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Alumni Interactive
David Arnold ’65 Don Maggin '44 Glenn Fleisig '80
Neil Baldwin ’65 Robert Margolis '74
Josh Bernstein '89 Victor Mayayesva Jr.’70
Donald Hillman '42 Peter Yawitz ’76
Jody Lewen ' 82 Richard Zacks ’73

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.   
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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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