"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.