagerly awaited Neil’s
‘hip’ comments on the changing Village jazz
scene.”
Baldwin returned to Horace Mann on
October 29, 2005
for his class’ 40th reunion. Classmates again
recalled the hours Baldwin spent pounding the
paths of the Van Cortlandt Park track, or
rounding the tight curves of the Prettyman Gym
balcony. But, when they walked past the
glassed-in bookcase surrounding the fireplace in
HM’s Olshan Lobby – the portico to the school’s
Katz Library, which was donated by another Class
of Sixty-fiver, HM Trustee Board Chair Bob Katz
– they noted that it was the literary side of
the mark Baldwin made during his years at Horace
Mann that has defined his life since leaving the
school.
"It was wonderful to linger outside the Library,"
Baldwin said, "and chat with Bob Katz, Dick Feinberg,
Jeff Brosk, Billy Salter, Ken Ettinger, Bob
Axelrod, and others whom I hadn't seen in so
long. I had been somewhat apprehensive driving
up to the school. But it was easy to pick up
where we had left off. And I also had the
pleasure of running into my friend and
colleague, Bob Caro, his wife, Ina, and their
grandson. It was a delightful day. The school
has grown -- there are more buildings, of course
-- and yet HM has managed, with grace and
thoughtfulness, to preserve the essential
ambience and beauty of the campus."
Twenty years ago Neil Baldwin had
authored two books, both published the year
before. The first was a warm-up – a Barron’s
Book Notes guide to reading John Knowles’ prep
school novel, A Separate Peace.
The second is a much-referenced biography of a
Horace Manner of an earlier age:
To All
Gentleness: William Carlos Williams, the Doctor
Poet tells of the life and work of
this member of the Class of 1903, one of the
giants of American literature.
The years since have seen
Baldwin add eight more books to his list of literary
accomplishments. These are not only works fueled
by his imagination – they are books presaged by
that long ago reference to
Baldwin’s “literary acumen”: each one serves as
a guide along the path toward the public’s
understanding of American letters, the American
imagination, and America itself. In his
biography
Man Ray, American Artist Baldwin
continues the journey he began in his biography
of Williams, exploring the realm of creativity
through a portrait of an American surrealist.
Edison, Inventing the Century, examines a quintessential
American’s translation of ideas into action.
Henry Ford and
the Jews delves into one of the
darker sides of the American saga by analyzing
the anti-Semitism that colored the legacy of the
great turn-of-the century entrepreneur.
Legends of the
Plumed Serpent, Biography of a Mexican God
explores the 5,000-year-old
Mesoamerican myth of Quetzalcoatl, a subject
with which Baldwin became fascinated through
visits to
Mexico.
The American
Revelation, Ten Ideals that Shaped Our Country
from the Puritans to the Cold War,
published this year, traces the roots of the
ideals that defined America in the past, and
underpin this country’s culture today. From John
Winthrop’s call to his followers in his “City on
the Hill” speech in 1630 to John Marshall’s
“Marshall Plan” to rebuild
Europe after World War II The American Revelation
delves into the words that are at the
foundations of American thought and action.
Baldwin traces the roots of these concepts by
examining the lives of those who placed them
into the American lexicon, as well as their
crafters’ intent upon expressing them in speech
and writing.
Of The American Revelation
Baldwin’s hope -- he said in an interview posted
on his informative and award-winning website
www.neilbaldwinbooks.com. -- is that “the
reader will close the book with the thought that
he or she has learned something new about the
cumulative identity of our country, something
new that will engender a sense of pride despite
the adversities of our time. And then, building
upon that feeling, I hope the reader will concur
with me that a modern democracy, if it is true
to its informing principles, must permit – or, I
will go further and say must encourage – its
thoughtful citizens to be free to re-evaluate
those principles.”
St. Martin’s Press, which published
The American
Revelation, sent a copy of the book
to every U.S. Senator. Of the seminal
expressions of U.S. identity and their roots as
described in this book
Baldwin
said, “I’m hoping the book will help get people
thinking about the circumstances as these ideals
might apply today, without hitting them over the
head with conclusions. Whether we have a
'melting pot' in this country (as one of
Baldwin’s subjects Israel Zangwill said) or
whether it’s more of a 'tossed salad' is up to
the reader to decide.”
Baldwin also hopes readers – including policymakers who
have seen the book – will examine the context in
which these defining phrases were uttered, and
understand that they may not apply in different
circumstances. “I think some of these ideals
have been a) forgotten, or b) they have been
spun around or reconfigured to suit whoever may
be espousing them to his or her own design. One
of the most recent misappropriations,"
Baldwin pointed out, "is the use of ‘Marshall
Plan’. The paradigm of the Marshall Plan for
Europe in 1947 does not apply to
Iraq,
or to Louisiana. We need to know what are the
actual words of the Marshall Plan – what it
actually says, and not what we think it says.”
In many ways The American
Revelation, the latest of the books
Baldwin
has published since his days as a student at
Horace Mann, represents the synthesis of the
author’s own progression as a writer. As a
biographer and historian, the way Baldwin
explores his subjects has always led to an
examination of the lasting implications of their
sayings, writing, and actions. The use of words
is a subject Baldwin has explored in other ways,
through a series of books that give readers rare
insights into the thoughts of great literary
figures, and access to them in the way only a
person such as
Baldwin could have had.
For 15 years Neil Baldwin served
as founding executive director of the National
Book Foundation. Through his educational and
fundraising activities on behalf of this
organization, including the administration of
the prestigious National Book Award,
Baldwin came to know well this country’s literary
luminaries. The books that resulted from his
association are ones that every devoted reader
craves to read: in
National Book
Award Classics: Essays Celebrating Our Literary
Heritage
Baldwin reflects on the work of such authors as
William Faulkner, Flannery O’Connor, and Ralph
Ellison. In
The Writing Life Baldwin and other
noted authors and critics discuss with
contemporary authors just what is involved in
the thinking and methods of a writers’ work.
The Book That
Changed My Life -- a collection of
interviews with an Introduction by Baldwin
discussing the literature that influenced other
literary greats -- has now become an event
complete with a 12-hour marathon held on October
22, 2005 at New York’s Symphony Space featuring
prominent actors, authors, athletes, business
and news-people reading excerpts from the
seminal works of other writers.
Transforming the very private act
of writing into a participatory event may have
its roots in some of
Baldwin’s
experiences at Horace Mann. Through his
Mannikin,
Record,
and Quest experiences, the writing he did as a student
contributed to the collective product of a
group. But, for Baldwin, the experience that
focused on team effort, even more than these
literary forays, was being part of and
captaining three athletic teams. “It was the
ambiance of competition at all levels I remember
so vividly from Horace Mann. I was captain of
cross-country, winter track, and spring track
during my senior year, with my classmate Jon
Towers ’65. I feel that the competitive
mentality that was part of being on that team,
being at the school on the whole, in my teenage
mind, was about being the best, trying to
achieve, to accomplish.”
Throughout the time he was
researching and writing the significant body of
work he has produced, Neil Baldwin held fulltime
positions, as a teacher and a college professor,
in the development office of The New York Public
Library, as executive director of the NBF, and
as a family man as well.
Baldwin recalls that the atmosphere
of his days at Horace Mann also contributed to
the discipline with which he pursues his writing
and research – all of which he does on his own.
“I never could have a research assistant. I have
to have complete control of a project, even to
the book jacket,” he laughed. “I also like doing
the research. I cherish my collegiality with
archivists and librarians. In my
acknowledgements in The American Revelation I
thank first and foremost the librarians at The
New York Public Library where I spent so many
hours and days.”
Of Horace Mann,
Baldwin said, “From taking an hour to commute to the
school in the morning by crosstown bus and then
subway (not to mention the trudge up the hill),
to giving me my disciplined and competitive
nature, I responded to the rigor of the
environment. There was a thoroughly-enforced
dress code; you had to ask permission if you
wanted to take off your jacket. I remember
well those after-school 'detention' sessions for
lots of infractions of the rules. We were all
boys back then, and there was a lot of
testosterone around,”
Baldwin
recalled of the Horace Mann of his era. “It
whipped me into shape – literally.”
That competitive spirit and sense of
discipline made its appearance in one of the
positions that led to
Baldwin’s
leadership of the National Book Foundation.
Baldwin
had distinguished himself in his work at the
NYPL by successfully running its $50 million
annual fund, under the leadership of Andrew
Heiskell, Vartan Gregorian and Gregory Long.
When he was recruited to set up the National
Book Foundation with the dual goal of
administering the National Book Awards and
promoting literacy in America, the organization
had less than $5,000 in the bank. “We raised $25
million to build the National Book Foundation
into a major institution – into what it is now,”
said Baldwin.
One of the first actions
Baldwin
took was to streamline, while also expanding,
the scope of the renowned Awards. “Since the
first awards were given in 1950, the program had
been through many vicissitudes. The first thing
I did was prune it back to fiction and
non-fiction, back to the basic genres. Then we
added children’s books, and poetry, which had
been dropped in 1986. I’m very proud of that,”
Baldwin said.
Along with administering the book
awards program, the NBF sponsors a variety of
innovative educational outreach programs to
connect authors with the public, and promote
literacy and a love of reading among young and
old across the economic horizon. The American
Voices program brings National Book Award
authors to Native American reservations to
explore the ways in which reading and writing
can help preserve the ancient tradition of
Native storytelling. NBF also sponsors author
residency programs in settlement houses and
schools, and assists teachers in their roles as
literature educators. The NBF Family Literacy
program offers children and adults in urban
areas the chance to discover great writing
relevant to their lives through a partnership
with New York City public schools. Through this
program National Book Award authors meet with
at-risk as well as honors students. Through its
Pleasures of Reading program NBF brings together
National Book Award authors with millions of
Americans who live in small cities, towns and
rural areas rarely served by the established
literary community. Finally, NBF sponsors a
summer writing camp in the Berkshires where
talented teens and adults can experience “the
writing life” under the guidance of
writers-in-residence free of charge.
Overseeing, and continuing to
develop programs for the NBF, while also
producing his
oeuvre,
clearly required the discipline Baldwin honed
during his high school years at Horace Mann. On
November 17, 2003, the evening of the 15th
consecutive National Book Award gala ceremony he
presided over, Baldwin felt he was finally able
to move on, and leave the organization in
others’ hands. When he was seized with the idea
for The
American Revelation – an idea about
which he was particularly passionate – Baldwin
decided it was time for him to exit his “day
job” and try to write full time. He finalized
that decision in the year following September
11, and left the NBF in December 2003.
“Henry Ford and the
Jews was finished on September 13,
2001,” Baldwin recalled. “That was very
significant, because I felt like I’d just
finished a book about the dark side of an
American icon, and I finished it at a very dark
moment in our history, in our time, and mentally
for me and emotionally for everybody. I decided
that my next book was going to be the flip side.
It was going to be a redemptive book. A lot of
the motivation of The American Revelation had to
do with almost a desire for a corrective in my
own emotional life as an author … because of the
downward theme of the (Ford) book and the theme
and mood of the times. Part of it was to draw
myself out of that, and part of it was to draw
American history out of that.”
The title for
The American
Revelation came to
Baldwin as a revelation itself. “The book literally
‘came to me’ in two ways,” he recalled in his
website interview. “For as long as I can
remember, like many authors, I have kept a
notepad and pencil on the table next to my bed,
on top of a pile of a half-dozen books that I am
reading at any given time. One night in the
sultry summer of 2002, I had a dream in which
these three words, ‘The American Revelation,’
appeared hovering in mid-air just above my face.
I woke up and jotted them down and went back to
sleep. The next morning I looked at the words
and instantly knew this was my book title. That
fall, I read a piece in
The Economist
magazine about the emotional and political
ambience of the United States one year after
9/11, and it struck me that we were living in a
historical watershed moment, and I needed to
respond to that moment.”
Baldwin drew himself out of his post at the NBF
in order to complete the book in a timely enough
manner to have it contribute to the national
discussion during this time of ongoing recovery.
“In terms of the facets of the
publishing world, I felt I had become too caught
up in the machinery. It had become too
complicated for me to be so deeply involved over
the years with publishing as an author as well
as an administrator. I had to step away from the
Foundation in order to clarify my identity as an
author.” And how has the fulltime writing life
been for a person who had devoted his entire
career helping to support and advocate for the
literary efforts of others? “In simplest terms
-- when it’s good, it’s great. When it’s bad,
it’s horrible,” Baldwin said. “Writing full time
has been hugely liberating intellectually, to
know that at this point in your life you still
have worlds and worlds to conquer in your mind.
William Carlos Williams said 'Only the
imagination is real,' and now I finally think I
know what he meant.”
Baldwin encounters the more
frustrating aspects of his work during the
course of a book’s production. “I’m used to
being in control,” he said. “Now I’m subject to
the terms of the incremental processes of
publishing and that makes me very anxious --
which is when my very understanding wife,
Roberta, and my very tolerant agent, John
Silbersack, have to sit me down, and remind me
to please stay calm!”
However, there’s one character in
Baldwin’s
life who does seem to exert control over the
author’s writing schedule -- he’s working on a
novel now, his first-ever foray into fiction.
It’s the schedule of his faithful companion now
that he spends his days working from home – his
tabby cat, Whiskers. An early riser, Baldwin
pores through the daily newspapers from 6 a.m. before he starts his writing day. Whiskers’ feeding needs are met
around
8 a.m. “Then, he takes a nice, long nap in the
bedroom, before ambling up to my office on the
third floor to visit me during the day. He’s an
indoor cat, so I can’t let him outside by
himself. In the early evening, the two of
us take a break and go outside into the yard. He
gets to chew on the grass near our flower beds,
under my supervision, and it’s a nice interlude
for us. I don’t know what I’d do without him,”
Baldwin said.
About The
American Revelation:
In the four years since September 11 Americans
have experienced a collective soul-searching of
themselves and their country as they have only a
few other times in history. The necessity to
make a decision between the side of patriot or
loyalist back in 1776 was one of those times;
another was the choice between loyalty to the
Union or endorsing secession, during the Civil War.
These were momentous choices, for
momentous times, and often the answers were
delineated in black and white, or, in the
post-9/11 world, in red and blue. But, along the
way to the emergence of movements that
galvanized the masses toward one side or another
were individuals whose actions, speeches, and
writing sewed the seeds of the ideological
foundation upon which all in this country stand.
Among these people were the Puritan
John Winthrop in 1630, Thomas Paine and Eugene
Du Simitiere in 1776, Ralph Waldo Emerson and
John L. O’Sullivan in the 1840s, Henry George in
the 1880s, Jane Addams and Israel Zangwell in
the early 1900s, Carter Woodson in the 1920s,
and George C. Marhsall in 1947. And, from among
them emerged the seminal notions and images of
Winthrop’s “City on the Hill”, Paine’s “Common
Sense” and Du Simitiere’s “E pluribus unum,”
Emerson’s “Self-Reliance,” O’Sullivan’s
“Manifest Destiny,” George’s “Progress and
Poverty”, Addams’ “Sphere of Action” and
Zangwell’s “The Melting Pot,” Woodson’s “The
Negro in Our History,” and George C. Marshall’s
Marshall plan.
To Neil Baldwin ’65 understanding
this country, both before and after 9/11,
requires an understanding of these concepts. He
discusses each one, while also telling of the
lives of those who fomented these ideas, in his
latest book,
The American
Revelation. A slim volume for the
territory it covers, the book is wonderfully
readable and enlightening, for a reader can
delve into each of the ideas individually, or
engaged with them together as collective
continuum. Whatever one’s approach to the book
is, it is a grand contribution to American
letters and thought in itself.
To hear
Baldwin discuss the book itself, check his
schedule of radio interviews posted on
www.NeilBaldwinbooks.com.
Peter Yawitz ’76 is 2005 Nightlife Award
Winner for his Cabaret Comedy
Former
HM Theater Company star returns to stage
Horace Mann alumni from the
mid 1970s will surely remember Peter
Yawitz ’76 as one of the most prominent
presences in productions of the Horace
Mann Theater Company. On January 31, 2005 Yawitz was introduced to a packed audience
at Manhattan’s Town Hall as the New York
cabaret world’s funniest
singer/songwriter/performer of the year.
The
occasion was the annual Nightlife Awards
ceremony, which celebrates the best in New
York cabaret, jazz and comedy performance.
When producer Scott Siegel announced the
awards on December 29, 2004, Yawitz had
captured the award for Outstanding Cabaret
Muscial Comedy/Characterization
Performance for A New Man, the one-man
show he premiered last summer.
Those
attending the January 31 award ceremony
got a taste of Yawitz’ wit and dazzling
performance style: At this event, honorees
offer the audience bits of their
performances, rather than acceptance
speeches, and on this night the audience
saw why a superstar like Keely Smith, who
was honored, along with Karen Akers, as
Outstanding Cabaret Female Vocalist in a
Major Engagement, has held center stage
for over half a century, why the unique
lyrical interpretations of Mark Murphy won
him the title of Jazz Legend, and why HM’s
own Yawitz is poised to join the ranks of
song and comedy stardom.
According
to Siegel, who created the Nightlife
awards, their purpose is to “give New York
City’s nightlife—its clubs and
performers—the same importance in the
public mindset as Broadway.” According to
Siegel the award has “immediate
credibility and importance because it is
given by the broadest possible spectrum of
this city’s most influential authorities
on cabaret, jazz, and comedy from those
who see acts in the big rooms to those who
cover the nightlife waterfront” – the
reviewers, including Rex Reed of The New
York Observer, Steve Futterman of The New
Yorker, and Naomi Steinberg, of Comedy
Central, and others who served as judges.
A star
among stars
Other
2005 award winners, along with Akers, the
legendary Smith, the late Cy Coleman who
was celebrated with a performance of a
medley of his songs, were sister
songstresses Liz and Ann Hampton Callaway,
Bill Charlap, and spectacular saxophonist
Joe Lovano, and the hilarious rising star
Patrice O’Neal among others. Host Bruce
Vilanch, who is currently starring in
Hairspray on Broadway, kept the audience
laughing as he introduced guest
presenters, including Tony Danza, and
Andrea McArdle, who introduced the
winners.
From the
moment he stepped onto the stage dressed
sharply in business attire, to the second
Yawitz completed his rendition of his own
Talk Like a Guy, the singer had the
audience mesmerized. Many must have
wondered – who was this Lehman
Brothers-looking executive belting out, in
a range of octaves, his hysterical parody
of social interaction between
uncomfortable strangers. And when Yawitz
added, at the end, that even women can
“talk like a guy” he had the crowd of
nightlife aficionados rolling, and singing
along with the refrain.
It was in
that very magnetic stage presence—the one
that takes audiences from their first
impression of Yawitz as an Ivy League
business school grad to a side-splittingly
funny stage presence—that gave Yawitz his
impeccably-timed comic pizzazz. For, in
this case, the first impression is true.
Yawitz is all that: an Ivy grad with a
business degree, and what one reviewer
called “a dazzling triple threat” showman
whose career is currently catapulting
through the cabaret scene.
By day,
or by weekends, or whenever his clients
need him, Peter Yawitz is president of
Clear Communication, a company that helps
corporations and their executives
effectively convey their business’
message. By night, Yawitz’ hilarious
observations on business and social
relationships, offered to audiences in
song and riveting monologues on modern
life, have earned him an avid following on
the nightclub scene. Oh, and in between,
Yawitz is a devoted family man—husband and
father of two. But, this balancing
act—between advising business clients, and
also writing material about the business
world, between being able to “be there”
for his children, attend their school and
sports events, and spending numerous
nights out of the house performing, is
what fuels Yawitz’ act. Yawitz admits that
more and more his observations of his
daily life, from the board room to parent
teacher conferences, could end up in his
routine. No doubt, that’s what has brought
him followers among people of a certain
age.
“Not many
people were writing songs about married
dads in their 40’s who are balancing
family, work, and friends,” Yawitz says.
A
stage-presence developed at Horace Mann
Yawitz
attributes his ease in going between his
different worlds in large part to the
theater experience he gained at Horace
Mann. As a self-proclaimed “major theater
jock at HM” Yawitz recalled “performing in
about 10 plays from eighth to twelfth
grades, or 2nd-6th
form as we said then.” He calls on that
experience in front of audiences in both
his cabaret work and as a business
communications consultant.
“I run my
business communication seminars and I know
where I’m going to get laughs each time.
I’m just very comfortable in front of a
lot of people either on stage or at the
podium,” Yawitz said. As a performer whose
A New Man plays to sell-out audiences,
Yawitz has been called “a singer,
songwriter, and comedian” who “never met
an audience he didn’t like.”
“Theater
was a major part of my experience at HM.
I was in a landmark class, in the class of
1976: we were the last all boys’ class,
and were privileged to be part of the HM
Theater in transition. I was part of the
group that named it the Horace Mann
Theater Company. I even had t-shirts
made! I had the pleasure of working with
long-time theater teacher Fred Little in
acting classes (“Upstage, Downstage,
Upstage, Turn, Upstage, Downstage,
Upstage, Turn”—a favorite exercise), and
in one of the last plays he directed in
his final year, The Time of Your Life, in
1972. I also was in the first play Barry
Siebelt directed at HM—our eighth grade
production of an original story theater,
and worked with him many other times
Finally, I was in the first play Anne
MacKay directed—him by ee cummings, in
1973, and again in many other plays.
Yawitz is
still in close touch with Anne MacKay, who
traveled from her home in Orient, New York
by bus to see his show last summer. “She
gave me a book of her poetry and signed
it, ‘To Peter, my favorite actor.’”
Yawitz
returned to Horace Mann last year with his
family. “We toured the amazing new
theater, and I was surprised to see
pictures of me in HM productions from the
early ’70s.”
The fact
that Yawitz’ HM Theater Company career is
still current, at least on the walls of
the Alfred Gross Theater’s Jordon Roth
Lobby, hearkens back to another experience
the performer had as a student here.
“Fred,
Anne and Barry were all incredibly
supportive of me, and encouraged me to
pursue a career in performance,” said
Yawitz. “I remember my telling Barry that
I didn’t want that kind of life, and
didn’t think I’d end up in the performing
arts. He laughed and said: ‘That’s what
you think.’ Those words haunted me
through business school and all the jobs
I’ve had since college.
“I performed just a little at
Princeton, but didn’t start up again until
I was in the Wharton Follies in grad
school. When I moved back to New York, I
joined St. Bart’s Players—a wonderful
community theater geared for former high
school and college theater performers who
chose the business life. I was cast as
the lead in many musicals there. I can’t
believe I had the energy to work full
time, travel, and still rehearse at
night!
“When my
employer went belly-up in the late-80’s I
tried acting full time, joined Actors’
Equity and got an agent pretty fast.”
Among Yawitz’ roles was that of the voice
of Mumfie The Elephant in the television
series The Magic Adventures of Mumfie.
But, Yawitz said he “just hated the
lifestyle, so I eased myself back into
business.”
The
business, comedy balancing act
No one
sees the links, and some of the irony,
between the double life Yawitz leads than
the businessman/performer himself. A
Princeton graduate who earned his MBA at
the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton
School of Business, Yawitz has taught
management communications at Columbia
Business School of Management. At Clear
Communication his clients include all of
Wall Street’s heavy hitters, and some
branches of government as well. The work
Clear Communication does in coaching
executive speakers, offering
communications seminars, and institutional
research and sales advice, receives rave
reviews from satisfied customers within
this list, who respect Yawitz for the
respect he gives their work. But, another
set of reviewers—those in the
entertainment press—laud Yawitz’
out-of-office antics about the business
world as being “dead-pan funny” and
“instinctively sharp.” His wit has been
compared to that of Mort Sahl.
Of the
interception between business, comedy, and
the ethics of using his experience with
clients in one area to amuse audiences in
another, Yawitz’ show is one of the most
popular on the corporate private event
calendar. “Most business people I
encounter love to laugh at business and
some of the stupidity and inefficiencies
they see,” Yawitz said. “I am also
extremely discreet. I never say anything
about clients or other people I’ve met.”
The
ability to say “just the right thing” is
why reviewers rave about A New Man. It
includes such songs as Talk Like a Guy,
with music written by every singer’s
favorite arranger Dick Gallagher, who
passed away in January, and Semi-Demi
Intellectual, with music by nightlife
great David Friedman. Not Good Enough,
Yawitz wrote with his friend, TV and film
composer Peter Lurye, has stopped shows
cold.
In one of
his crowd-pleasing favorites, Cliché
Bingo, Yawitz does for business what
fellow alum Tom Lehrer ’43 did for
science. In 1959 Lehrer’s immortal song
The Elements combined all 102 listing on
The Periodic Table of Elements into one
anthem In Cliché Bingo Yawitz assembles 85
business buzzwords into one of the richest
send-ups of contemporary commerce culture
since some of the testimony in the Martha
Stewart trial. Show Business Weekly, for
one, called the song a “masterpiece of
construction and performance.”
A
masterpiece of construction? Similar words
have been used to describe the work of a
host of other Horace Mann alums with
distinguished writing careers. How does
Peter accomplish this in the short-song
and comic bit format? How does he manage
to say “just the right thing?”
“When I
am in any business meeting I jot down
every new cliché I hear,” Yawitz said.
“I’ll often tell young business people to
cut out the jargon since they’re not
saying anything specific or original. I
remind them that just because they hear
other people saying these buzzwords
doesn’t mean that when they use them
they’ll seem more with-it. When I show
the cliché bingo board at a seminar I
always get a collective ‘Oh I hate that
phrase! My boss uses it all time!’”
“I must
admit, I am very meticulous in my writing,
and won’t settle for crap. I remember Tek
Lin saying—and I still life my life by
this—is “cut the crap and get to the
point.”
For those
who missed Peter’s acceptance
“performance” at the Nightlife Awards
ceremony, Peter Yawitz and his show A New
Mann will be warming the winter weather
away at The Hideaway Room at Helen’s, a
club on 169 Eighth Avenue, between 18th
and 19th Streets in New York on
Fridays and Sundays in February, with
shows at 7 p.m. on February 4 and February
11, and at 4:30 p.m. on Sundays, February
6 and 13, 2004.
It’s a
show no HM alum will want to miss. As
Michael Portantiere wrote on
theatermania.com “There’s still
quite a bit of intelligent, witty fare out
there. Example: the hilarious lyrics of
performer-songwriter Peter Yawitz, whose
show is a winner.” For a preview, you can
go to
www.peteryawitz.com to hear clips of
some of the performer’s songs.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Josh Bernstein ’89 Hosts
History Channel’s Adventure Archaeology Series
Digging for the Truth
Horace Mann’s
answer to Indiana Jones makes his TV debut on
January 24, 2005 in the person of Josh
Bernstein ’89 who is hosting The History
Channel’s new series, Digging for the Truth.
The series premieres tonight and runs for 13
weeks on Monday nights. It takes viewers deep
inside the pyramids of Egypt, the jungles of
the Amazon, and the volcano Vesuvius in an
effort to examine, through an historical lens,
some of the world’s great myths, legends, and
actual events. Bernstein is at the front and
center of each of the stories, climbing inside
the pyramids, rappelling into the mouth of Mt.
Vesuvius or off 12th-century castle
walls in France, and swimming through
shark-infested waters in a segment shot in
Mexico. Two episodes launch the program
tonight. In the first, Who Built the Pyramids?
Bernstein explores with archaeological experts
the question of whether the pyramids were
built by the ancient Egyptians or by an even
older civilization. In Neferetti:
The Mummy Returns Bernstein follows a trail of
clues into Egypt’s sacred and secret places to
piece together clues about the legendary and
powerful beauty of Egypt, and why she
disappeared. Other segments send Josh on a
hunt for the lost Ark of the Covenant, the
Holy Grail, Otzi the Iceman, the treasures of
the Inca, and King Solomon’s Gold. The History
Channel describes the program as a cross
between CSI and Indiana Jones.
But to answer
another question, why JWM Productions, which
produced the series for The History Channel,
chose Josh Bernstein to lead this quest, one
can go all the way back to this survival
expert’s early education at Horace Mann.
Bernstein is president and CEO of Boulder
Outdoor Survival School, or BOSS, the
world-renowned outdoor survival school that
has taken groups and individuals on adventure
and survival-skills-building trips for the
past 37 years. Bernstein recalls outings to
Horace Mann’s John Dorr Nature Laboratory in
Washington, Connecticut, as having launched
him on a life-long love of the outdoors, and
his pursuit of outdoor adventure.
During
Bernstein’s tenure as BOSS’ fourth CEO, a
variety of TV and film writers, directors, and
producers have turned to the BOSS when they
needed assistance with productions that
involve extreme outdoor experiences. Bernstein
has been a consultant on Castaway, Charlies’
Angels, Lost, and several National Geographic
specials. “BOSS is the leader for wilderness
survival,” said Bernstein, who began leading
tours for the school while he was still in
college as an undergraduate at Cornell
University.
“When The
History Channel started looking around for
someone who could handle the outdoor adventure
part of the shows, and could also serve as
host, several people recommended me,”
Bernstein said. “I did the screen test, and I
was hired.”
Bernstein’s
well-honed outdoor skills, his articulate
ease, and his rugged good looks no doubt
helped him ace the screen test. There’s also
the fact that he had no trouble engaging the
experts on archaeology and lost civilizations
he interviewed for each segment: Josh majored
in anthropology and psychology at Cornell.
But, when the
producers began working with Bernstein, they
learned of an added bonus from casting him as
narrator and guide. With each segment they
shot the producers learned that they could add
drama to the show by tapping into Bernstein’s
his abilities as an “extreme” adventurer, as
well as his comfort with danger. “At one point
I suggested we do a scene riding across the
desert on horseback,” recalled Bernstein.
“After that, the director said, ‘Josh likes to
ride. Let’s film him riding.’ There were
different directors, producers and camera
people for different segments. I was the only
one who was with each show throughout the
whole series. When I would meet up with a
camera man I worked with weeks before, they’d
say, ‘you’re still alive?’ One cameraman
joked, ‘could Josh die while he’s doing this?
Would that be a good shot if Josh died in the
scene?’” Bernstein laughed. Clearly, no stunt
man needed to be hired for Bernstein’s
daredevil scenes.
Thus, tonight
viewers will see Bernstein galloping horseback
across the Giza Plateau in Egypt to the Great
Pyramid of Khufu, the first pyramid ever
built. While inside the pyramid, Bernstein
makes squeezing his six-foot-frame into shafts
underneath the pyramid that are
three-and-a-half feet high, and 20- inch by
20-inch chambers, look easy. “You pull
yourself along. It’s not for the
claustrophobic,” he said. Promos for the
program show Bernstein underwater in full
scuba gear. “I already had an advanced diving
certificate, but the network had me take a
course in cavern diving for a segment shot in
Mexico. They did everything they could to
ensure my safety, while trying to make the
production really exciting.”
Bernstein’s
adventures at BOSS, and his travels for
Digging for the Truth, take him a long way
from Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, where he was
raised, and from the bus and subway rides that
brought him to Horace Mann every day as a
student here, but today’s survival expert
always attributes his appetite for outdoor
adventure to the first taste of “roughing it”
he received as a student at Horace Mann, when
he visited Dorr.
“I had spent
time in the outdoors at camp as a kid, but my
first real camping experience was at DORR.
When people ask me when I started to enjoy
camping, I think back to those days with Chris
and Glenn (Dorr director Glenn Sherratt and
former teacher Chris Schenk) IALAC cards, and
overnights in fourth grade,” Bernstein told
Horace Mann Magazine in an interview in 2002.
“Twenty years later I can still remember our
camping trip when I personally set up almost
everyone’s tent for them. I’m not sure why. I
just think I got it pretty quickly and was
able to help. The whole group was so
appreciative, and I loved that. And then,
someone accidentally kicked open a bee’s nest
right on me and I got about 20 stings. That
part was tough – but it was incredible – being
out there and having real-life experiences in
the woods with my friends. Those early times
definitely made me want to do more trips
outside, which led to more camping, more
learning, and eventually finding BOSS.”
Tonight, the
world will find Josh Bernstein, as Digging for
the Truth is aired for the more than 87
million Nielsen subscribers The History
Channel reaches. In the process, Bernstein
found out a lot about his own capabilities.
“Two hundred
people were involved in the production, from
the researchers and writers who flesh out the
story, and the experts we interview. I was the
only one in the whole production who was going
for eight months of non-stop travel, from
Egypt to Ethiopia, from one continent to
another. I learned what it was like to work
and to think when you are so tired. I learned
a tremendous amount doing this program. I
never knew TV before this. I learned the craft
of talking on camera, and I learned the
production side. Whether or not I continue in
film or TV, I learned so much about this
craft,” Bernstein said.
“On a more
exciting intellectual level, to have the
experience of exploring, alongside the leading
archaeologists in the world, the experts who
literally wrote the books on these subjects –
that was exhilarating.”
Picture Credit : Joshua
Kessler
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