Apr 1995

There is precious little in the hopper, this freezing February evening, to amuse and delight you (though you will be reading this note in the swelling spring — I think I feel a haiku coming on). I will deal what I have, in hopes some titillating gossip will reach me in time for the next column.

I mentioned Julian Fisher a couple of months ago in connection with his gift of craft furniture to the Yale Art Gallery. Julian has since written in to add that he was inspired by his father’s love for Yale (Class of ’26), as well as his mother’s practical nature, in developing the “contemporary craft extension of the distinguished Garvan collection.” He goes on to note that he is working actively with the curatorial staff at the Art Gallery to locate other classmates with interests or collections that might find a place at Yale, “either in American art, which is slated for a museum building of its own in the near future,” or otherwise.

I have two notices concerning Robert Shlachter, one about him and one by him. The former is from his Portland (Oregon) law firm, now called Stoll Stoll Berne Lokting & Shlachter, announcing the addition of his name to the firm’s name. If they add any more names, they’re going to have to reduce font size on the letterhead. On a more personal level, the latter note dances through a series of sentiments: “Last year marked our . . . 25th Reunion (which was nostalgic), my son David’s bar mitzvah (which was emotional and inspiring), and success by son’s . . . and daughter’s . . . basketball teams (which my wife and I coached). See you in 1999 at the 30th!”

Frederick Allen has moved from old house in Washington, D.C., to new house two blocks away, and assures that accommodations for guests are improved. So, visit on your trips to Washington. Speaking of Washington, no doubt all you hagiographers out there who also read the New Yorker magazine will revel in the February 13 issue, in which Reed Hundt is showcased as Federal Communi cations Commission chairman in a feature article on the auctioning of the airwaves. What can I say? The man gets good press. The article quotes his wife as observing that Reed is “a child of the sixties.” Well, yes, Reed. But, then again, so are Phil Gramm and Madonna. However, neither of them is a classmate.

We have received the sad notice that Drew May died March 1993, in Arlington, Virginia. He was a foreign service officer, with tours of duty in Italy, Panama, Japan, and Laos. His obit offered that he spoke six languages.

And now for the crowning touch, from Paul Leffler Fasoldt, from whom arrived the following, in its enigmatic entirety: “Still free, alive, and well.” And what more could one want?