1950

Forget the chores. There are more interesting things to do. Like hitting a tennis ball. Or reading I, Giorghos. Or following a golf ball along a shaded fairway. Or teasing a trout from a cool, rushing stream. Or paging through First World War Poetry. Or sitting on the rocks by the shore and watching the tide flow in. There are so many alternative activities other than sitting down to face these notes.

Usually a warning portends the first fall deadline. A leaf or two are suddenly yellow. A cold front zaps the humidity and leaves the air shining clear. The cicadas sing day and night. Summer drifts along and behold, Labor Day. But not in the middle of August. It's still vacation time.

But reality finally sets in. Another year begins, too many to count since 1946, our freshman year.

The past revisited: the Orozco murals now 50 years old are as fresh, as startling, and as fascinating as they were in 1934 and 1946. A recent cleaning removed dirt and cigarette smoke (smoking is no longer permitted in the reserve room) and returned luster to the color. We spent a morning enjoying the murals at leisure, a far cry from the casual glances as a break from studying, and were gripped again by their grandeur. The panel contrasting the greedy generals and the Vermont schoolteacher was particularly penetrating. Although a product of his country and his time, Orozco was impressed by the North Country and its people.

Some articles appear unsolicited. One arrived last month from Phil (W.) Brown. The subject was George Wood well, "Crusader for the Earth." Surrounding the article were clips from newspaper stories about George's work: "DDT perils wildlife"; "The greenhouse effect threatens climate"; "Radiation brings nuclear death to test forest." From his quiet niche as director of the Ecosystems Center at Woods Hole George champions the environment and life.

Last fall a number of scientists from different fields converged on Washington to hold a conference on "The World After Nuclear War." The result was bleak. The physicists anticipated a nuclear winter; biologists predicted that numerous species of plants and animals would perish. Man had little chance of escaping extinction. According to Stanford biologist Paul Ehrlich, one man forged the views and ideas of the divergent scholars into a coherent consensus. The unifying force was George: "Wood well accomplished miracles. He maneuvered among the participants, and he had the patience and understanding and the stature as a scientist to keep us on track." But George is not simply an advocate. "His opinions are based on years of experimentation followed by a rigorous analysis of the results."

A lighter side appears at home. Woods Hole is a comfortable place to live and work. Katherine, his wife, rules at home and organizes the musical and theatrical events in the village. Four children Caroline, Mar-jorie, Jane, and John insist upon equal time when they are home from college or work. Leisure is building a 28-foot A-frame to support solar panels and copper tubing. Escape is sailing.

Phil Brown, by the way, was a model of brevity and objectivity. He offered no news. But his notepad from the Mayo Clinic indicates that his specialty is gastroenterology. Phil did not spell "relief."

Tidbits here and there: although a lot of geography separates them, Ted Bamberger and Tom O'Connell see each other several times a year in various West Coast venues, especially San Francisco. Running a trucking operation is child's play, but playing bridge is serious business for Ed Gulick, who suffered a heart attack at one tournament. Ed recovers with spirit. Barney McPhillips is recovering from the same malady, but not from the same cause. Since Dick McSorley has visited the old sod, he can regale us with stories from Ballybunion. The "lone pine" was one in a majestic forest coveted by the royal governor as a source of masts for George III's navy. Gerry Sarno presides at Park Avenue Plaza in directing sales for Perini International.

Once more a sad note. After a short illness Robert Campbell Day died of a malignant brain tumor on June 28. He lived just over the high mountain in the next county. Like many others, we miss him.

It is too early to anticipate October. So, we shall desist. We shall simply lapse into the doldrums and enjoy the last weeks of summer. There are all those many other things to do. So many choices and so little time. Cheers, and peace.

510 Hillcrest Road Ridgewood, NJ 07450