1984

One of the unfortunate by-products of being elected secretary is the sudden reluctance of even long-term friends to talk with me when I call. When once our phone conversations were two-sided affairs flush with rich, descriptive narratives full of great copy for my column, recently I have been aware of a dramatic transformation. Questions are answered with clipped, monosyllabic mutterings and our conversations are marked by embarrassing lapses of silence.

A case in point was my call to Cindy Levine. Without exercising too much poetic license, I would dare say that, initially, Cindy was actually happy to hear from me. She talked freely about her recent job switch from Grey Advertising in New York to the Chicago firm of Foote, Cone & Belding. While I am not in a position to appreciate the significance of moving from the Joy soap account over to Kraft macaroni and cheese, I could understand Cindy's preference for higher pay and a better lifestyle. Toward the end of the conversation, I casually noted my recent election as secretary and asked her if she had anything interesting to add for the column. "You better not mention me or print a thing," she ordered. Not "Oh, congratulations" or "I'm happy for you, that's really great." Cindy continued, "I got to take this call, see ya," and was gone before I could tell her of my hurt feelings.

My reception was not much better from Jim Clemens. Things started off well as Jim told me he was living outside of Boston in Maynard with his wife, Anne, and their son Samuel J. Jim works in computer sales for Silicon Graphics. When I disclosed my affiliation witn the Magazine as the alumni handbook requires, Jim's voice suddenly grew defensive. He told me he heard Sam crying and hung up before I could finish.

I fared little better with Tom Lubin. When I suggested that I might use his name in the column, he replied, "Thanks a lot, I'm nice enough to call and that's the thanks I get." Luckily I remembered enough of our discussion at reunion to recap Tom's life over the past few years. After graduating from Stanford Law, Tom traveled to Thailand on a Luce Scholarship working on U.S.-Thai trade and traveling around Asia. His was in Burma during the student uprising in August of 1988. His graphic pictures of the violence later graced the pages of Time and Newsweek. Tom then moved on to Korea where he worked on NBC's telecast of the Olympics. He has settled down in Chicago where he is practicing law.

In hopes of finding a more sympathetic ear, and at the same time seeking to avoid any allegations that the names I include in this column smack of "cronyism,"! decided to pull out our freshman book, close my eyes, and select a classmate at random. After I was told by the Alumni office that my first selection was living in Hong Kong and the second had never matriculated, I felt sure I had hit paydirt when my third stab yielded Denyse Maxwell, whose area code could at least be dialed direct. The voice at the other end of the phone asked what I wanted, and after I identified myself with the "s word," the woman told me Denyse was living in Mexico doing missionary work. A likely story. My next stab hit on Ivan Castro. The boy answering the phone (who seems to have been warned by someone at the Maxwells') told me Ivan had "moved away a while ago." By this time I had lost my will to argue and hung up despite what seemed like a muffled whisper of "tell him I'm not here" in the background. Well, no one ever said that being a secretary was going to be easy. Be warned, however, that when I call next month I may try disguising my voice.

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