Ross King Peterson, MD – 50th Reunion Essay

Ross King Peterson, MD

73 Sheffield Road

Newtonville, MA 02460

rosspetersonmd@gmail.com

978-369-0101

Spouse(s): Joan Clayton Muller (1975–2017)

Child(ren): Ned King Peterson (1976); Clayton Ross Peterson (1979)

Grandchild(ren): Keira Peterson (2012); Hugh Peterson (2015); Tristan Peterson (2017)

Education: Tufts Medical School, MD, 1973. Residency in Adult and Child Psychiatry 91973–1978)

Career: Assistent Professer of Psychiatry Tufts Dept of Psychiatry; consultant to Concord Academy, Middlesex School and Groton school

College: Calhoun (Hopper)

Yale was a life-changing experience for me, beginning with, “Did they really accept me?” Years later I began to understand that I was not alone in this dilemma. I went to Tufts Medical School and have been practicing adult and child psychiatry in Concord, Massachusetts, for the past 40 years. Still am, but slowing down. I was fortunate to renew my relationship to Yale in the ’90s when my boys attended.

Well, we really rode the crest of the wave, didn’t we, between the “flat ’50s” and the “psychedelic ’60s.” Beer on the way in and pot on the way out. Wrapped around by the war, assassinations of MLK and RFK, and the culture flipped on its end. So, to the memories:

I remember sitting in RWB Lewis’s living room on a couch in Calhoun one evening drinking straight scotch with Norman Mailer; another time with Robert Lowell. Mind blowing.

I remember taking Henri Peyre’s French literature course, reading Camus, and becoming an atheist.

I remember the day my roommates and I met in Reverend Coffin’s study trying to decide what we were going to do about the war.

I remember the day my brother, a freshman at Yale, died in a motorcycle accident with his roommate when I was a junior. I was called down to RWB’s study. He told me. He then poured me a glass of scotch. We talked while standing. I felt like a panicked child. He treated me like a man.

I remember Vincent Scully slapping the silver screen with his pointer. The ancient world came alive, and I actually stayed awake, unlike in other morning classes.

I remember lying on the living room floor of our suite junior year one late night. Someone had pulled the arm of the stereo back, and Bob Dylan’s “Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands” played over and over for hours, and I was not bored.

I remember the day in the spring of 1966, lying on the top bunk, reading the text of abnormal psychology, and halfway through realizing that this was amazing stuff, and that was what I was going to do.

I am sure we have all had unforgettable memories at Yale. I am very grateful for the opportunity. As the experience has gradually trickled down, stirred by many more life events, I can think of four things as I turn 71 that guide me and had their roots at Yale.

1) Always have a plan B for rainy days; or, before you take off on plan A, ask yourself, “How could this possibly go wrong?” It’s sobering.

2) Develop the capacity to let go. Delete emotional clutter.

3) Treasure your curiosity. It fuels your continuing education.

4) Be grateful.

One final thought: I keep going back to this quote over and over….

“Happiness comes of the capacity to feel deeply, to enjoy simply, to think freely, to risk life, to be needed.” —Margaret Storm Jameson