John Allan Yarmuth – 50th Reunion Essay

John Allan Yarmuth

5008 Nitta Yuma Drive

Harrods Creek, KY 40027

jyarmuth@aol.com

502-905-0060

Spouse(s): Catherine Creedon Yarmuth (1981), Sally Davis (1969–’73)

Child(ren): Stanley Aaron Yarmuth (1983)

Education: Yale University, 1969, BA

Career: US Representative, 12 years; newspaper editor, 16 years; university administrator, 3 years; magazine publisher, 6 years

Avocations: Golf, bourbon, basketball, reading

College: Ezra Stiles

After 50 years, the question we all try to answer is: But for Yale, what? I can’t say but for Yale, I wouldn’t be a member of Congress. I can’t say but for Yale, I wouldn’t have been married to Cathy, and thus have a wonderful son, Aaron. I can’t say but for Yale, I would have had a boring, inconsequential life.

I know that but for Yale I wouldn’t have my best friends. I know I wouldn’t have a diploma that is so highly respected. I know that but for Yale, I wouldn’t have met many of the people who have enhanced my life, including Yale grad and media star Perry Bacon, whose admission interview I did long ago. (I also know that but for Yale, I probably wouldn’t know how to pad the word count by repeating phrases like “but for Yale.”)

What we all have is our memories of Yale, good, bad, and ugly. I remember sitting in my Vanderbilt windowsill trying to make sense of Aristotle, and then giving up and dropping the class.

I remember spending so many nights in Olivia’s with Jim Schweitzer, playing “Be My Baby” over and over on the jukebox.

I remember discovering that Jeffrey Rosen had decided on Yale over Michigan, and we built on a friendship that lasts to this day.

I remember hundreds of hours on the fifth floor of Payne-Whitney, playing pick-up basketball instead of going to class. I also remember helping Ezra Stiles win the intramural basketball league, and also that same team winning the New Haven recreation league.

I remember flipping burgers in the Old Campus snack shop so I could earn enough money to pay the huge phone bills I rang up calling my girlfriend in Ohio.

I remember telling Will Bogaty that if he singlehandedly drank a green cup at Mory’s, I would drive him to Conn College so he could see Heather, then having to make good on the promise when he did. (Of course, he passed out and never saw her anyway.)

I remember Robert Cook’s sociology seminar and his unconventional attitude about grades. He essentially said we should grade ourselves, since he wanted us to learn what we wanted to learn rather than what he wanted us to learn. We tried to give ourselves 100% grades, but we ended up drawing our grades out of a hat. Really.

I remember parents’ weekend when the band performed its Yale-Vassar merger formation.

I remember so many football games, unfortunately including Harvard’s 29–29 “victory.”

I remember Moses, my pet monkey, who lived in Vanderbilt for three months before my roommates made me take him to Louisville.

I remember the legendary debate between William Sloane Coffin and William Buckley, which flipped my modestly conservative political philosophy on its head.

Now that I think about it, but for Yale, I may have ended up as a Republican, but my life would have been much fuller anyway.