Clinton Sheerr, September 8, 1997
From Class Notes: Clinton Sheerr died in 1997. He was founder (with his wife) of a small architectural firm in New Hampshire which had won numerous awards; he had previously (while at I.M. Pei) had a major hand in design of the East Building of the National Gallery of Art in Washington.
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SHEERR-Clinton Jay, 50, prominent New Hampshire architect, died Monday, September 8 at Dartmouth Hitchcock Medical Center after a long and heroic struggle with cancer. Loving husband of Deirdre McCrystal Sheerr. Devoted son of Alvin and Vivian Sheerr. Beloved brother of Phyllis Duberstein and Patsy Cardillo. Dearly loved uncle, son-in-law and brother-in-law. The funeral was held on Friday September 12 at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Concord, New Hampshire. In lieu of flowers, contributions in Clinton’s memory may be made to the New Hampshire Charitable Foundation, 37 Pleasant Street, Concord, New Hampshire 03301.
Published in The New York Times on September 14, 1997
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From The American Institute of Architects site: Clinton Sheerr AIA was a well-known New Hampshire architect who died in 1997 and whose uncommon love for the profession and the state is memorialized through this honor award. Sheerr was responsible for designing numerous award-winning New Hampshire buildings, notably the New Hampshire Charitable Foundation and St. Paul’s Church, and was active in professional and community organizations.
Sheerr exemplified the spirit of great passion for beauty and design, a dedication to the community, and the tenacity to follow one’s tasks and dreams. This [Clinton Sheer] award honors other similarly outstanding architects or Honorary AIA members in the state who carry on the tradition of deep love and dedication for the State, its architecture and environment.
Deirdre Sheerr-Gross AIA created the fund for the award in honor of Clint, and it is supported by donations in his memory. The funds are held and managed by the NH Charitable Foundation.
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From roommate Norm Resnicow:
Clint Sheerr was my junior and senior year roommate, together with Bob DeLorenzo. Clint and I developed a close lifelong (a sad word here) friendship, reinforced by our both staying on campus for three years after graduation (Clint for Architecture and me for Law). It was the obvious choice for Clint to be Best Man at my 1970 wedding.
Clint was an energetic and effervescently amusing, creative multi-talent. He had the eased self-confidence of a comfortably raised suburban New York day school graduate — and was a gifted intellect without projecting ponderous intellectualism. For Clint it was perfectly natural to have a car (Pontiac Firebird) while I — the Bursary Boy — thought some before spending to go out for a slice. But those distinctions never made the slightest difference between us.
Clint self-created himself as the English major who knew he wanted to be an architect. He kept our room full of music, introducing me to Hugh Masekela as well as The Doors. Clint was endlessly funny and a friend in full.
We both married Connecticut College women. There were a number of rides between New Haven and New London — with a breakdown in the town of Clinton that became a laugh spark between the two couples for years.
The most memorable sophomoric stunt Clint led DeLorenzo and me into is included here with hesitation (trigger warning: politically gender incorrect). One Halloween Clint led us to dress in full drag (including sets of architecturally placed softballs) so that we could go to Kingman Brewster’s home for trick-or-treat. I don’t quite recall Brewster’s reaction upon opening his door. I do remember the timer photo Clint took of our winsome threesome. (Yes, good photography was yet another of Clint’s many talents.) Putting DeLorenzo in the center and instructing me to look intently at DeLorenzo’s artfully enhanced cleavage, Clint produced the photo he declared to be: Resnicow and Sheerr contemplating the bust of DeLorenzo.” That was classic Clint highbrow/lowbrow.
I recall Clint mentioning at some point his father created the company that made “Flavor Straws,” a feature of my childhood (dried chocolate syrup inside a straw to mix and make less messy chocolate milk more quickly — even more quickly than competitor “Nestle’s Quick”). A glass of milk, however disguised, was always good for us as kids. Maybe they should now put statins into straws.
At Yale Architecture (which my wife Barbara entered two years behind Clint), Clint was suddenly struck by Hodgkin’s Disease. For me to see such a close friend get so sick so young took the ground out from under my feet. There was at least one other Hodgkin’s case at Yale Architecture — and I always wondered whether some of the (later removed) asbestos all over the building might have been a Hodgkin’s stimulator (but fortunately my wife remains amazingly healthy).
Clint recovered with radiation therapy and went on to work in New York for starchitect I.M. Pei on designing a new building in Washington D.C.’s National Art Gallery. It was Clint’s second bout of related illness in his later 20s that led him to reconsider the whole shebang and to move (with wife Lucy) to North Grantham, New Hampshire. This was not a semi-retirement or slowdown, but rather a “change my lifestyle” move. Unfortunately, this occurred just at a time when real estate construction was coming to an extended halt. The stranger in town found the town in strange shape.
Still, Clint bought into a Dartmouth-sponsored land subdivision and designed the house he wanted. Barbara and I visited his beautiful place both BC and AC (before and after children). At some point Lucy decided to leave Clint — possibly in part due to no prospect of children in light of Clint’s radiation treatments. Clint would have made one of the world’s great Dads. When my sons Dan and Joel were brought on vacation visits to Clint in New Hampshire over the years, they reveled in his company.
After some years of singlehood, Clint met architect Deirdre McChrystal at a Hawaii architects convention. They fell in love and married (Clint always went for Irish lasses), and they established together an architecture practice in Newport, New Hampshire, a charming small city attracting tourists to the nearby Lake Sunnapee area.
Clint built a stunning house overlooking Little Lake Sunnapee. It’s most salient feature was a fresco, going around the living room near ceiling height, with notable quotations. I don’t remember the particulars, but Albert Einstein and Anne Frank come to mind. The English major architect knew exactly what he wanted to create and how he wanted to live. If only his life choices had been more honored by life’s lottery.
At some point Clint had a third bout with a Hodgkins-related illness, but he beat it again. (Strangely one of his two sisters also came down with Hodgkin’s; she recovered and had a child.) Despite all, Clint remained ever optimistic and confident. Amazingly, I never heard him utter a word feeling sorry for himself. His treatments left him with a scary persistent cough. The everpresence of illness was just a part of the landscape for Clint.
In the number of years remaining to him, Clint painted, photographed, wrote an (unpublished) novel, skied and hiked the New Hampshire mountains often — he had and did it with gusto
In April 1997, I called Clint to invite him to the big birthday party Barbara was organizing for my 50th. Clint was in fine form, having just received his AARP card in the mail. He had done some special golf experience, work was great, all was cool, life was good. He and Deirdre had either built or renovated 17 buildings on Newport’s Main Street. Clint was where he wanted to be in every sense of the word.
About a month later Clint called to say he was ill again and would be unable to attend my party. Sometime not long after the party, Deirdre called me to say that Clint had passed.
The funeral was pure Clint. Deirdre and Clint’s parents asked me to deliver one of the eulogies. The funeral was in an historic church in the State’s capital Concord; the church had recently been restored from a devastating arson fire. That Clint — a lifelong proud Jew — had his funeral in a church (with the religious part done by a cantor) had its basis in Clint’s creativity, talent, drive and humor. Clint’s last big project was designing and overseeing (with Deirdre) the restoration of that church. Their work on the church was admired and renowned throughout the State. Fittingly, reflecting Clint’s unfailing humor, figures in the restored stained glass windows bore the faces of Clint, Deirdre and their New Hampshire friends. Clint in effect viewed his own funeral from on high. As always, Clint got the last laugh. Dammit, I miss him.
[in_memoriam_closing]