Spring 2007 - Milton Academy

Post ScriptMilton at the Midpoint of the Last Century:One Collection of MemoriesMy doctor—whose two sons went to Milton—recentlyhad a copy of Milton Magazine on the table in his officewaiting room. Ruminating on it, it came to me that Ishould submit a story. I wrote up a tale about taking a subwayride to my 55th reunion dinner with my classmate, AlfBigelow. I had talked him into it, to walk the walk fromMilton Village like old times. The Red Line was not quitelike old times. We opened up a conversation with someolder teenage girls. One, pausing, thoughtful, leaned forwardto ask us, “Are you married?” “No, no, we’re just onour way to Milton Academy,” we rejoined.Editors at the Milton Magazine seemed more interested intales of the past than the present.Milton memories: Of course, the alcoves. My first night atMilton it occurred to me that I could stand on my bed andlook over into the next alcove. One thing led to another and,before you know it, I became acquainted with my newneighbor through the medium of a pillow fight. Soon webecame further acquainted with Mr. Pocock, the floor master.Later he told me he counted on at least a night or twobefore having to discipline his charges. Do they still haveimaginative punishments at Milton? I well remember (isn’tmemory incredible) being supervised by Mr. Millet whileI cleaned all the windows of Warren Hall, each windowhuge, 20 panes large.Once, in the late fall of 1947, on my way to dinner on a darknight, I hit a fellow student on the back with my book bag,only it wasn’t a boy, it was the housemaster’s wife. F. AllenSherk sentenced me to shoveling the sidewalk of WolcottHouse that entire winter. Well, the winter of 1948 turnedout to be the snowiest winter of all—four or five straightweekends it snowed ten inches, so at the end of the winterthere was four feet of snow. I was shown no mercy. Add tothat being on the hockey team, for which I had to takepart in shoveling off Lake O’Hare (That marshy pond outthere— is it still called a lake?) where we played hockey.Ping-Pong. I took up the game again not too long ago, resurrectingan abandoned table in our basement. I am playingless chess, though. I remember one year I played 56games against my roommate Harry Coulter—the samewith whom I pillow fought. We also played roof ball off themany dormers and corners of the dormitories, finding thatForbes House was best for that. I later introduced the gameto my son when he was ten or so, playing off the roof ofour own house.I was in the Milton Bird Club. Mr. Morrison drove us downDorchester Avenue through Boston to Route 1 to go toPlum Island. David Perry, the headmaster’s son, was mybirding buddy. Early one morning I broke into his house,tiptoeing around to wake him up to go birding. A couple ofyears ago, I helped found a bird club in our town—theMenotomy Bird Club. I’m still at it, and I often take thatsame trip up Route 1.One of my fondest memories was rock climbing with AdCarter. The Quincy Quarries, Rattlesnake Cliff in the BlueHills, Crow Cliff out there somewhere, camping out at thePawtuckaways. He took us skiing in the Blue Hills, too,with cable bindings that you could switch according towhether you were skiing cross-country or downhill. Thenhe took us to Cannon Mountain on winter break where Iruined my knee and used crutches for six months. I stillski, but almost entirely cross-country, and that is typicallyout my door to the neighboring park.I was a tennis player in my days at Milton; Warren Koehlerwas our coach, Al Norris having just retired. No Westerngrip and two-handed backhand. I still play tennis occasion-42 Milton Magazine