PARLORTalk
Parlor Talk is a place for alumni to share ideas, swap stories, reminisce, and ruminate on days to come. This issue's Parlor Talk highlights humorous memories involving places on Pomona's campus.
Lofty Memories
Gary Michael Spitzer '59
On a warm spring night in l957, five or six of us from Smiley Dorm climbed a tree and gained access to the roof of the girls' gym next to Big Bridges. Our goal was Bridges itself, where, one of our members informed us, we could free rappel from the rafters to the seats, a distance of about 85 feet. I didn't even know what a rappel was. The promise of adventure, especially illicit adventure, was sufficient incentive.
As the most athletic of our little band, I drew the assignment of getting a rope from one building to the other. After using a nearby tree to get to the roof of the gym, I saw that a mere four feet separated Big Bridges from its neighbor, but any mistake on my part could result in a three-story free fall. Undaunted, I made the leap and secured the rope for the others.
Once on Big Bridges, we pried open a roof door and entered the top of that austere hall. The mountaineer in our midst rigged his ropes and, with a cheery yodel, rappelled to the floor. The rest of us followed in turn. "Let's go up and do it again," someone yelled. So we did.
The first one back in, Bill Doub '59, was halfway down when flashlights illuminated him from the floor of Bridges. I can still see Bill, stalled midair, with a look of helpless dismay on his face.
The police, who apparently had been alerted by the noise we had made, took us to their office and called the dean, Shelton Beatty. A tall man with a neatly-trimmed moustache and precise enunciation, the dean arrived in slippers, having been roused from his bed to assume custody of us.
Our punishment was surprisingly lenient: Bill was fined $50 and we all chipped in. Clearer in my mind now are Dean Beatty's words when, a few months later, I told him of my plans to transfer to another school for my last two years. Instead of the customary attempt to dissuade someone bent on leaving, or even to say what a loss for Pomona it would be, he said simply, "It's a good decision. I'm sure you'll be happier elsewhere." I've always been grateful for his candor.
Matthew Kirkpatrick '91
This story happened one pleasant spring morning on Marston Quad. Specifically it involves that stately sycamore standing to the right of the pathway that leads from Little Bridges to Stover Walk.
My roommate, Josh Stein '91, borrowed Adam Zbar's '91 Aerobie (the Frisbee-like styrofoam ring that was hailed as the object a person could throw further than any other), and we headed for the Quad. Naturally, my first throw lodged high in the sycamore.
No problem. Between us we had two pairs of Stan Smith sneakers--ample ammunition to bring Aerobie back to earth. Five minutes later the tree had possession of our four shoes and the glorified Frisbee. So, we headed back to Harwood for reinforcements and, both taking economics at the time, realized the laws of supply and demand were such that the shoes would cost around $100 to replace while the Aerobie was only worth 20 bucks and an apology. We decided to focus on recovering the sneakers.
We returned to Marston Quad with no fewer than six young men and women, all in the prime of their lives, all armed with shoes.
The first throw brought down a Stan Smith and with it a chorus of cheers. It didn't matter that the ratty old Nike I'd thrown would not see the ground again that day. It was a small victory!
By noon the tree held five shoes aloft and luckily had yielded Adam's Aerobie. Breaking for lunch, our victory was no longer in doubt. We returned with more ammunition. We had numbers, youth and as many shoes as trees in the forest. In the end we got all the shoes down except my old pair of Nikes. They had been my water shoes, the ones I wore in the ocean or swimming in Fall Creek. Now one was wedged in a fork about 30 feet up. Its mate hung precariously by the shoelaces from a leafy branch as if in some department store display.
The last time I was on campus, in 1995, I took my future wife, Lisa, on a tour of campus and naturally checked the tree for my cherished Nike. I was astonished to find it still up there after seven years.
Question for Next Issue:
For the summer issue of Pomona College Magazine, weave us a memory about an important moment you shared with a Pomona faculty membera moment that changed your life... or at least your major. Send your submission by March 31, 2000, to: Sarah Dolinar; ATTN: Parlor Talk; Pomona College; 550 N. College Ave.; Claremont, CA 91711, or by e-mail to: sdolinar@pomadm.pomona.edu. Please include your name, class, address and phone number. Responses will be selected based on the content and will be edited as necessary for publication.
