Ladies and gentlemen of 1956, we focus on 2022, the Year of the Poem in remembrance of Joel Ash, who so creatively herded the cats for the 10 previous years as class secretary. I have kicked off this spectacular new year’s theme with my own modest contribution in the January issue of the alumni magazine. How about all you people dig deep into your sensitivities and send me poetry you have written—no longer than 100 words! And not “The Man from Nantucket,” as Doug Keare would have professed. For example, written on a wall in the Burlington, Vermont, airport: “This world is such a little place, just the red in the sky before the sun rises/So let us keep fast hold of hands, that when birds begin/None of us be missing” (Emily Dickinson 1830-86). I spoke with Max Weymouth, “Booge” Erwin, and Linc Spaulding about Toby Julian’s death last summer. Linc remembers Toby from high school! And we all revered his dad, “Doggy,” on the freshman football field. I trust all have received the marvelous weathervane earrings and wall hangings—we now know which way the wind is blowing! My good friend Suzanne graciously gave me her earring pendant, which I slipped in Buddy Teeven’s pocket at Homecoming. At his birthday celebration after the Yale game victory, he bestowed it on his wife Kirsten, amidst an admiring throng! So let’s keep “fast hold of hands” as the years unfold, stay in touch, and love our beautiful existence. In conclusion, “the Indian will never die” is a mystical statement in honor of history and tradition that I will not abandon. If I’ve offended or hurt any woke folk, I apologize! The Old Pine will never die—see you in “The Woods!” PS: Since being expelled from Hotmail, my new email address is crowleyjack58@gmail.com. (The “58” is not a typo but was assigned by Gmail and is actually the year Beth and I were married!)

—J.W. Crowley, 15612 SE 42nd Place, Bellevue, WA 98006; (425) 746-1824; crowleyjack58@gmail.com