"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.

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:

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."

Twilight Zone

Recently, I visited a class taught by new colleague Paul Duwan '85 and had a "Twilight Zone" experience.  This was one of Paul's younger classes (he also teaches economics to seniors), and that day he was introducing the Renaissance.  As I sat in class, I realized that when I first introduced the Renaissance to a class, Paul was one the students.  Paul is not the first of my students to become a colleague, but I believe this is the first time I have seen the roles reversed so completely

Paul Duwan '85 teaching A.P. Economics

The sense of deja vu continued a few days later when Chandra Narsipur visited the campus.  Chandra taught history at Avon for over twenty-five years, and one of his first students here was Paul Duwan. Indeed, Paul was quick to greet and visit with Chandra at lunch, and when Peter Evans joined us, Paul was having lunch with three of his four Avon history teachers; only Seth Mendell was missing.

Chandra Narsipur

Indeed, having Paul at lunch with Chandra and Peter provided a sense of continuity for the history department - a semblance of permanence, if you will.

Back to the Future: Skip Flanagan Part I

A few years ago, Henry "Skip" Flanagan re-joined the Avon faculty after a 26 year absence durning which he served as headmaster of Western Reserve Academy in Hudson, Ohio. Skip first interviewed for a job in admissions while he was still a graduate student at the University of Michigan. He did not get the admissions job, but he was so taken with the place that he let George Trautman know he was willing to do anything to get his foot in the door.  Soon he was moving his family into Pelican dorm and preparing to teach English and French, coach football and lacrosse, and - as the contract used to say - "other duties as assigned." This was in 1972, and the Flanagans would be at Avon until the spring of 1982.

Skip Flanagan

In Skip's second year at Avon, John Green, the dean of students, left to become headmaster at Rectory School in Pomfret, CT, and George asked Skip to step in as dean. (Actually it was John Green who blazed the "dean at Avon - headmaster somewhere else - return to Avon" trail; he spent several years back on campus after retiring as a headmaster.) In those days, dean of students really meant director of college counseling, and Skip has great memories of that work. This was long before the personal computer, so Skip would dictate the boys' college recommendations to Frieda Mason, wife of Brad Mason, who typed as he spoke. They would complete the recommendations for a class of 60-70 seniors during a ten day period in the early fall! Skip particularly remembers the help of Marie Delnicki, who joined the office early in his tenure as dean and who serves as registrar to this day. Marie is one of those multi-talented people who simply make things work.

When I pointed out to Skip that he and then dean of faculty Henry Pennell have now been replaced by about half a dozen people each (there are currently five administrators focused entirely on the academic program, four people - including Skip - are involved in college counseling, and three people are largely focused on residential/student life), he replied that the 70s were a simpler time in schools.  For example, he recounted simply piling the applicants to Williams College into a van and driving them to Williamstown, where they would be interviewed by the director of admissions, who would then call Skip the next day to discuss the candidates and make his decisions. That is NOT how college admissions works today!

Among the other names Skip remembers fondly from that period were Bill Kron, "the conscience of all things academic," Brad Mason, Frank Leavitt, Courtney Bird, Seth Mendell, "the consummate storyteller," and especially Sid Clark.

Skip's wife Brit Flanagan developed a good friendship with Sid (good judge of character, Brit; she also befriended Wilbur Durfee); Skip remembers returning from dorm duty at night to find Sid playing the piano (Sid's life before Avon included a stint as a professional musician). Interestingly, Skip used the term "gruff facade" to describe both Sid Clark and George Trautman. In Sid's case, he nonetheless became Skip's mentor in the English department and a lifelong friend to both Skip and Brit. In George's case, Skip says behind the gruff facade lay "a lot of caring and a big heart for those who served the school well..." Agreed.

Enough for now. Look for more from our interview in Back to the Future, Part II.

Happy Birthday "Nails"

George Trautman turned 80 on Tuesday, April 16th.  Though George retired as headmaster over a decade ago, he is still an active member of the school community.  He does some work for the Alumni and Development office, and it is not unusual to see George at games or at Sunday brunch.
George first came to Avon in the late '60s as a member of a Visiting Committee completing a ten-year re-accreditation.  He fell in love with the school and hoped he was destined to return.  At that time, he was a member of the faculty at Tabor Academy, where he earned the nickname "Nails."  That nickname must have rung true for Avonians as well when George was hired to succeed Don Pierpont and took over as headmaster in the fall of 1969.

This portrait of George hangs in the Estabrook Board Room

George had scores of signature moments in his nearly three decades at the helm, but one of them came on Day 1, when George famously required long-haired students to get haircuts before they would be allowed to register.  "Nails" might have been one of the nicer things George was called that day!

One 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.

Henry Coons '71

After a few technical issues, I've finally been able to review the  video of my interview with Henry Coons '71.  Henry enrolled in 1968 and has been at school for all but five of the intervening years.  A few stories from his student days: In Henry's first year, the school discovered his roommate was selling drugs.  Since the roommate was off campus at the time, they simply told him not to return.  The roommate wanted his stuff back, though, so Henry agreed to drop it off in Greenwich on his next trip to New York.  When he got on a train with the roommate's duffel bag, Henry realized it was an express train not scheduled to stop in Greenwich.  Uncertain about what to do, Henry tossed the bag out the window as they rolled through Greenwich station and then left a message for his former roommate.  He had no way of knowing whether it had worked until on a subsequent trip to New York he saw a homeless man wandering the tracks outside Greenwich wearing some of the roommate's distinctive clothing!
At the start of his second year, Henry's view from his room in Diogenes afforded him a good view of registration and new headmaster George Trautman enforcing the haircut policy by sending students to the barber before they could move in.   He also remembered doing science labs that involved live rats.  In one lab, Henry's lab partner was the anesthesiologist, while Henry was the perform some sort of rat surgery.  Unfortunately, his lab partner feinted, the rat's ether wore off, and the rat ran off before Henry could finish.  Henry now works in the old science building; no word on whether he has encountered an aged, deformed rat in the hallways.