Loads
of characters, plenty of plot What class reunion books can tell us
By Landon Y. Jones '66
When the men of Princeton's Class of 1885 prepared to gather for their
25th reunion, they decided to publish a book reporting the latest doings
of classmates "in anticipation of the reunion in June, 1910."
The 116 pages of the resulting hardcover volume did that and more: They
not only provide brief sketches of the 165 or so 1885ers who contributed
their biographies, but also open a window into belle époque
life. Meet Chester Allen Arthur of Colorado Springs, "the Colorado
representative on the committee for the Taft inauguration ball. He drives
a four-in-hand, and otherwise leads the life of a gentleman of leisure."
Less fortunate since graduation, perhaps, was Dr. William E. Woodend.
He was listed with "Address Unknown" and identified as "a
broker at one time. The New York Sun of May 1, 1904, has a couple
of columns on the smash-up of his firm."
The slender Class of 1885 volume is among the Princeton 25th-reunion
books assembled in a reference room in the Seeley G. Mudd Manuscript Library.
The 25th-reunion books — which date back at least to one published
by the Class of 1853 in 1878 — are the keystone volumes in the Mudd
Library collection of 25 shelves of books published by Princeton's classes
at their major (and sometimes minor) reunions. Just as 1885's book preserves
a sepia-tinged snapshot of the turn of the century, the collection bears
witness to the marriages, children, job changes, aspirations, vacations,
midlife crises, and personal victories of generations of alumni. These
details are gathered into narrative essays — the life stories of
people who choose to tell us about who they are and how they got there.
The narratives they construct — what they put in, what they leave
out — can tell us much about the changing character of Princeton
alumni and the times they lived in.
When the Class of 1897 published its first book, a directory of classmates'
addresses, just a year after graduation, it added a special tribute to
the class's "war heroes" serving in the Spanish-American War,
which had broken out in 1898. It was the first of many reunion books that
periodically reflected the impact of a foreign war. At the 25th reunion
of the Class of 1969, 80 percent reported that they held advanced degrees
— a lingering result of the Vietnam-era draft deferment given to
graduate students in those days.
The books reveal the character of their times in other ways. Early Princeton
reunion books listed classmates not only alphabetically but also by their
professions. In its first-reunion book, for instance, the Class of 1899
grouped classmates under the headings "studying," "business,"
"draughting and engineering," "journalism," and "practicing
law." (Future physicians were listed as still "studying.")
More recent Princeton alumni cannot be grouped so easily. John Oakes
'83, who drafted and analyzed the class survey for the most recent 25th-reunion
book, was struck by his classmates' diversity. "There are many lawyers
and financial people in traditional careers, but they are very open to
life and ‘liberal' in the general sense," he says. "They
have not become narrower, as you might expect. They have broadened in
their interests and attitudes." Nor are the members of '83 single-mindedly
committed to their careers. Having already dealt with the work-family
balance, these alumni "say it's not all about work for them; it's
about family," according to Juli Greenwald '83, who edited her class's
25th-reunion book (which was not yet available when this article went
to press). "Work is nice, but it's not the be-all and end-all."
Other recent 25th-reunion classes appear to have shared in that experience.
A visitor from Mars examining the Class of 1982's 25th-reunion book —
a lively, four-color volume that includes 350 individual profiles, a class
survey with computer graphics, and several hundred photographs —
might conclude that Princeton was educating a generation of adventurers.
The men and women of '82 are seen skiing, boating, helicoptering, and
fishing in locations that range from Boston to Baghdad to the South Pole.
They are accompanied by spouses, same-sex partners, children, pets, and
at least one frog. Pictures submitted by alumni from classes as recently
as the early 1970s were dominated by formal, publicity-department head
shots, but I could find only two photos of '82ers in a professional setting,
and in one of them the alumnus is juggling.
Not that '82 is lacking in professional accomplishment. Theirs is an
elite chosen for success, and the book is peppered with now-prominent
names: the actor David Duchovny, Democratic Party activist Bruce Reed,
Hollywood studio president Theodore Gagliano, and AOL executive Lynda
Clarizio. There is a large group of published authors and journalists,
including Joel Achenbach, Lisa Belkin Gelb, Christopher Chambers, Bart
Gellman, Michael Lewis, Virginia Postrel, and Todd Purdum — all
of them from one of the last classes of undergraduates that did not use
personal computers at Princeton. Asked about this literary flowering,
the book's editor, Elizabeth "Wiz" Lippincott '82, observes,
"Many of us didn't feel the need to go to graduate school to succeed.
[It was a time] when magazines and newspapers were strong, and the best
education was on the job, not in a classroom."
One virtue of reunion books is that they prompt a kind of periodic self-assessment
before a comparison group of your peers. Is your career meeting your expectations?
What about your family priorities? What are your goals? At their 25th,
the men and women of '82 contributed remarkably candid essays, perhaps
because they felt safe addressing a trusted group of friends. They know
that they are extraordinarily privileged; almost all express gratitude
for the blessings in their lives. Some essays are humorous and self-deprecating.
More serious ones comprise a mosaic of themes that emerge again and again:
the joys and difficulties of parenting, the passing of one's own parents,
the slightly anxious jokes about losing car keys and forgetting names.
The motif of the so-called midlife crisis is heard again and again from
this group of ambitious 47-year-olds: "After 20 years in software
sales, I finally committed to follow a calling I feel I have always had
to become a teacher and football coach." ... "Twenty-five years
on, I've changed — more rhythm, less blues" ... "Maybe
I've had a midlife crisis, and maybe I've just come to trust what I believe."
As Greenwald discovered in editing the '83 book, Lippincott reports
that a dominant theme in the 1982 essays was "the effort made and
candidness to write about finding a work-life balance. Normally you would
hear about this from women, since we feel the stress of being child-bearers
as well as putting our Princeton educations to work. But I thought it
interesting that in almost every essay the guys wrote, they talked about
trying to be with their kids and spouses as much as about their career
ladder."
In a typical entry, one woman writes about traveling the world with
her company until "we just couldn't pull off a two-career family
any more. Now I'm happily home with two teenagers and a Labrador ... ."
Another '82er left his international banking job with Citibank after he
and his wife "decided that the time had come to settle down and give
our children, now in middle and high school, the opportunity to finish
high school with their friends." He now works at a community bank
in Florida where "I am currently experiencing the enormous satisfaction,
as well as the risks, opportunities, and rewards, of being a small-business
owner and operator." Lippincott herself worked as a reporter and
magazine editor in Los Angeles before, as she writes in her essay, "I
left the journalists' entitled world of glamour, celebrity, and access,
after 15 years, to raise my three children."
Some of '82's essays are somber. "I will be a four-and-a-half-year
survivor of pancreatic cancer" ... "In August of 2005, I was
diagnosed with colon cancer. The cancer had spread to the liver in eight
to 10 places, and the prognosis was pretty bad" ... "There have
been dark years on the way to the present moment." But as is common
for high- achievers, many of the Princetonians find a positive and even
redemptive narrative to explain the most difficult experiences life presents.
A cancer patient reports, "This experience has made me appreciate
the simple things like family and friends and even the kindness of strangers
and acquaintances." One of the book's most moving essays was contributed
by Gina Malin, the widow of Bob Malin '82, who died of a heart attack
during the couple's 20th-anniversary vacation a year before the reunion.
Gina lists 14 things her husband had done in the two weeks before he died,
almost all of them involving service to others (e.g., "Helped his
oldest daughter with a science project ... Mentored a young friend").
"We miss and love him so," she concludes.
If 25th-reunion books represent a kind of taking-stock at midstream,
the classes preparing 50th-reunion books are closer to the far bank. This
year, the Class of 1958 published its 50th-year book well in advance of
its June reunion. It is a substantial volume: 465 pages, 9" x 11"
trim size, with 441 individual profiles set in a generous typeface that
will not strain 72-year-old eyes.
Where the men and women of '82 and '83 are diverse and centrifugal in
their interests, the men of '58 are comparatively homogenous and centripetal.
By the time of the 50th reunion, many of the issues ranked high among
the priorities (and anxieties) of the 25th-reunion classes have been resolved
long ago. Careers have been settled; children are grown and (mostly) out
of the house. The '58ers are mellower; they have moved on to the stage
of life Erik Erikson calls "generativity" — when, after
one's own identity and long-term bonds of intimacy with family and friends
are established, an adult is ready to lead and help the next generation.
Remak Ramsay '58, a longtime Broadway actor, writes in his essay, "We
should spend less time worrying about the next quarterly dividend and
more time worrying about the next generation."
The photos submitted have a relaxed elegance, as if from the pages of
Orvis or Land's End catalogues. There are fewer photos submitted from
mountaintops, though one '58er is depicted gripping his pitons. Instead,
the pictures are quieter, often just an alumnus and his wife, sometimes
with grandchildren and pets. (I counted seven dogs, two hawks, one horse,
and two dead fish.) They are joiners. One man writes, "We belong
to a number of social clubs; in New York the Harmonie Club, Doubles, and
Sunningdale Country Club; in the Hamptons the East Hampton Golf Club,
East Hampton Indoor Tennis, Maidstone Gun Club, and the Peconic River
Sporting Club."
If the men of '58 wrestled with finding the family-career balance that
preoccupied the Class of 1982, they do not talk about it much here. Some
of 1958's most prominent members present an understated synopsis of their
recent years. Former U.S. Senator Jack Danforth '58, for example, writes
in a just-the-facts mode, "I've had some interesting assignments
since leaving the Senate, including acting as special counsel to investigate
the deaths caused by the federal raid on the Branch Davidian compound
in Waco, Texas; and serving as President Bush's special envoy for peace
in Sudan."
The accumulation of years lived by the 50th reunion can bring heartbreaks
along with satisfaction. His marriage ended, one classmate "took
it hard, did therapy, learned to meditate." Another one understands
"that my alcoholism, which I had failed to address, was responsible
for the end of this marriage and the end of a very promising corporate
career." Some report with sadness the deaths of their children: "Fiona
had a severe breakdown, was hospitalized, and later died. That death was
a terrible blow" ... "Dedee and I suffered our worst tragedy
when our youngest son, Tyler, was killed in an automobile accident at
the age of 23" ... "After Terry's sudden death in March 2007,
while playing hockey, he received many wonderful tributes and memorials."
Many of the 81 obituaries printed in a special section were written
by widows, family members, colleagues, or classmates. Unmitigated by professionals,
they are especially affecting: "Sandy died of cancer on Nov. 27,
2004, near our home in Yardley, Pennsylvania. I was with him. ..."
There is a self-effacing resoluteness among the members of this so-called
silent generation that shines through. One '58er writes, "I've never
gone back to Princeton and am hardly a rah-rah alum. But Princeton is
with me always — when I least expect it, when I find myself able
to discuss sprung rhythm with our local poets, or when I have to think
my way out of some awful mess. I love telling people I went to Princeton:
Their eyebrows go up and so does my IQ for a moment, back to where it
was when I was bright enough to gain entry to ‘the best old place
of all,' where I learned to love books, work hard, walk fast, and never,
never, never give up." In a postscript, this alumnus adds that he
recently returned to working on land-preservation issues in his community
"because I don't want to die drooling in a wheelchair. I want to
be shot by a rabid developer."
These recent volumes are part of a century-and-a-half-long evolution
of reunion books that continues today. With the introduction of offset
and desktop-publishing technologies, the books have grown in both ambition
and girth. The tidy, Nassau Herald-sized, faux-leather format
used by many classes of the 1950s and 1960s for their 25th-reunion books
has given way to splashy, four-color softcovers. The 50th-reunion books
have changed and expanded even more dramatically, hitting a high mark
with a Brobdingnagian effort from the Class of 1952, which in 2002 published
a 758-page Book of Our History, a separate volume of essays written
by classmates, and a CD of Princeton songs.
A number of recent reunion books have been produced by Hugh Wachter,
an enterprising member of the Class of 1968. A former commercial publisher,
Wachter got into the reunion-book business when he was asked by his class
to help out with a book for its 25th. After other classes sought his assistance,
Wachter started his own company, Reunion Press in suburban Washington,
D.C. In the years since, in collaboration with Web site developer John
Bruestle '78
of Reunion Technologies, Wachter has edited and published more than
100 reunion books for alumni of a number of schools and universities.
But with the advent of coeducation and the resulting expansion of Princeton's
graduating classes, it has become increasingly difficult to produce the
volumes. Ultimately — perhaps within 20 years, he suggests —
the printed volumes may be replaced by Web sites. "The younger classes
are not even thinking about books," Wachter says.
The move away from hard-copy reunion books is not welcome news for social
historians. Consider the graduates of 1968 — a class, more than
any other, shaped by the turmoil of the 1960s. The first class composed
largely of baby boomers, it entered Princeton the year after the assassination
of President Kennedy and left with the assassinations of Robert Kennedy
and Martin Luther King Jr. In the years since, they have had to reconcile
their original self-narratives with the lives they actually led. The class's
25th-reunion book is an extraordinarily rich document that in 1993 still
crackled with the frankness and tension of those earlier times. Listen
to the voices of its members:
• "The late '70s and early '80s were an increasingly miserable
and self-destructive time in my first marriage and family life. ... I've
learned much from the pain, the sorrow, and the triumphs."
• "Early in the course of practicing law, I had become addicted
to the intoxicating excitement of transactions. ...
As with any addiction, I needed ever-increasing ‘deals.'"
• "One of my summer reading books, Tantra: The Supreme
Understanding, by Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh, affected me so profoundly
that I traveled to Poona, India, in 1979 to meet Osho Rajneesh (as his
disciples were later to call him)."
• "My first marriage dissolved shortly after my return from
Germany in 1971. I had had virtually no practical experience in close
relationships before I met and married ... (a condition which Princeton's
all-male character during the '60s did nothing to ameliorate) ... "
• "I left Princeton in 1968 anticipating going to jail because
of refusal to serve in the Vietnam War. I had applied for conscientious-objector
status after much deliberation on my willingness to accept imprisonment
and abandon my hopes for how my life would turn out."
• "With the Tet offensive and the end of draft deferment,
we were all scattered like birdshot in June '68. ... I joined the Navy;
with misgivings, but ready to give it the benefit of a doubt and be convinced
by the reality. Strangely enough, I never got hold of much of the reality."
This spring the Class of 1968 returned for its 40th under its reunion
slogan, "It's About Time." Indeed it is. How did its members
turn out? What are their reflections now about the '60s, Vietnam, coeducation,
student unrest? Alas, we do not know. The Class of '68 did not publish
a book for its 40th reunion this year. To read classmates' stories, we
must wait until they are called to write about it at their 50th.
It will be a useful exercise. In his influential book, The Stories
We Live By, the Northwestern University psychologist Dan P. McAdams
argues that our life stories not only describe who we are, but can shape
our futures. "We each seek to provide our scattered and often confusing
experiences with a sense of coherence by arranging the episodes of our
lives into stories," he writes. "This is not the stuff of delusion
or self-deception. We are not telling ourselves lies. Rather, through
our personal myths, each of us discovers what is true and what is meaningful
in life."
Landon Y. Jones '66 is a former editor of PAW and People
magazine. His 1980 book, Great Expectations: America and the Baby-Boom
Generation, was reissued in softcover this year by Amazon's Book Surge
imprint.
