|
|
 |
|
 Previous Entries: Hal Holbrook, Man of the Year revisited Trying to be scholarly in dealing historical facts and figures becomes a grind, particularly when so many “goodies” that cross my desk are peripheral to my duties as Academies historian. I miss the opportunity to share inside stories, a bit of barrack humor, an interesting photographic discovery, or even a jocular examination of the characters who framed the history of the school. Journal into Our History is almost with tongue in cheek --- a web page just for the fun of sharing. If you want something profound, move on! I have no schedule for posting stories so you should click back to see how the spirit moves me. If you wish to argue and test your rank, contact me at hartmab@culver.org. -RBDH
|
Robert B.D. Hartman, Academy Historian Jeffrey Kenney, Archival Webmaster |
|
HAL HOLBROOK: MAN OF THE YEAR 1967 REVISITED (3-17-08) When Hal Holbrook was named "Man of the Year" in 1967, the spring issue of the Alumnus that year devoted its cover story to the man from the class of `42 who had gained so much noteriety for his stage and television performances. Since then, of course, Holbrook's reputation has only grown, and he was one of two Culver alums to receive the Academy award nod, for his performance in 2007's "Into the Wild." Here we re-present the Alumnus feature on Holbrook from 1967 as well as a review of his "Mark Twain: Tonight!" from the same issue, and then-superintendent Delmar T. Spivey's comments on the occasion. Click any image to enlarge.
The Problem Is To Get Out From Under The Wig By Robert Reichley, Alumnus editor
IN New York in mid-April, there was a significant change in the cast of one of the season’s brightest Broadway shows. Alan Alda, playing one of the leads in The Apple Tree, was replaced by Hal Holbrook, ‘42. Alda’s part is a singing role. Holbrook is not a singer, or, at least he wasn’t until he began intensive rehearsals for the show in March. It can be reasonably asked why Holbrook, non-singer, would take on a musical comedy. He has just won the greatest acclaim of his acting career portraying a 70-year-old American author. Holbrook himself hoped that 15 million television viewers would see him do his Mork Twoin Tonight! in March. The ratings said it was 30 million. And the critics called Mork Twoin Tonight!, a 90-minute CBS special, the best program of this, or perhaps any, television season. Furthermore, Hal Holbrook, Culver Man of the Year, has already won the Antoinette Perry Award—the theater’s version of the movies’ “Oscar”—for Mark Twain. For this and many years to come, Holbrook has struck a vein of gold. Why isn’t he mining it? Says he: “Because I’ll never be able to satisfy myself until I prove myself without that wig on.”
THE GLASS MENAGERIE featured Holbrook with Shirley Booth and Barbara Loden. Holbrook played the role of the gentleman caller. “Once, in the middle of the night,” says Holbrook, “it occurred to me this guy was my age — he could be me. The next rehearsal I played the role straight and I commented on the lines rather than build a new character. It was a new field — and, God, it was fun.” For a man who has been inordinately successful in portraying old men, it is not easy to dispense with a good thing and learn to sing. Almost before the critics lavished praise on him for the Twain television special, Holbrook was offered a television series in which he would play an irascible old man who owns a television station in a small town in Maine. The old man would say witty things, just like Twain. Holbrook said no. He has said no before, and it is getting easier. When the decision was made to do the 90-minute TV special, the dialogue with some New York television people at one point went something like this: “You see, it’s only one man, Hal-baby. And you got 90 minutes . . . and you know it’s different from the theater. I know you were big in Wahoo, Nebraska, but you got to understand this, Hal: on television, that knob is only inches away. And that hand will reach out and turn you off. Now what you need, Hal-baby, is steamboats going by in the background . . . see and I think we should take you outside on a bluff over-looking the Mississippi and, Hal, we’ll do some of the show from there.” Hal said no. Holbrook knew what he was doing with Mork Twoin Tonight! As he says, he has rehearsed it for 12 years. Not even he can say exactly how many times he’s played Twain, but it numbers in the Ihousands. He has brought the show to New York three times. This time he gave Broadway and television something he claims it doesn’t get often enough: a perfected, polished show. No steamboats or Mississippi River bluffs were needed, and Holbrook knew it. While he claims he is not at ease in the New York rat race and is basically a shy and retiring person, Holbrook is very definite about his career. He is not going to bleed Mark Twain to death. “As an
actor, my problem is to put Mark Twain in the proper, personal “My problem as an actor is to broaden myself, to get opportunities that will allow me to be what I started out to be—an actor. It’s taken me seven years since I first did Twain on Broadway to get out of those woods and to be thought of as more than just a guy who does Mark Twain.” THOUGH he has never before done a 90-minute show before an audience of 30 million, Hal Holbrook already is more than just a guy who does Mark Twain. Between the time he slipped unnoticed into an off-Broadway theater as Twain eight years ago and his TV success in March, Holbrook has appeared in 10 plays, the motion picture The Group, and on television in The Gloss Menogerie.
Holbrook had a long apprenticeship on the road doing scenes from plays after his graduation from college. He opened Mark Twain in New York in 1959, and his Broadway debut was in Do You Know The Milky Woy? in 1961. A year later he joined the American Shakespeare Company at Stratford, Conn., and appeared as Hotspur in Henry IV and John of Gaunt in Hichord II. He played the title role in the Phoenix Theatre’s 1963 revival of Sherwood’s Abe Lincoln in Illinois, then followed with a summer tryout for the Theater Guild of William McCleery’s comedy The Mockerol Plozo. In the fall of 1963, Holbrook joined the Lincoln Center Repertory Company in New York. In the two yeas of its embattled existence, Holbrook played the title role in Eugene O’Neill’s Morco Millions, replaced Jason Robards in After the Foil and played it a year in repertory, created the role of the high-strung German major in Arthur Miller’s Incident At Vichy, and finished the season as the bailiff in Tortoffe. Since the original opening of Mark Twain in New York Holbrook has played the role 600 times. In 1960 he was chosen by the State Department as the first non-musical theater attraction to be sent to Europe under the auspices of the cultural exchange. There the show also was a hit, though he received the only bad review in 12 years of doing Mark Twain. The drama critic of a Communist newspaper in Copenhagen said Holbrook told too many jokes and didn’t get “into the soul of Mark Twain.” Holbrook allowed that “maybe he had a point, though I think the language problems hampered his understanding.” But criticism is a rarity in Holbrook’s career. The critics, like the audiences, have liked him, a point for which Holbrook is grateful but one he is never inclined to take too seriously. “When you do a bad job in a play neither the public nor the critic knows enough about the theater to be able to separate a performance from the play itself,” says Holbrook. “They are seldom wise enough to say: ‘This play is not as bad as it looks. This play was not given a good enough production. The actors were not good enough in their roles. The director had the wrong conception.” “What they usually do is to leave the actors alone and say it’s a lousy play. When we did Morco Millions at Lincoln Center, we did not give it a good production. The point of view of the director—and therefore the actors—was wrong. It missed the point of the play, so it seemed heavy and monotonous. We should have given it a better production, and then the critics would have said: ‘O’Neill has written this obscure play and it’s not bad at all.' And it is here—when Holbrook begins to criticize himself—that you begin to understand a little more about the actor and why his success as Mark Twain has not brought him, in his own mind, to the pinnacle of success. When Holbrook was a student at Culver, he admits he was not strong academically and neither was he ecstatic about the military program. He “found” the theater in his senior year, and like Broadway director Joshua Logan, ‘27, novelist Ernest Gann, ‘30, and some others, he credits the late Charles Mather, then director of theater at Culver, for his introduction to the performing arts. “I went to those cultural programs with a chip on my shoulder,” recalls Holbrook. “It wasn’t manly among our generation to show a sensitivity to music or drama. But I needed an extra hour of credit toward graduation and I found it in the theater. I was told Colonel Mather was a great guy. He was. He had a talent for just being human. He opened me up. “I remember my first role as a 70-year-old caretaker in a play by George M. Cohan called Seven Keys to Boldpote. I was playing old men even then. I was pretty bad, but I thought I was a great hit. When I went off the stage that night I knew I had found something I could do, that I could get to people and maybe get them to listen to me. “It was a combination of suddenly finding something you felt you could succeed at and at the same time finding a society of one person or a small group of people with whom you had some connection. I didn’t even mind having a minor role, because no one expected me to climb Mt. Everest to be associated with them.” When Holbrook graduated from Culver, his grades made his entrance to college doubtful. But the president of Ohio’s Denison University had visited Culver and heard Holbrook read the Scriptures in chapel. He told Denison’s professor of theater Edward A. Wright about Holbrook, cautioning that he doubted Holbrook’s marks were good enough to be admitted to the university. Denison accepted him, and though he limped along for the first two years, he achieved what Professor Wright called “Phi Beta Kappa grades” the last two. When Holbrook graduated after the war, Denison President K. I. Brown gave him a special citation for his academic record. Recalls Professor Wright: “Very soon he was recognized by students and faculty as a young man with much promise in the field of acting. His science teacher complained to me of his ‘Cavalierian attitude’ toward his work. This impressed me at the time and it has many times since. Hal did attack everything in this way: ‘I can and I will—and if it is something I like to do, I’ll do it as it has never been done before.’” Holbrook was drafted during World War II. He was singled out as an outstanding soldier and given the chance to attend West Point. An uncle wrote Professor Wright and urged him to convince Holbrook to accept. Wright knew that it would mean an additional four years in the Army after the war. He wrote Holbrook, pointing out the pros and cons, and concluded by advising him not to accept. “During the war, his uncle never forgave me,” says Professor Wright. “I wonder now, in the light of what has happened, if he has.” After the war Holbrook returned to Denison to finish his academic work in what Wright considered a blaze of glory. He also began a life-long friendship with Professor Wright, and it was Wright who introduced him to the idea of playing Mark Twain (see Pages 6-7). Holbrook was beginning a 12-year road to success, though it was not an easy one. “No one who has ever known Hal well has envied a moment of his success,” says Wright. “He has drive, an insistence on perfection that absolutely ignores the clock. I have known him to work 20 hours a day, even making his own costumes, experimenting with makeup, and traveling long distances to research a role. When he played Abe Lincoln in New York, he went to Kentucky to the area where Lincoln lived just to catch something of the inflection in the voices of the people who live there. “There is no monkey-business in the dressing room. It is dead seriousness in the theater and on the stage. Hal can be the merriest, the happiest, the most witty—after the show.” Holbrook has been criticized for this sense of perfection. He is too particular about lights, his costumes, the makeup (which, for Mark Twain, takes five hours preparation). There are those, says Wright, who complain that with Holbrook, there is never a point where it is “good-enough.” Surprisingly, Holbrook sees this in himself. He pleads guilty to the charge and says that an actor can become too perfect. “You can be too much of a perfectionist at being a plumber. Because the society we live in does not allow people to take too much time to complete a job. The danger of being a perfectionist is that you will work too long at something to perfect it, perfect it, and perfect it. You’ve got to know when it’s good enough, and then keep your hands off it.” Yet it is questionable whether or not Holbrook really believes what he says about becoming too perfect. Knowing ,when something is good enough and then keeping hands-off is on a collision course with his views of the theater and much of the entertainment business today. Holbrook says the same thing about the theater, television, the movies, and other forms of entertainment: too much of what is done is done in haste. “All of the entertainment media today is in the same sick condition for the same reason. The material one is given to deal with is material done in haste because of the public’s tremendous appetite for entertainment. It is material put together without enough thought and enough time to mature. “The actor’s job,” says Holbrook, “frequently is not one to discover real truth in dramatic material. An actor’s job is one in which he often uses his craft to cover up or to compensate for the shortages of the material he must deal with. You have ‘to use your talents and techniques to make it look better than it really is. And this can be very discouraging.” As Holbrook moves into the musical The Apple Tree, a role he will play only until July, he forecasts an uncertain future though it is one for which he has set a definite goal. He wants to do roles he can bring “a special kind of juice to,” and this can be in almost any part of the entertainment media. He will not discard Mark Twain. He claims he won’t give it up until he dies. But he adds he doesn’t know a crueler way for an actor to die, professionally speaking, than to let his acting muscles atrophy. He wants to do a movie, but not just any movie. He is pleased with the overwhelming success of Mark Twain because he says television has discovered there is a new vista for shows of this type. But he is committed to being part of the new vista, not a situation comedy series set in Maine. Professor Wright says he’ll accomplish it: “There is no doubt in my mind that Hal was given a certain talent for acting at birth. Nevertheless, I have had many students with greater native talent. I have never had one with a greater determination to succeed, a greater capacity for work, and a greater passion for perfection, as long a~ what he is trying to do is in the theater. “The theater is his religion and his life. As such, it deserves only the best he can do. This was evident since my first meeting with him in 1942. The world has recognized it only in Mark Twain. They have accepted it because they have recognized sincerity, truth, imagination, and originality in action. They would find the same ingredients in any role that Hal Holbrook attempted, to do.” Cover pictures of Hal Holbrook, Man of the Year, are by Buddy Bolton, ‘63 Mark Twain Tonight! Written for The Alumnus by Norman Nadel, Drama Critic, New York World Journal Tribune If Hal Holbrook were a one-role actor — which he certainly isn’t — that one role still would be enough to earn him a stature which few actors ever achieve in the American theater. His portrayal of Mark Twain has no counterpart on the stage today, either in thoroughness of preparation, insight or detail. Even those of us who have seen it not once but several times are astonished anew at each exposure to this virtuoso piece of characterization. It was just 20 years ago that Edward A. Wright, professor of theater at Denison University in Granville, Ohio, assigned Holbrook a Mark Twain scene. The student actor wasn’t enthusiastic about the project, possibly because he underestimated his own ability to play it. Wright, however, knew his pupil’s potential and kept at him about it. So Holbrook worked up the episode and the character, played Mark Twain at a few gatherings in Central Ohio, and discovered, to his own surprise, that audiences were not only attentive but enthusiastic. Following graduation he toured the country for a few years doing an amiable pnd informal evening of theater, which included Twain being interviewed by a girl reporter (Ruby Holbrook). It was inevitable that the Holbrooks would settle eventually in New York, and that “Mark Twain Tonight” would find its way to a local stage and into the glad hearts of Holbrook’s audience. This happened at a little off-Broadway theater several years ago, and by that time, Twain had been enriched, as a characterization, to what seemed the ultimate point. But Hal wasn’t finished. He continued to research the American humorist’s life, to assemble new details, and to work them into his presentation, even if they were as unimportant, seemingly, as the way Twain tugged at his sleeve while talking. When Holbrook’s Mark Twain finally arrived at a Broadway theater — the Longacre — in March of last year, the actor had more than six hours of material prepared, though he used only a third of it. It was immediately evident that through two decades he has refined and enriched his portrayal of Twain beyond anything we ordinarily encounter in the theater. As Holbrook’s acting instinct has sharpened with experience and maturity, he has, I think, simplified the role more than he has added to it. Whatever the process, it has become pure Twain, totally free of any inappropriate gesture, any vocal inflection not native to the man, or any embellishment the least hit theatrical, not that these were problems in the past. Actually, none of us knows as much about Twain as Holbrook does, so we’d have to accept his interpretation out of deference to the thoroughness of his research. But our appreciation of the man on stage is far more than intellectual; it is instinctive. We can neither deny nor resist his exuberant humor, his priceless timing of a line, or the Satanic benevolence of his smile. This is the real Mark Twain; we are convinced that anything else would not do. There are many small wonders to Holbrook’s portrayal — such as his use of silence. His Twain can lose, temporarily, the thread of a story, forget about a lighted match in his hand, and even fall almost asleep with such serene naturalness and charm that audience interest never flags. Watch the way he places one foot ahead of the other, as he walks about the stage, as if he hadn’t decided whether to trust the floor. You wonder that such an old voice could be spoken by a relatively young man, or that the physical transformation could be so complete. Actually, however, it is hard to listen to or look at details, because the interpretation is so exquisitely integrated. Actors and critics tend to scrutinize the technique; audiences generally take their pleasure from the overall result. Through these 20 years, Hal Holbrook has played many other characters beside Mark Twaif~. He has a reputation as a versatile and dependable actor, with the voice, the technique and the stage presence to command respect in an exacting profession. But I think his appearance will continue to generate the greatest excitement when the theater marquee reads: “Mark Twain Tonight.” Twain on Congress: “WHEN I WAS PUTTING together my first book I did a stretch in Washington as a newspaper correspondent. And every day I went over to the Congress—that grand, old, benevolent national asylum for the helpless—and I reported on the inmates there. Well, it was very entertaining; and I had never seen a body of men with tongues so handy . . . and information so uncertain. They could talk for a week without ever getting rid of an idea. If one of those men had been President when the diety was at the point of saying ‘let there be light’—we never would have had it.” Twain on brotherhood: “OH, MAN IS A MARVEL, he is. He’s invented himself a heaven and emptied into it all of the nations of the earth in one common jumble—and all of them on an equality absolute. They have to be brothers! They have to mix together and pray together and harp and Hosanna together—whites, Negroes, Jews . . . everybody. There’s no distinction. And yet down here on earth all the nations hate each other. Everyone of them persecutes the Jew. And yet every pious person adores that heaven and wants to get into it . . . I wonder if God invented man because he was disappointed in the monkey.” Selection of Hal Holbrook as Man of the Year Marks the Beginning of New Alumni Awards I am pleased to announce in this issue of The Alumnus the selection of distinguished actor Hal Holbrook, ‘42, as the first recipient of the Academy’s new Man of the Year Award. Mr. Holbrook’s nation-wide fame for his recent portrayal of Mark Twain before an audience of 30 million television viewers makes him familiar to all of you, but his selection as Man of the Year — and especially the first one in Culver’s history — is for more than his success in this role. It reflects, I think, the Academy’s long and deep interest in the cultural aspects of life, and this interest has resulted in many other distinguished actors, writers, and musicians, within our alumni organizations. I must confess that I am particularly delighted with Mr. Holbrook’s selection. We are going through an era in which many of the performing arts seem to be led by writers, musicians, and artists who do their best ‘to be unnecessarily vague, ponderous, and, in some cases, in questionable taste. At a time when we are deluged with the “far-out” school of theater, I believe it is a tribute to Mr. Holbrook’s ability as an actor that with material written at the turn of the century, he can in this age captivate a nation for 90 minutes. It is also a tribute to the television that it pre-empted this prime time for a cultural program of this type. The committee under Dean Ernest B. Benson went to great pains to make the right choice in this first year of the Man of the Year Award. The committee worked with presidents of the alumni associations to pick an alumnus, who, according to the Man of the Year criterion, “through personal achievement has brought honor to himself and to Culver.” Because of its distinguished alumni in many fields, I know Culver will make varied selections in future years. To provide us with the names of distinguished alumni, we asked for nominations from alumni and parents. We will ask again. You can help make this a tradition by sending to the Academy your’ nomination in future years. Also, I hope those of you living near the Academy can be with us when Mr. Holbrook receives his award at 2 p.m. Sunday, May 21. The Man of the Year Award is one of a new series of awards in which the Academy is honoring alumni and parents. During June Week, we will pay tribute to a group of up to 10 alumni and parents who will receive Culver Service Awards for outstanding service rendered the school. These will be announced also in the June issue of the publication Culver . . . In Brief. Here again, there is a wide field to choose from because of the many who have helped us. All of these awards — the Man of the Year and the Culver Service Awards — are part of our program to create closer ties between the Academy and its alumni and parents. They are one way of expressing our appreciation for the continuing and invaluable contributions of time and effort made in behalf of Culver. I have recently returned from many months of traveling to many cities in the nation on what is my last round of Culver Club meetings as your Superintendent. As I near retirement in August, I am certain that my evaluation of our alumni and parents made 11 years ago was a correct one. Everywhere I’ve traveled this fall and winter, I sense an increased interest and pride in what the Academy is accomplishing. Culver needs this sense of interest and pride in the Academy. In a small way, our new awards are an expression of the Academy’s interest and pride in a distinguished and intensely dedicated group of alumni and parents. -Delmar T. Spivey, Superintendent -RBDH & JPK COL. WHITNEY: NO ONE CALLED HIM “CLARENCE” (2-13-08) Writing about a legend is always risky business. Writing about a legend known to virtually every cadet from 1927 to 1963 is downright dangerous. There are too many memories, too many stories, and too much admiration for me to escape a measure of criticism for missing some essential ingredient of this giant’s greatness. Yet recalling Clarence A. Whitney is essential when defining the characteristics of a “legend in his own time.” I know of no one who addressed him by his given name of Clarence, and surely never heard it uttered in any conversation. To me, even after a friendship of a decade and a half, he remained “Colonel” Whitney. Others knew him as Jerry, or indirectly, Jug Butt, within the cadet corps a sobriquet describing a certain anatomical feature having to do with his masculine demeanor. On my arrival at Culver in September of 1958, I was assigned to bachelor quarters on the third floor of East Barrack. Col. Estey, my mentor and chairman of the History Department, told me of a Col. Whitney who lived on the second floor of North and described him in rather general terms. The following morning I was seated in the Shack when Whitney arrived for breakfast. The Academy was not yet in session and he was in his summer “uniform”—a LaCoste polo shirt, tan shorts, penny loafers, no socks, and a sport coat. His gray hair was close cut, his jaw extended, and he wore a gold ring on his left little finger. He was jovial, but it was obvious that he was a man in charge of himself and a man among men.
Years earlier, during the
summer of 1940, Whitney was driving the Motorized Infantry’s command car
and did a quick turn through Main Gate from Indiana 10. Coming from the
other direction was a cab from Jack’s Taxi. The two vehicles met with a
crash, and troopers poured from their tents to see a red-faced Major
Whitney For Jerry, retirement in 1956 was nothing more than a chronological blip in his 83-year life span. When Academy regulations mandated he step down from regular duties with the Black Horse Troop, he simply moved to the Commandant’s Office under Col. Ed Stephenson and took responsibility for the order and decorum of the Mess Hall. He believed that cadets should rise above mundane dining habits, and woe be anyone who stepped beyond the boundary lines. He had a reserved seat at the faculty table, and one day, Gerald Thomas, his assistant and several bachelor colleagues, painted his chair gold and equipped it with a purple cushion. Trappings as befitting a king! He was as pleased as a child at Christmas. Whitney’s demeanor could change in an instant if his eagle eyes focused on a cadet slipping into the Mess Hall before his unit or had failed to button his shirt or who had a loose tie. He would rise, shoot his cuffs (I’ve tried unsuccessfully for almost 50 years to emulate his action), check his own tie, and head straight for the culprit. The poor cadet could not hide and, like a bird facing a serpent, seemed frozen in place. He knew he was dead meat. He had, by the late ‘40s, developed a fairly severe hearing problem and tended to cock his head to hear the miscreant’s response. If the answer was indistinct, we, at the Faculty Table, could hear his machine gun-like staccato “What, what, what” and watch the cadet shaking as he tried to find some way to extricate himself from the dilemma. Later, Jerry would return to the table, chuckle, slap tight the cover of the sugar bowl and continue his meal - the subject forgotten, but a lesson from the “legend” taught and his mystique enhanced. He enjoyed the thrill of the game, be it polo, jumping, football, or a round of golf. In the early 1960s, Colin Stetson, Gerald Thomas, Ray Walmoth, and Whitney would rendezvous in the Faculty Lounge for bitterly contested bridge games. Whitney would make a bid, and be told that such a response was improper. “What, what, what?” he would bark. It worked with cadets, and it worked with his bridge partners! When the bidding lagged, he would simply fall asleep. Stetson and Walmoth, both excellent players, were driven to near-distraction by his failure to adhere to conventions, but looked forward to each evening’s contests. Many of my Sunday afternoons as a fledgling golfer were spent with Jerry, Capt. Bob Bolton, USN (Ret) and Col. Don Marshall, chairman of the Language Department, on the Maxinkuckee Golf Course, about a mile south of the Academy layout. Off limits to cadets, the venue allowed them to smoke, curse a bit, or duck hook a drive without being observed by ogling cadets. For reasons that to this day I don’t comprehend, they adopted me. I had no family and they treated me as a son. Unwilling to part with their dimes willingly, each took me as a partner for six holes. Somehow their losses were mitigated by this strategy. Whatever I missed in the art of shot-making or lost in dimes was more than compensated by the camaraderie and the memories of the day. Whitney, always in shorts and carrying a yellowing canvas Sunday bag, set a fast pace for the rest of us and was prepared to hit even when it wasn’t his turn. Sometimes I felt it was part of his competitive gamesmanship to rattle the opposition. On reflection, however, it’s clear that it was simply a reaffirmation of Elliott’s earlier censure – he also played golf too fast! His romance with Culver began two years before his actual arrival on the campus. On Aug. 15, 1925, while on summer reserve duty with the 5th Infantry at Fort McKinley, Maine, he wrote to Col. Cal Chambers, the Executive Officer of the Academy, inquiring about a staff opening. Whitney noted that he was a major in the infantry reserves and taught history and geography at the Freehold Military School in New Jersey, as well as its commandant of cadets. Chambers responded promptly, asking for credentials, but noted no opening were available at that time.
However, in April 1927
Whitney’s file was reactivated, and the
Had Chambers been writing an endorsement rather than a job description, he could not have come much closer to identifying the lasting character of Col. Clarence Alden Whitney; L.L.B., University of Maine ‘15, an honest-to-goodness “down easterner” until the day he died on Jan. 18, 1974.
Arriving on campus with his
wife and 8-year-old son, Alden, the Whitney’s success and leadership style made him Rossow’s logical replacement – but a severe impediment existed. He was an infantry officer! Gignilliat’s Rolodex, if there had been such a device in 1926, was filled with names of important War Department contacts. Somehow he wrangled an appointment for Whitney to attend the U.S. Army’s Cavalry School at Fort Riley, Kansas.
In the spring of 1927,
Whitney was relieved of his counseling
Replacing the legendary Robert Rossow could have been a difficult transition, but Whitney began a long and collegial association with Rossow and there were few difficulties with the first giant of the Black Horse Troop. He was always on the move and found life at its fullest when he was with his Troopers or as a coach. The stories which surround him are legend, many nurtured and exaggerated by barrack room bull sessions and alumni gatherings. Whitney’s company football teams were so tough to beat that, when Russ Oliver became head coach in 1936, he tapped Jerry to be his line coach. He performed with admirable style and the old Black Bear all-conference center from the University of Maine was an integral part of an undefeated football season and a team that surrendered only six points while scoring 223! There were times when the Academic Department was visibly frustrated over his tardy habits with scheduled letters to parents and his student evaluations. Rarely did he score high with the guidance services. Yet, when he buckled down, he communicated well with parents. Even in the midst of the Great Depression, the troop suffered significantly lower attrition than any of the other units. Somehow, the proof was in the pudding! When World War II broke out, Whitney, a reserve officer, received orders to appear in Indianapolis for a physical examination. If qualified, he was to report to the Army Air Corps Replacement Pool at Lowry Field in Denver for an active duty assignment. This almost anachronistic order failed to develop. Instead, he was activated and sent to the Mechanized Cavalry School. Unconfirmed reports tell the story of a young officer “short-sheeting” him and then being laid out with a right-cross from the 52-year old Troop commander. With Culver in great need of trained officers, Whitney was assigned to the ROTC staff at the Academy. He was forever agitated because he was not sent overseas. Born in 1890, he was a newly commissioned lieutenant in 1917 and spent the war training new recruits at Fort McKinley. By the attack on Pearl Harbor he was 51 and, with an invalid wife, the Culver duty was his war. When it concluded, he remained a member of the military staff when Col. Isaacs Kitts was appointed the new Horsemanship Director. Following Kitts’ death in 1953, Whitney was reappointed as Director of Horsemanship and, always the good soldier, served until 1956. It was an assignment he embraced with enthusiasm. In 1954, Mrs. Whitney died, and Jerry moved into bachelor quarters on the second floor of North Barrack. Grayson Hanahan ‘55, wrote in a Vedette article that, “His horse is still charging strong . . . and shooting a wicked game of golf, he is able to overcome most of the Troopers who play with him. During the week, the Colonel is as tough as nails and you begin to wonder if he has any heart at all. But when holidays roll around, such as dances, you can find Colonel Whitney where most of the fun is.” Recognized as a lady’s man, Hanahan concluded: “He is a typical old Trooper, although sometimes not so typical.”
In the mid-1950s he drove
his yellow Ford convertible over one of
In 1963, at the age of 73,
Jerry Whitney made a career move that
Few of Culver giants are
better remembered and alumni even
Copy is all that one could
ever accomplish, for there was only one
Author’s note: It was my great pleasure to be mentored in Culver traditions by Colonel Whitney. As historian for the Academy I have, over the years, collected dozens of photographs of this great man and can attest that he was the most photogenic individual I’ve ever known. Once I told him that he could have been a Hollywood star if he had spoken English. He knew it was referring to his distinct “Downeaster” accent. It was a remark made in jest and he simply smiled. He knew I was correct! His son, Alden ’36 graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy and served with distinction in the Navy until retiring to become director of the Culver Summer Schools. Grandson Peter B. Whitney ’72 is a retired Navy commander and Vice President Operations, International Telecom USA. -RBDH hartmab@culver.org A REMINDER Don't forget, Hal Holbrook, `42, is a nominee in this year's Academy Awards for Best Supporting Actor, for his performance in "Into the Wild." Tune in on Feb. 24 to watch the awards. -RBDH & JPK REPRISING A.J. DONNELLY (2-5-08) Responses to the A.J. D. story confirms the impact this great man had on his students. Not only did he have great humanistic and teaching skills, but he set many of his students on career paths. I am delighted to share some of the more than 60 responses for grist to the Donnelly story. Carol Lineback ’73 writes: I had Mr. Donnelly my first year there as a junior when CAG opened its doors in the fall of 1971. Since my last name was Lineback, he preferred to call me Linebacker or Mrs. Butkus (the wife of Dick Butkus-famous linebacker of the Chicago Bears at the time.) His sense of humor was as masterful as his ability to teach math. It helped me to remember all of the formulas. It lifted my spirit. He was a remarkable man and mentor. Noel C. Coulantes ’67 writes: Al Donnelly took a country boy from Apopka, Florida, and transformed him into a mathematician. I was nicknamed the “Kool-Aid Kid.” Of course, he propelled me into becoming an Electrical Engineer at Cornell, and I will forever always be grateful to him Rich Chura ’73 writes: I had an instant flashback of Mr. Donnelly's calling me "Chauncey.” "Chauncey Chura" he would call out looking for an answer to an assignment or problem on the board. I also remember his being referred to as "Duffer Donnelly" if I am correct, as well as his sayings such as "There is nothing really new under the sun...." I am sure he is missed by all, and that responses from your request for names will deliver a plethora of memories from the masses. Sam Lanham ’75 writes: I remember the way Mr. Donnelly would tip back in his chair, reach backward over his shoulder, and draw a perfect circle which would then become the object of some geometrical reflection. Amazing. Larry Hoover ’53 writes: George Hoover (no relation) and I were together in AJD’s class. George was Hoover Thinso and I was Hoover Fatso. It caused me to lose about 25 pounds, which I've kept off ever since. Jeff Blake ’67 writes: Mr. Donnelly would wait until I was gazing out the window and, as he was finishing some equation on the board, I would hear: “Buford is thinking. . . and will give us his solution ….” Doh! Then he would ask “Fearless” Roger Ferry (C Battery) to help me out. AJ was something – and could pick off someone with an eraser like Dan Marino and had eyes in the back of his head. Thanks for reminding me of him again, Petra Nicholson ‘72 writes: I read about "Duffer" Donnelly and wished to pass along his nickname for me. I was a student in his class during my junior year at Culver and as I was a twin and my brother Alex also in his class, he chose to call us by: "Nicholson A (me) and Nicholson B+ (Alex) as I was the better student! My brother disliked this as his true initial was "A", but Mr. Donnelly won out! And what a wonderful teacher he was. I loved his class and teach math today because of my math teachers at Culver. Tony Zaleski ’86 writes: I missed the first day of Class with Al my 4th Class year. Thereafter, I was Zero Zaleski. Albert Watson ’64 writes: Mr. Donnelly called me "Wee Willie" Watson. There was an extremely bright fellow in my class whose first name escapes (it was Russell Bjork) me but I will never forget his nickname--"Bullet.” Jerry Perron ‘54 writes: My roommate—Jay Reese, ’54—and I were in 1st year Algebra with the man.; Jay was a math whiz & I struggled. Little wonder that Col. D. referred to Jay as “Wretched Reese” and to me as Powerhouse Perron. It always irked me that he mispronounced my name. George LeVan '64 writes: To a lot of people, I still go by my nickname Al Donnelly gave me. For some unknown reason I became "Leroy LeVan, The Oklahoma Whiz" which soon got shortened to just "Leroy." At the last Culver reunion more people called me Leroy than George. It sort of took on a life of its own when Culver buddies would come visit me in my hometown of El Reno, OK, and my friends from there began calling me Leroy. Just last month there was a message on my answering machine from my insurance agent, a guy I grew up with in El Reno (and who has never been within a hundred miles of Culver). It said, "Hey, Leroy, give me a call to let me know if you had any house damage from the ice storm." Some time ago, I thought back on all the teachers I had had from Culver through college, dental school and business school (that's a lot of teachers) and came up with my top 5 list. In no particular order they were a Russian history teacher from OU, a biochem teacher from Northwestern and three from Culver, Ron Minne, Al Nagy (who taught me more about James Knox Polk than I ever wanted to know) and Al Donnelly. Ed Simpson ’70 writes: I thoroughly enjoyed reading your piece on Al Donnelly and, as you requested, would like to share his nickname for me. Since I routinely carried my books in a small leather satchel, he gave me the nickname "Satchel". I must admit that I didn't do well in his course, but I did enjoy going to his class. Marilyn Peacock '73 writes: He was my BI in North Lodge, and I loved him to pieces. He called me "Prunella". In class, during my first semester at Culver (fall 1971), as he explained a problem, he would occasionally use "off color" language. Suddenly, he would remember that I was there, get so embarrassed, and apologize profusely to me! One did not swear in front of the coeds! Jerry Perron ’54 writes: My roommate—Jay Reese, ’54—and I were in 1st year Algebra with “the man.” Jay was a math whiz and I struggled. Little wonder that Col. D. referred to Jay as “Wretched Reese” and to me as Powerhouse Perron. It always irked me that he mispronounced my name. George "Buck" Wroten ’65 writes: The account of Mr. Donnely is a wonderful read. He was an amazing man. I, unfortunately, was the cadet in 1963, who made a sideline tackle in the Battery C regimental game and rolled over Donnelly, breaking his leg as he watched his son, Shaun, quarterback our Battery C team. I was greatly saddened to find that we had broken his leg. Shaun assured me that it was a "blessing in disguise", but the episode still haunts me to this day. Thank you for this fantastic web site. It brings back a lot of memories. Hartman replies: The broken leg was indeed fortuitous. Dr. Milan Baker set and cast Donnelly’s leg and insisted he come in for regular check-ups. Several weeks after the incident, Baker was doing the usual stethoscope thing and heard something that transfixed him. He called for Bonine’s ambulance and rushed Al to Indianapolis where he underwent surgery for an almost ruptured aorta. Bob Morrison, '58 writes: Col. Donnelly was my brother's D Co. counselor so I was introduced to him at the age of 6. My parents loved the man, and so did Bill. When I arrived 8 years later he was disappointed that I didn't request D Co. and always reminded me of my transgression. With the reunion coming up these stories are particularly important to me. It makes all the time and effort to pull this function off even more significant. Over the past, I don't know how many years now, your stories have given me a vivid picture of my days at Culver. Once again, thanks for the memories. I thoroughly enjoyed the article on Al Donnelly. It was well done and very interesting. Nelson Abbey III ’72 writes: "Duffer" Donnelly had two nicknames for me. They were "Archebald" Abbey and "Abacus" Abbey. I only had him as a teacher for a short time but I have wonderful memories. I often tell people about this unique math teacher . . . Lloyd Noble ’68 writes: My math was right – John Mars celebrated his 89 birthday on January 20. We talked of Al Donnelly. He mentioned that Nelson Bunker Hunt ‘43 (son of famous H.L. Hunt) was Nelson “Notebook Hunt." According to John, Hunt had the most disorganized notebook in CMA history. You will recall that the 7th cp was at night and many cadets were unable to stay awake. I was one of Al’s easy targets. I was "Nero Noble." I recall many nicknames: Steve Culver was "Casper Culver," Perry Bass was "Percival Bass," Bonnie Robinette was" Bonelia me Oatmelia," Bill Paty – “The “Pate, " Roger Ferry was "Fanbelt Ferry," A one year cadet named Robinson from Co. C was “Rollo.” If a cadet complained of illness, Al would say "Go get some TLC from Nurse Abair!" Hartman notes that Lloyd has a remarkably accurate memory and is highly valued for confirming names or special events, particularly from within the BHT. Peter G . Cook ’51 writes: I was in D company from September 1948 to June of 1951. Although I never took a class from AJ, all of us found him a real help in dealing with the challenges set before us by living the Culver life, and even looking forward to college. I was Cum Laude, so I had a reasonable academic record. But he was very helpful when he told me that my aspiration to study physics was fine, but he couldn't picture me spending days taking very precise readings from some experiment. Attention to detail has never been my long suit, so I ended up taking Physics at Williams College - liberal arts physics is a different animal than MIT or Purdue. There is one AJ phrase that I found most memorable, but which escaped your essay. During his sessions where he was explaining something like procedures for Christmas vacation, he didn't say "You will ...". His phrase was "The better boy will . . .". I told my father that, and he "better boy'd" me for the rest of his life. A classmate, Jim "Ace" Mueller, told me an interesting AJ story a while back. He said that he was smoking in his room, leaning out the window of CT barracks to keep the smell down. This was, of course, a major infraction. AJ must have noted the evidence on the ground, and with a good understanding of his charges and their attitudes, suspected Mueller. So he called Ace into his office, noted that there seemed to be some problem with smoking, and gave him the special detail to find out who it was. But rather than putting the culprit on report, AJ told Ace to see that "whoever it was" just stopped. AJ had very adept disciplinary skills. Your article on AJ Donnelly was both interesting and fun. Ralph N. Jones, ’64 writes: I was “Jennifer” Jones. The real Jennifer was a box office star in Hollywood. Rusty Oliver ’59 writes: The quip I remember best had to do with one's stance or position on an issue. Speaking in mathematical verbiage, if someone took the opposite position in a disagreement, he'd say, "So you were on the other side of the equation." Or, "he found himself on the other side of the equation." In conversation I sometimes still use that reference when dealing with people. Donald Kojich ’78 writes: I hope you are well. I never had Al Donnelley and/or Ray Jurgensen as a teacher. However, the story I share with you will demonstrate both of their reputations and the reputation of Culver. At the end of my freshman year of high school (1975) in my hometown of Gary, Indiana, I told my math teacher I would not be returning next fall. I was going to Culver. He told me to say hello to Mr. Donnelley and Mr. Jurgensen. I said OK, but who were they? My teacher pulled a math book from his shelf and said they had written the preeminent math book (algebra or geometry; my memory is sketchy after 30 years) in the country to teach high school students. They were known all over the country. I would soon find out that these two individuals were larger than life at Culver. As a matter of fact, that era at Culver with Dean Nagy, Dr. Beach, P.K. Mallory, Dr. Bayless, Mr. and Mrsl Wagner, King Moore, Mr. Hartman, Harvey Firari, Mit Hughes, Col. Uebel, Col. Baker, and others that I am sure to have forgotten, might have been the finest collection of secondary school teachers ever assembled any where...any time...any place. Murray Viser ’71 writes: I couldn’t forget my nickname. Mr. Donnelly gave it to me the first or second day of class. "Viscount Vise". Michael Field ’71 was “Fan Belt Field." Not only would I characterize Mr. Donnelley as a character, but possibly the best math teacher I ever had. David Huston ’41 writes:
Scott Arquilla ’69 writes: Mr. Donnelly was my freshman Algebra teacher. I tested well in math and was with the ‘advanced’ group; probably a poor fit. He called me ‘The Old Arquil’ although he pronounced it the ‘old ar-keel’. I still rank him is one of the best I was fortunate to have had. Another alumnus writes: Thank you for your wonderful article on Al Donnelly. You have captured his delightful spirit, as well as a sense of how easy and enjoyable it was to be around him. He is an inspiration to me to this day as he was one of the few people during my adolescence who I felt actually believed I had something to offer the world. I let him down once, but he did not chastise me. I had asked Lela to be my date for an important dance, perhaps Fall Festival, and then called her the afternoon of the dance and stood her up. To this day I wake up at night bathed in shame about this irresponsible and hurtful act. The first time I raised my hand in his class the following Monday he called on me with a sigh, and then never again ever let on how much I had hurt him by hurting his daughter. I often think that if I ever make it back to Culver I will find a way to go to Lela's grave and apologize. Somehow, being her dad's daughter, I think she probably knows now that I just didn't know any better at that time in my life. Hartman notes: Alumni may not know that a great tragedy befell Al and his wife Barbara in the fall of 1975 when their daughter Lela ’67, was murdered in a nighttime shooting while returning from Culver to her home in nearby Winamac. She was alone when someone drove up and shot her. Her car crashed into a pine thicket and she was not found until the following morning. A police investigation was unsuccessful in solving the case. In 2007, the murder of a waitress in Winamac led to a suspect who confessed. Detectives broadened their investigation into cold cases files and made a connection with Lela’s death 32 years earlier. A confession followed. Not only had the culprit shot Lela in a purely random manner, but had also killed a local woman who was sitting in her home watching television. To avoid death penalty chares for the Donnelly murder, he pled guilty to killing the waitress and was sentenced to life without parole in December of 2007. -EDITED BY RBDH
DR. CHARLES E. BAYLESS (2-1-08) THE CHARACTERS AMONG US Culver has always been blessed with “characters” that, in some unique capacity, impact on the faculty and student body and bring flavor to the daily life of the community. Proclaiming someone a “character” is best left to the beholder’s imagination since one man’s favorite may be someone else’s dunce. In any small community, the preservation of a friendship demands a fair measure of circumspection. My short list from comes from those who have been here and are now entrenched in our memories. Their bona fides have passed the test. Charlie Bayless won his reputation as a very demanding teacher at Culver. “Don’t compromise with the King’s English” became his mantra and more than three decades of his students post a litany of praises of the man himself, and their learning experience under his demanding guidance. Charlie subconsciously believed that the English language rested on grammar, grammar, and grammar.
Like many demanding
teachers, Charlie didn’t suffer fools well or appreciate the laggards.
The “Bayless stare” sent shivers up the backs of Bayless grew up in Marion, Indiana and earned his bachelor’s degree in English at Purdue University, his Master’s in journalism and English at Indiana University, and his Doctorate in English education from Duke University. He started teaching at the Culver Summer School program in 1957 and the following fall joined three other newcomers, Fred Lane, Gerald Thomas, and Bob Hartman as junior members of the winter school faculty. “John Edgell, the academic dean of the summer school, hired me” for my first summer” he recalls. “I taught all kinds of English classes and was advisor for the school’s newspaper, Vedette “All bachelor faculty were housed in the barrack and I lived in Main during my early years. I enjoyed the Academy because the students were challenging and wanted to be challenged, and that was what I liked. They had great sports programs and I, like most Hoosiers, was a big fan of basketball, particularly of the Purdue Boilermakers.”
“The association with other
instructors in the English Department was a big, big thing for me. I
worked with some true giants. Men like Art Hughes, Tom Walker, Dick
Gimbel, Pat Hodgkin, Bud Roberts, Mac MacQuillan, and Norm Wagner were
true giants and I believe made up the strongest academic department on
the campus.” In 1976, Bayless was appointed chairman of the English Department, a position he held for the next 13 years. He retired from the Academy in 1991. Unable to adjust to retirement, Charlie shifted allegiance a few miles north of Culver and accepted a position as an adjunct professor at Ancilla, a newly formed junior college in Donaldson, Indiana. “My home was in Culver and I didn’t want to go too far away. When “Sister Joel, Ancilla’s first president, hired me it was the beginning of a new academic career.” Charlie carried the Academy’s standards with him to Ancilla and, not surprisingly, was appointed to the position of chair of the division of humanities. His versatility was evident and soon he was teaching drama, writing, literature, and linguistics classes and advising the Scripta, the school’s literary magazine.
Over the years, the Good
Doctor Bayless has received numerous accolades and awards, including the
Hoosier English Teacher of the Year (awarded by the Indiana Council of
English), a Roundtable Honor (awarded by Peabody College and Vanderbilt
University for contributing to education and human development), the
Culver Academies’ Kaser scholarship medal for outstanding instruction,
and in May, 2007, he was named Cambridge ???
Who’s Who Professional of the Year in English Education, a distinction
awarded to only one Perhaps closer to Bayless’ heart was his winning of Ancilla College’s annual Educator of the Year award, determined by popular student vote, an amazing accomplishment for a professor known for his strict expectations of students. Meantime, if Bayless is a venerable figure at Ancilla College, the same is true of his presence in Culver, where he quietly enjoys the landscape with his small, beloved dog, Prince. “Lake Maxinkuckee is a great attraction,” he says. “For a small town, (Culver is) doing very well. The Academy has contributed to that, particularly James Dicke. He’s done a lot for the town. When you live in a place, sometimes you take it for granted. Others come visit me and say, ‘do you really appreciate this place?’ (It’s) the kind of an atmosphere that maybe you’d be driving thousands of miles to visit…I used to think big cities are the answer, but it’s not for me.” He has no plans to leave, either Culver or the world of education. “I’d like to continue in this profession as long as I’m physically and mentally capable…If I retire and do nothing, disintegration would set in. Unless you have some incentive, life can become boring if you let it. This is an excellent time for me to be doing something more special for education because it’s not in its best time right now.” He chuckles. “Most people would say, ‘I’m looking forward to writing a book.’ I’m not going to say that. It seems to me we’re getting to the last stage there!”Portions of this article were originally published in the Culver Citizen newspaper. -JPK & RBDH
COFFEE WITH HOLBROOK (1-28-08) A JOURNAL INTO OUR HISTORY reminds Culver alumni of the up-coming Academy Awards presentations on February 24. For the first time in our school’s history, an alumnus/actor has been nominated. Hal Holbrook, CMA ’42, known to millions for his remarkable portrayals of Mark Twain, is high in the running as Best Supporting Actor for “Into the Wild” (Paramount Vantage and River Road Entertainment).
-JPK & RBDH Coffee With Holbrook - Samuel Clemens On Stage Here; Culver Grad, A Rebel With A Cause BY DAVID R. DAWDY, Features Editor (Culver Vedette - January 26, 1962)
Hal Holbrook doesn’t like to be told what to do. He stays up late at nights purposely and rises late in the morning—something he couldn’t do when he was a student here (Class ‘42). He disliked strict regulations and hated to go to the compulsory assemblies. “You couldn’t even go into town until you were a first class-man and an NCO,” he said. “And oh, the assemblies: I hated those things with a passion. Until one night the Indianapolis Symphony was here. There were over 100 men in it and the sound was simply thrilling. I hated to see it end, and at that time I began to appreciate the arts a little more.” Below: Holbrook onstage at Eppley auditorium in 1962.
There are three hours of makeup before each show—certainly more ding than any cleanup before inspection when he was a cadet here. Then there is the toughest job of all: strict adherence to the role of Mark Twain. Mr. Holbrook has mastered all the mannerisms of an old man, and even when he did the excerpts from Huckleberry Finn, it was clearly an old man—not Holbrook at age 37—who was impersonating a young man. Mr. Holbrook on stage was never once a boy who attended Culver. He was Mark Twain, and not for a second did he step out of character despite the temptation. This is discipline in its purest form—self discipline. Yet as he wandered through campus Saturday afternoon before the performance and chatted over coffee in the Shack, there was no mistaking inward independence: vital, eager, enthusiastic, and with a twinkle in the eye that showed even through the Mark Twain disguise. But independence, nevertheless. His fight against mandatory formations was displayed in many ways. One night after taps Mr. Holbrook climbed in the ventilating system in South and made his way down the hall pausing at several rooms to moan noises and scare the daylights out of some sleepy cadets. There was a faculty member waiting for him when he crawled out. “Without athletics a guy would go buggy around here,” he reminisced. “I loved track and really tried, but there always seemed to be some joker who was a little bit faster.” After his Culver graduation Mr. Holbrook went on to Denison where he graduated with honors. His career has taken this Mark Twain II many places on the globe as did the original Mark Twain’s career. He recently spent three months in Europe on a tour of 12 countries for the State Department. He was the first American actor in Warsaw, Poland, since the end of World War II and his reception there exploded the myth that humor isn’t universal. “There wasn’t a language barrier anywhere. I performed in one city where no one laughed or said anything throughout the whole show. I was mad and did everything I could to get them mad. But at the curtain they clapped and clapped. I never had such an ovation.” Mr. Holbrook ended his performance with the story by Mark Twain that, “I came in with Haley’s Comet in 1835 and I’d be awfully disappointed if I didn’t go out with it next year (1910!).” He did. -RBDH |
|
the careless 
