June 2009 1791 Letter - Berwick Academy

Having now lost the obligatory
blue blazer and pastel tie, I make my
journey back and forth between BD
and the Hayes House each morning,
the echoes already beginning to sing.
I can wear sunglasses now, and I have
more time to glance up in directions
that I am too busy to acknowledge
during the regular year. Usually I
watch my shoes. After the whirlwind
climax of the end of year, one can’t
help but pause in the newfound quiet
and refl ect. Gazing across the empty
quad of Fogg Field, the campus has
never looked more impressive; it is the
crowning achievement of our grounds
crew to present this place so beautifully
for graduation. Sometimes I wished our
families truly knew how hard they must
work to pull this off. There is an irony
in it as well – the campus being at its
most pristine at a time when it becomes
suddenly dormant. It seems fi tting that
this occurs in June, as if our School has
been so enriched by a year of growth
and contribution that it is literally
bursting with aesthetic beauty.
The echoes as I walk are
the reverberations of learning and
improvement from a year at Berwick
Academy. The whispers are an
infi nite number of conversations and
interactions between peers and adults,
all geared toward becoming better
people, becoming a better school.
Sometimes I reflect on what a school
like ours really is – a campus? an
institution? a community? a religion?
Where, for example, does it actually
begin and end? One trusted colleague
and friend here has challenged this in
claiming that in fact institutions do not
even exist; only people do. Insights like
these appropriately shake the core of
favorite Head of School mantras like,
“We need to do what is best for the
institution.” What I know for sure is that
our school is alive, slightly dormant
at this particular moment in June, but
undeniably a living, breathing, cyclical
organism. Perhaps that is the true thrill
of trying to lead such a place: the
humbling realization that it cannot,
and should not, be fully controlled. It
can be nurtured and guided, but never
contained or limited. I would do well
to continue embracing this exquisite
spontaneity.
The deeper one thinks about
the connections and murky boundaries
between individual student growth,
faculty growth, and institutional
growth, the more one begins to spiral.
As I pass the Arts Center on this daily
walk home, I hear the voices of the
Baccalaureates, the concerts, and the
assemblies. These are moments of
risk taking, celebration, and growth.
Walking towards Fogg, suddenly the
sense of history cannot be ignored.
This is an institution that has been
long at work on a noble mission,
and yet the nature of education has
changed so dramatically in 200 years.
The people are different, and yet the
values feel unchanged. I have always
believed that schools like Berwick
teach character not only through our
programs, our ceremonies, and our
speeches, but through the hundreds of
unseen interactions between students
and adults every day. In fact, as Head
of School, an honest admission is that
I rarely observe the moments when
the school is at its best in this regard;
I merely trust these moments are
happening. The echoes assure me that
this is so. I hear ephemeral vibrations
of these moral conversations as I walk
homeward, paradoxically grateful
for the respite from school life but
keenly aware that our organism is in
hibernation. Soon it will stretch and
grow once again.
A lot has been made in recent
years, including during my search
process at Berwick, about how might
we package, market, and ultimately
sell this complex organism that we call
home. We celebrate its facilities, its
achievement, its history, its programs,
its accomplishments. In the maturing,
strangely quiet days of June on the
precipice of summer, I am more keenly
aware than ever that we are always
about our people. We are a giant
catalyst for human interactions, and
my fundamental job is to fi nd the best
people, the best spaces, and the best
umbrella of values and boundaries
within which those exquisite human
interactions can fl ourish.
As I turn the corner past Fogg,
my house comes into view. I glance out
into the expansive fi elds with which
we are blessed. Some of my favorite
Berwick moments have occurred when
each fi eld is fi lled with competition on
a beautiful fall or spring day. While the
competition is part of the thrill, a larger
part is the ability to walk between the
games and bump into parents who
have come together to celebrate their
children. Without fail, people ask me
about my life and my family. They
care. It is hard for me to find forums
in which I can truly say thank you.
Perhaps this is one.
Finally, on this beautiful June
afternoon, I make my way to “Ridgway
Ridge,” fabled to have been put in
place by my predecessor with ancient
pool stones. They mark the path of
2 1791 Letter ~ June 2009