1981

All right already. This is it. I won't have you to kick around any more. After five years fastidiously fabricating facts about the whole scurvy lot of us, I am on my way to that great class notes memory bank in the sky. I become your erstwhile scribe. Your secretary emeritus. The fat lady has sung.

By the time you read this, of course, some of you already will have had the opportunity to light my beard on fire at reunion. Which is as it should be. So I figure, as long as I'm going to get torched in the near future anyway, why not lie like I've never lied before?

I knew you'd see it my way, but first and foremost, a word of truth. BobDewey has been named the New England Player of the Year for the U.S. Squash Racquets Association, in part because he helped coach the Yale women's team to an undefeated season and national title. There was a bit more to the story, however. Bob happened also to have defied the laws of osteopathy and neural medicine by holding on to his leg after one of the wickeder motorcycle accidents imaginable. Less than a year after specialists were talking about amputation, Dewey was playing in the nationals. Now that he's mystified the American medical community and pulled in the peer plaudits, Dewey is taking his Yale business degree into Manhattan, where he'll do the leveraged buyout thing for General Electric. And all this from a Deadhead.

Additionally, here are a few quick notes which, like Dewey's info, were garnered by my personal reconnaissance during an undercover foray in southern California. Dave Kunin is alive and deranged and peddling computer wizardry in Orange County. Chris Cannon is finishing up at Berkeley Law School, after which he plans to set up shop in Chicago. MarkBrown is perched in San Francisco, waiting to play his own games of tort-'n-goseek. Vaughn Halyard is still shuttling from Vermont to Chicago to L.A., showing music moguls how to use the synclavier that gargantuan sonic computer that makes movie soundtracks, creates unprecedented instrumental syntheses, and can simultaneously start five cars in a sub-zero Minnesota blizzard. But you know Halyard.

Finally, I refuse to discuss the mysterious case of Thom Smith. He's being sent to a specialist in Secaucus.

Now, as to others: Dick Grayson reports that he has completed his apprenticeship at Wayne Estates in the Gotham City. The boy wonder also says that he's considering a move into private investigation, if he can get out from under the wing of his former mentor.

Meanwhile, Norma Baker writes to say that she is leaving the nest for a trip to Burbank, in hopes of landing a studio contract. Does she have the talent? Can she survive the furies of that dog-eat-Alpo world? Only time will tell.

Also, Randall Davenport announces that he and Bunny Brady have finally decided to tie the knot. A September wedding on the Cape is planned.

But enough of these lies. Here's a real story about the tough and gritty texture of the Big Apple's soft white underbelly. I recently ran into Anne Hallager at an upper-west-side watering hole. Anne reports that she is still assistant producing for Don Ohlmeyer at CBS sports. I would have gleaned more from the encounter had my 11th pitcher not arrived; I deftly excused myself and dove face-first into a bar stool.

But that's me all over. And that's these notes all over. So there.

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