1983

You spoiled me last month; some of you, to my surprise and delight, actually wrote. The only problem was th at I assumed it would happen again. So there I was, the day before this column was due, and nada. I cornered my mailman. I'm not unreasonable—together we discounted the likelihood of mail fraud. He is quite convinced, the dear man, that a whole packet of letters from '83s were somehow misrouted and are winging their way to me even as I write, for next month's column.

Fortunately, I am not without resource, and I turned to what I do best: the telephone. Now, I'm told that the class will cover the cost of any long-distance calls made in the line of duty (if they knew me better they would never have made an offer like that), but I thought I'd do my share when it came to College finances and began locally.

The first person I called was Peter Mann at NBC. "Oh, no," he groaned. "And after working so hard for so long to stay out of Class Notes. Well," he added philosophically, "if I've got to go, I'm taking others down with me." In other words, pay-dirt. Pete's a big man at NBC cable in Los Angeles: VP Western region manager of ad sales. But his and wife Pam's real news concerns a little Mann. Son Kevin was born last May.

If you find that mind-boggling, Peter's fellow Bones Gatian, Tucker Gates, is now the father of three count 'em, three girls, the youngest appearing on the scene about eight months ago. Who would have thought it, watching him down 'Cutters on the back lawn so many years ago. Tucker also lives in L.A., where he's been directing assorted television shows and working on a documentary.

Peter reports that Steve Wimsatt is also here, working for Arthur D. Little. In March "Lug" tied the knot with a bride identified by Peter only as "a Wisconsin woman named Sandy." He seemed more concerned that I include his friend's nickname which, he claims proudly, "followed him from high school, I think." And all three sorely miss Rick Herrick, who recently moved from L.A. to San Francisco, where he continues to work for Saatchi and Saatchi Direct.

Next I called another Angeleno, Minna Towbin Pinger. Minna is taking a break from the arduous career of freelance writer (bylines in the L.A. Times, no less) for the even more arduous career of fulltime mom to her two sons, two-and-a-half-year-old Dashiell and Belmont, eight months. "It's the hardest thing I've ever done," she attests, little shrieks and crashes echoing in the background.

By then those nice, low evening rates were in effect, so I figured one little call to the East Coast wouldn't hurt. I dialed my old roomm ate, Joanne Taplin Romeyn, only to discover that she and her husband, Peter (he's a twin, AD, '85," Jo briskly explained), are close to cornering the market on health care in Portland, Maine. Jo's an intern in anesthesiology, Peter in surgery, and if that's not cute enough, the two met the first day of med school at University of Vermont and got married on May 1 last year to Jo claims Peter's harried cries of "May Day! May Day!." "At this rate," she says, "we'll be ready to start a family, oh, sometime in the next century."

And on a final note, if any of yon happen to visit St. Mark's Episcopal chapel on the edge of the University of Connecticut campus at Storrs, and you think the vicar looks familiar, you're right. It's Rob Hirshfeld or Rev. Robert as he's now known.

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