By Tommy Bourgeois
In the few months left until our 50th reunion, I hope to set the mood by using this periodically allotted space to report lots of classmate gatherings, whether in pairs or in groups small or large. Here’s the latest such news:
William Oppenheimer writes from Mobile, “Nancy and I were delighted to welcome Eti and Paul Bardack on Ono Island, Alabama, for several days in November. Paul has retired in the Washington, DC, area and is enjoying the company of any number of children, grandchildren, and in-laws. We had a great time cruising Orange Beach, Gulf Shores, and other white sand spots, telling stories, remembering many classmates, often with a sense of awe (and occasionally with a sense of nonsense!). I can assure you, Mr. Secretary, that all Saybrugians, as well as those from lesser colleges, were discussed with love and respect. This get-together was prompted by a phone call in which we each expressed dismay at the state of the world, and calamities personal and corporate. Paul and I decided we needed a break, and our wives agreed, so we planned a simple getaway. No big event, nothing particularly fancy. Just a change of locale, with salt in the air and sand on the pier, a fishing line in the water, and a sip of whiskey. There was plenty of time to talk about the world’s problems, and plenty of time to enjoy an old friendship. We are planning to attend the 50th reunion, if the fates allow, and trust your other readers will make similar plans.”
While in NYC on my way to November’s YAA Assembly and Fund Convocation, I caught up with another proud son of Saybrook, Michael Stein, over dinner and drinks at Banc Café, an Irish pub in Murray Hill. We talked about those bright college years (with an emphasis on our English department adventures), 2023’s cinema highlights, the television business which we’ve both exited with our sanity intact, and—following the example set by Messrs. Oppenheimer and Bardack—the recent international and domestic disquiet. The timing was perfect, as Michael was imminently headed to my native New Orleans on a travel writing assignment for Elks magazine, and I could pass on a few restaurant, bar, and museum recommendations, in that order. As I file these notes in early January, he’s plying the same trade in Vienna. Michael promises more news soon. (No pressure, Michael.)
Once in New Haven, I connected with class treasurer Nancy Young, at-large representative Robert Cole, Yale Club representatives Wade Cleveland (Piedmont) and BK Munguia (Westchester), and newly minted Yale Corporation Alumni Fellow Fred Krupp. All of us, along with Nancy’s husband Paul Ford, BK’s husband Jon Mark, and Wade’s partner Travis Seward, made the pre-Game class table scene in Alumni Village, and while we can’t rightly claim credit for the second Eli home win over the Crimson in the last three tries, I’d like to think the Class of ’75 did our part as cheerleaders. Joining us in convivial conversation and two gallons’ worth of Bloody Mary consumption (Thanks, Nancy!) were Fred Cantor, Jacqueline and Michael Albis (Kudos to Jackie’s gold-standard catering!), Paul Baumgartel, Chris Donnelly, Chris and Cary Whipple, George and Andrea Kaliski Miller, and Charles Leiserson. Representing the Pierson Class of ’77 were our most welcome guests Weili Cheng and Ellen Levy Ryan. (Sorry there were no chocolates on offer, Weili.)
George and Andrea Miller, Chris Donnelly, and Michael Stein joined host Nancy Young at the NYC Yale Club for December’s class lunch. Rounding out the party were Michael Farewell, Rabbi Les Bronstein, Arians Van Buren, John Friedman, Michael Carlisle, Jeff McCauley, Serena Fox, and special guest Mic Fleming, who now lives in Greece.
Finally, Stephen Tolkin sends this remembrance of David Richter, who died on June 28, 2022:
“The first day of freshman year, as I was sitting in my room in the stifling attic of Farnam Hall in a funk of teen angst, listening to Artur Schnabel play Mozart on my crappy stereo, I heard pounding footsteps racing up the stairs. My door flew open and in burst David Richter, out of breath from the climb and excitedly crying out, ‘Who has the piano in here!?’ I am writing with the news that my beloved friend of half a century passed away, of Lewy Body Dementia. At Yale, David and I were like Deadheads for the great pianists of our day, with many treks to NYC to hear Horowitz and Ashkenazy and, most of all, David’s idol and spirit guide, Artur Rubinstein. For David, Chopin was God and Rubinstein was his only prophet. In between trips to Carnegie Hall, we would sometimes smoke a whole lot of pot, eat halvah out of the can (more than once off the blade of a double-edge razor when there was no fork at hand), put on Rubinstein playing the Polonaises, and float away into the music. He was himself an extraordinary interpreter of Chopin, to whom his physical resemblance was uncanny. David was wickedly funny, kind, and generous of spirit, and did not suffer fools at all gladly. He went from Yale to Peabody Conservatory and, after time spent living his dream of being a starving artist in Paris, taught piano at the Royal Conservatory in Toronto, where he took joy in music, art, and beauty in all its forms. His sister gave me a portion of his ashes, which I took to Paris in June 2023 and (very discreetly) buried among the roots of a small tree that had grown on Chopin’s tomb in Pere Lachaise Cemetery. May David rest there in peace.”
I thank Stephen for this deeply touching missive, and I’ll add for my part that David’s splendid playing could sometimes be heard in Pierson, and it lent a touch of high culture to the soundtrack of our college years.
As always, I welcome your news, and I hope you seize whatever chances you have to enjoy each other’s company.