Spring 2007 - Milton Academy

“…we were not in a hothouse, but rather an incubator,getting fattened up intellectually and morally for therigors of the tough outside world…”Still Fired UpSusan Hall ’57Today, when I play tennis within sight ofa basketball court, I can’t wait to finishmy match and go shoot hoops. This ripelymiddle-aged woman sinking the ball fromthe center line is jaw-dropping to theyoung African-Americans from whomI’ve scrounged a ball. Of course, I neverlearned the lay-up, because in my day weplayed on the half court and it was saferto shoot from outside. Drilled into mestill are the muscle memories developedby Miss Sullivan and Miss Bailey in theMilton boys’ gym.Just as firmly etched in my mind is thearchitecture of sentences Ms. Pundywould construct on her blackboard. Whenshe called on me, she would search formy name: Katherine? Alice? Marion?Florence? Susan?—names of my auntsand mother, whom she had also taught.The Punderson sentence structure wascentral to our understanding of excellence,a standard we confronted at eachturn on the campus. So, too, was thesense that we were not in a hothouse, butrather an incubator, getting fattened upintellectually and morally for the rigorsof the tough outside world in which wewere to engage.Milton today scours the mean streets anddistant countries to ferret out deservingtalent. In widening its embrace, theschool has remained remarkably vibrantand relevant. Now, late in life, I, too, havewidened my embrace, teaching (forthe first time) foster children in theirfoster homes throughout New YorkCity—in Brownsville, Bushwick, Bedford-Stuyvesant and the South Bronx. Inbringing to these fragile children thatsame fired-up enthusiasm for learningI osmosed at Milton, I am giving back ina tangible way what I was so privilegedto have been given. In my last act, it isgive-back time for sure, and for this reasonI have made a provision for Miltonin my estate.64 Milton Magazine