"Nails" Trautman, An Appreciation

I remember vividly the first time I saw George Trautman. All of twenty-two and not yet a college graduate, I had arrived on campus to interview for a position teaching history. I passed through Dio archway unsure about where the Headmaster's Office might be. As I pondered what to do next, a solitary figure emerged from Eagle archway, turned left, and walked out of the Quad between Eagle and Elephant. I knew. I do not often follow hunches, I do not act on impulse that much, but I knew: that man was the headmaster.  Short version: It was George; I followed him, found his office, got the job.

Iconic image of George "Nails" Trautman

The other thing I most remember about that interview is that George opened it by asking what I thought of the man who had been headmaster at the school I attended. That man had fired my father after more than a decade's service to the school, so the question horrified me, but it turned out to be a great icebreaker. George's response to the story both set me at ease in the moment and convinced me that working for George would be nothing like working for the man who had let dad go.

If that story does not make George Trautman sound like a man whose students would nickname him "Nails," consider the story of most students' introduction to their new headmaster. It was the early fall of 1969, and George had written to students during the summer to reinforce the haircut rule. As they arrived on campus, long-haired students found they were not permitted even to drop off luggage in their room before getting the necessary haircut. Registration was in Dio Circle in those days, and Henry Coons '71 - whose hair had passed muster - watched from his room in Dio as the new headmaster loaded students into vans that would take them to a nearby barber shop. It was a risky move, to be sure, but George had set the tone for what turned out to be a twenty-nine year run as headmaster of Avon Old Farms. 

The many, many successes of those twenty-nine years have been and will be chronicled elsewhere; the thing that always struck me about George was his remarkable instincts for this work.  He always seemed to know what questions would lead directly to the heart of the matter and how to respond once he got there.  At times, it almost seemed as though George had a "sixth sense."
On one such occasion, my wife woke me up in the middle of a late spring night to report odd noises emanating from the Quad.  A senior prank, perhaps?  When we looked out the window, we saw some seniors somehow hoisting a canoe up into one of the big trees near Eagle.  I started to get dressed, pondering exactly what I might say to a group of seniors bent on some sort of canoe-tree mischief, when a second look out the window revealed the canoe being being lowered back to the ground.   What had caused the pranksters to change course?  George was standing just inside Eagle Archway staring intently at the proceedings.  If he said anything, I did not hear it, but the boys were quickly about the business of undoing their handiwork and slinking off the bed.  When I asked George later on how he had known what was going on - had he heard noises from the Quad? - he said he was not sure; he woke up and somehow knew that going for a walk was a good idea.
So, "Nails" is a fitting moniker for part of George Trautman's legacy. He had an intimidating physical presence, his handshake would break bones if you were not ready for it, and he could, and would, play hardball. On the other hand, the boys, and the faculty, for that matter, always knew he cared about them. He wanted the best for everyone associated with Avon, and he understood that usually means wanting the best from them as well. For that reason, he could both intimidate you and put you at ease in the same interview. Rest In Peace, Nails.

Avon and the War

Recently, our Archivist, Dawn Driggs, left a few things aside for me to look at before she filed them away, and one of them is a pamphlet called Avon and the War. It presents itself as a summary of how the school was responding to the reality of World War II and how it was preparing students for their war-time futures. Of course there were additions to the curriculum, such as "a Pre-Flight Course" and a "Basic Officer's Training Course in Mathematics." There were new topics in old courses, as well. "In History," it says, "the subjects of global geography, the economic and other causes of the war, the mistakes of the last peace ... are among the topics receiving special emphasis."  

Note the name: The Avon School

All of that makes sense, of course, but this paragraph in particular caught my eye: Avon's unusual form of student government has assumed added significance during these war days. The entire school is organized as the Village of Old Farms, with its own law and courts, its own post office and bank, and with a government based on that of the New England township. The Student Council levies taxes, grants charters, floats bond issues, preserves the peace, promotes the public welfare - in fact deals with all everyday concerns outside the academic field. This form of student government is excellent training for citizenship and democracy. By actual contact with civic affairs and the assumption of genuine responsibilities, a boy becomes familiar with the workings of government and with the problems he must understand if later he is to take an active, intelligent interest in the welfare of his own community.

With the exception of the first sentence, this paragraph might have appeared in any Founder's Era school publication. Indeed, in many ways, this paragraph neatly captures Theodate Pope Riddle's progressive approach to education, which called for education by doing - an active approach which today would include making and experiential learning. While it might seem hardly surprising that a school publication would emphasize an educational philosophy dear to TPR's heart, note the name of the school. This was a document published by The Avon School and attributed to W. Brooke Stabler, Rector.

Within a few years, Stabler would resign his position and urge the entire faculty to do the same; when they did, TPR felt she had no choice but to close the school. Within the school community, there were those - my father was one - who felt that the Reverend Mr. Stabler was responsible for the rift with TPR, but the larger group - it included my grandmother - put the blame squarely on Mrs. Riddle. The latter group felt that TPR was meddlesome and overbearing, and that she created conditions under which Mr. Stabler could not be expected to continue - nor could anyone else. I mention all of this because the pamphlet Avon and the War serves as a reminder that Stabler was able to make a number of significant changes at school - including changing the name of the school - which leads me to wonder how tied his hands really were.

The Times, They Are A-Changin'

It has been a long time since this blog was truly active; indeed, I've not posted more than twice in a year since 2013. In those few posts, I frequently complain about not having enough time to commit to this project.

Aspirando et Perseverando

That is about to change. Jim Detora, who will become headmaster this summer, has asked me to move to a new role for next year, and the focus of that new role will be ... school history. Anticipating the school's centennial in 2027, I will be working on an updated narrative history of the school and helping to plan and prepare for the various centennial celebrations and events. I will also be spending a great deal of time in the archives, so I will be immersed in school history for many hours a day. Instead of my day job keeping me away from this project, my day job will include this project.
Do not expect the blog to leap back into regular production right away. I need to keep focused on the work I am in at the moment. It is safe to say, though, that there will be a few more posts between now and summer; and then, the work begins.

Heady Times at Avon

Note: I wrote this post in September and then clearly got distracted by my "day job." As the next post will explain, that is about to change!

This morning, Monday the 24th of September, Board of Directors Member Chris Drew '85 announced on behalf of the board the selection of Jim Detora to succeed Ken LaRocque as headmaster. The morning meeting announcement was greeted with thunderous applause from the assembled students, faculty and staff, and Jim spoke briefly and graciously about his vision for Avon Old Farms.

Karen and Jim Detora

I cannot claim to have been an unbiased or dispassionate observer. Jim and I have been colleagues for a quarter of a century, and we have worked closely together during much of that time. When Jim was appointed academic dean (there was only one in those days), I was dean of faculty, and as the only academic administrators we had plenty of occasion to collaborate. Some years later, Jim joined me as co-dean of faculty, and we literally shared a job description. When Jim became the provost (chief academic officer) and I moved to dean of curriculum and instruction, we continued to work closely together. So it is in that context that I say bravo to the search committee; you have chosen wisely.

Of course, this is not the first time the board of directors has been successful selecting the headmaster. The more I study school history, the more I am convinced that each of the three men who have served in that capacity since World War II proved to be exactly what the school needed in that moment. Don Pierpont and George Trautman, though very different in many ways, are both excellent examples of the man and the moment being right for each other. So is Ken LaRocque.

Ken LaRocque

I will wax lyrical about Ken in many a future post, I assume. My point in this one is that Jim Detora's appointment as Ken's successor both invites us to look forward to the future with optimism and allows us to savor the last year of Ken's tenure and to celebrate his accomplishments. Had the board lingered over the selection, or chosen someone less obviously right for the job, we might have spent this school year apprehensively eying the future. As it is, the future has been secured, and we can now spend this year "in the moment" - celebrating the accomplishments of Jim Detora's predecessor.

Peter Evans

Apparently, I have not posted to this blog in over two years! It is fitting that the last post concerned the first Intersession, because I tend to blame my Day Job for the crickets emanating from this space for so long. It is time to change that, and I will begin with what I fear is the first of many: a tribute to a pillar of the Avon community who has retired/is retiring after many decades at school. There is a cohort of "lifers" that has been slowly moving toward retirement, and the leading edge has arrived at the door. When he retired at the end of last (school) year, Peter Evans took a plunge that more than half a dozen others are likely to take in the next several years, beginning with Ken LaRocque at the end of this school year.

Peter Evans, H '18

Peter Evans was the first faculty member I met when I moved onto campus in the fall of '82. The night before the opening faculty meetings, as the new faculty were moving into our quarters, Pete and Sue made the rounds to greet us and welcome us to Avon. That was typical of Pete and Sue. Pete had a lot of titles at school; master teacher of history, athletic director, director of college counseling, assistant headmaster, and director of development is not an exhaustive list. One of the reasons he excelled in all those roles was that he was a people person, and he was attentive to the little things. Greeting new faculty was not explicitly part of his job description, but he and Sue wanted to be sure we felt welcome.

Pete is brilliant, he is eloquent, and he is meticulous; beyond that, he truly cares. To talk to Pete is to be convinced that you are the only thing in his world in that instant and that your happiness and success are foremost on his mind. That is what colleagues felt when he spoke with us, and that is what students felt. It is easy to listen to a man who clearly genuinely cares about you. If all that is not enough, Pete is relentlessly optimistic. No matter what the situation, count on Pete to identify the positive, or at very least the potential for positive, that comes from it. For almost half a century, Pete applied that signature combination intelligence, planning, optimism and care to All Things Avon Old Farms, and we as a school - and we as people - are infinitely better off because of it.

I will stop there, because, try as I might, I am not really able to capture what Pete (and Sue!) Evans have meant to Avon Old Farms; fortunately, this video does:

Yea Rah!

Avon has recently concluded its first "Intersession," a week in which we suspend the normal academic program, and students and faculty devote their attention to only one of thirty non-traditional courses. My own offering was called "Exploring AOF History," and the idea was that students would delve deeply into a particular aspect of school history and create something that might help the school celebrate its centennial. Not surprisingly, the boys chose to investigate the history of sports at Avon. They got to explore the archives, they interviewed two Avon headmasters and several coaches, and they learned about Avon's traditions in polo, fencing, and jiu jitsu. They also discovered this photograph.

We had a lot of fun discussing what the story of this picture might be, but we learned the truth in conversation with Peter Evans and George Trautman. It seems it was part of a mid-seventies effort to drum up school spirit. Some of the boys recruited girls they knew to serve as cheerleaders and create an enthusiastic atmosphere at games. It was a short-lived experiment, but perhaps it worked. Could it have led directly to the  Avon Army?

Thank You, Reed

This year, George Trautman used his Vespers talk to pay tribute to F. Reed Estabrook '36, who served for many years as Chairman of the Board of Directors. George characterized Reed as "the second most important person" in the history of the school (after TPR), and I doubt there are many who would disagree.
Reed was among those who were instrumental in the re-opening of the school in 1948, and he was the youngest member of the Board at that time. Avon had no money and no endowment in those years, and Reed would prove to be an invaluable counselor to Don Pierpont and then George Trautman as they worked to keep the ship afloat. George noted the incredible growth of the school since '48 and observed that the strong position we now occupy would be part of Reed Estabrook's legacy. Mr. Trautman offered some insight into the relationship between the headmaster and chairman when recalled the story of a student's death on the playing fields. Losing the boy had left George essentially numb, and it was Reed Estabrook who pulled him aside and convinced him he had to keep going.
It was a fitting tribute to a man who gave tirelessly to his school and who would come to campus at the drop of a hat. For some reason, as soon as George began to speak about Reed, I was overwhelmed by the memory of how students enjoyed Reed's accent, especially when, having been introduced by the headmaster at some formal function, Reed would step to the podium and say "Than you, George." I remember more than once walking out of such an assembly behind students endless repeating "Thank you, George" in their best Boston accents.
This year, it was George's turn to say "Thank you, Reed."