Reading the latest Sigma Nu national magazine, I learned that Eli Manning and I are fraternity brothers. That should have taken some of the sting out of what he did to my beloved Green Bay Packers on Sunday.
But it didn't.
Showing posts with label Sigma Nu. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sigma Nu. Show all posts
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Thursday, March 03, 2011
Number, Please
I’m a word butcher, not a number cruncher, so I had to think a bit about a recent e-mail from fraternity brother Jeff Weir.
Weir is a successful attorney and real estate investor in northern Wisconsin. He also has authored a well-written novel. When I knew him years ago, he was struggling a little. It’s great to learn how he has progressed since then.
Weir said he was rummaging through a drawer and discovered his old Sigma Nu Fraternity membership card. He wondered how many of the brethren would remember their initiation numbers and the Greek letters designating the chapter.
I still can recite the Greek alphabet (I’m good at that kind of stuff), so the chapter designation came to mind easily—Gamma Lambda. However, I’ve spent more than two years trying to engrave my latest phone number in my memory. The initiation digits could have been trouble. They weren’t though. My initiation number is unforgettable. It is 714.
Anyone who recalls the long-running television show “Dragnet” would know that Sergeant Joe Friday carried Badge 714. What are commonly called fraternity pins more formally are known as badges. Thus, I have always had only to think of the indomitable cop Friday to remember my badge also is 714.
Number recollection must vary considerably among individuals, and perhaps the numbers themselves. I easily bring my social security number to mind. BW (beautiful wife) Sandy cannot remember hers no matter how hard she tries, although she easily recalls many more other numbers than I do.
The only other number of any importance I can readily recall is my military serial number. I was forced to memorize it 53 years ago. Why it still often leaps to mind completely escapes me. Perhaps I dream of being captured by some horrible enemy and remember my training company sergeant yelling: “Don’t tell 'em a damn thing but name, rank, and serial number,” and I want to be ready to do just that.
What strange numbers come to your mind?
I’m a word butcher, not a number cruncher, so I had to think a bit about a recent e-mail from fraternity brother Jeff Weir.
Weir is a successful attorney and real estate investor in northern Wisconsin. He also has authored a well-written novel. When I knew him years ago, he was struggling a little. It’s great to learn how he has progressed since then.
Weir said he was rummaging through a drawer and discovered his old Sigma Nu Fraternity membership card. He wondered how many of the brethren would remember their initiation numbers and the Greek letters designating the chapter.
I still can recite the Greek alphabet (I’m good at that kind of stuff), so the chapter designation came to mind easily—Gamma Lambda. However, I’ve spent more than two years trying to engrave my latest phone number in my memory. The initiation digits could have been trouble. They weren’t though. My initiation number is unforgettable. It is 714.
Anyone who recalls the long-running television show “Dragnet” would know that Sergeant Joe Friday carried Badge 714. What are commonly called fraternity pins more formally are known as badges. Thus, I have always had only to think of the indomitable cop Friday to remember my badge also is 714.
Number recollection must vary considerably among individuals, and perhaps the numbers themselves. I easily bring my social security number to mind. BW (beautiful wife) Sandy cannot remember hers no matter how hard she tries, although she easily recalls many more other numbers than I do.
The only other number of any importance I can readily recall is my military serial number. I was forced to memorize it 53 years ago. Why it still often leaps to mind completely escapes me. Perhaps I dream of being captured by some horrible enemy and remember my training company sergeant yelling: “Don’t tell 'em a damn thing but name, rank, and serial number,” and I want to be ready to do just that.
What strange numbers come to your mind?
Thursday, February 17, 2011
High Standards
Those who believe college fraternity members learn only how to consume a lot of booze and charm young ladies are incorrect. I learned many skills as a Sigma Nu at the University of Wisconsin, some still useful.
When I was a pledge, active member Lou Kocsis served as House Manager. The job paid the cost of his room, which was $25 a month. Kocsis fulfilled his duties as though his compensation was several thousand dollars a month. He was studying engineering on the GI Bill after serving as a sergeant in the U.S. Air Force.
The biggest part of Kocsis’ responsibilities was making sure the public areas in the Sigma Nu house were cleaned weekly. We pledges did the work, most of which was assigned every Saturday morning to be sure things were in top shape before the usual Saturday night party with dates.
I clearly remember Kocsis, on my first Saturday as a pledge, instructing us in the fine art of toilet cleaning—the Air Force way. That involved getting close to the work and a lot of elbow grease. The result was supposed to be sparkling white bowls that would have made any inspecting officer proud. Kocsis was a fairly big man with a big voice. I never forgot the lesson, although it didn’t seem like the type of instruction that would be very useful to a college grad in later life.
But it proved to be useful.
BW (beautiful wife) Sandy and I had several long discussions when I was considering early retirement. I was more than ready to join the ranks of the gainfully unemployed, but wanted to be sure we had carefully considered the change and were in agreement. I was pretty sure Sandy would approve if I chose to retire. But just to sway her if there were any doubts, I said she would never again have to clean a toilet.
A little basic math says I most likely tidied up toilet bowl number 17,000 sometime in the fall of last year. And every time I get up from my knees (the only Kocsis-approved position for bowl cleaning), I think:
Does that measure up to Brother Kocsis’ standards?
Those who believe college fraternity members learn only how to consume a lot of booze and charm young ladies are incorrect. I learned many skills as a Sigma Nu at the University of Wisconsin, some still useful.
When I was a pledge, active member Lou Kocsis served as House Manager. The job paid the cost of his room, which was $25 a month. Kocsis fulfilled his duties as though his compensation was several thousand dollars a month. He was studying engineering on the GI Bill after serving as a sergeant in the U.S. Air Force.
The biggest part of Kocsis’ responsibilities was making sure the public areas in the Sigma Nu house were cleaned weekly. We pledges did the work, most of which was assigned every Saturday morning to be sure things were in top shape before the usual Saturday night party with dates.
I clearly remember Kocsis, on my first Saturday as a pledge, instructing us in the fine art of toilet cleaning—the Air Force way. That involved getting close to the work and a lot of elbow grease. The result was supposed to be sparkling white bowls that would have made any inspecting officer proud. Kocsis was a fairly big man with a big voice. I never forgot the lesson, although it didn’t seem like the type of instruction that would be very useful to a college grad in later life.
But it proved to be useful.
BW (beautiful wife) Sandy and I had several long discussions when I was considering early retirement. I was more than ready to join the ranks of the gainfully unemployed, but wanted to be sure we had carefully considered the change and were in agreement. I was pretty sure Sandy would approve if I chose to retire. But just to sway her if there were any doubts, I said she would never again have to clean a toilet.
A little basic math says I most likely tidied up toilet bowl number 17,000 sometime in the fall of last year. And every time I get up from my knees (the only Kocsis-approved position for bowl cleaning), I think:
Does that measure up to Brother Kocsis’ standards?
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Easily Identifiable
The University of Wisconsin colors are cardinal and white. Ohio State University’s colors are red and gray. Thus it was no surprise when announcers for Saturday’s nationally televised football game between the two rivals several times described the scene at Camp Randall Stadium in Madison as a “sea of red.”
Old fraternity pal Thor Thorsen was among the 81,000 spectators. He phoned fellow Sigma Nu Bob Hirsch just before the game started.
Thor said, "You won't have any trouble spotting me at the game if you're watching on TV. I'm wearing a red shirt."
The University of Wisconsin colors are cardinal and white. Ohio State University’s colors are red and gray. Thus it was no surprise when announcers for Saturday’s nationally televised football game between the two rivals several times described the scene at Camp Randall Stadium in Madison as a “sea of red.”
Old fraternity pal Thor Thorsen was among the 81,000 spectators. He phoned fellow Sigma Nu Bob Hirsch just before the game started.
Thor said, "You won't have any trouble spotting me at the game if you're watching on TV. I'm wearing a red shirt."
Thursday, February 04, 2010
More to the Story
Just when you think you’ve said it all on a topic, up pops a new angle on an old story.
I thought a tale in Days with the Dads, my memoir, included every detail of the connection between Jerry Kramer, a five-time All-Pro with the Green Bay Packers in the 60s, and our son and me. It did. At least, it included everything I knew about that when the book was published late last year.
I was mystified, and frankly a bit miffed, about Kramer’s lack of interest in talking with me while we were seated next to each other for an hour or more in the Chicago airport. After all, I had told him I was a long-time Packers fan and admired his play. Only recently did I stumble onto a fact that would have guaranteed some Klade-Kramer conversation.
Sandy and I were visiting one of our local library’s periodic discount book sales. Sandy usually fills a couple of bags with titles to support her two to three book a week reading habit. I usually fill one hand with two or three titles. This time, I found more. One was a well-worn copy of Jerry Kramer’s Farewell to Football, published in 1969. I’d never heard of the book, and assumed he authored only two—Instant Replay and Distant Replay.
When we got home, I casually flipped Kramer’s book open, and read a few lines. One jumped right out at me. “I’d just pledged Sigma Nu,” Kramer said on page 106. That was at the University of Idaho. That was the same year I pledged Sigma Nu at the University of Wisconsin. Lo and behold, our family football hero and I were fraternity brothers! I just didn’t know it when we met at O’Hare.
Kramer’s Farewell book has a lot of personal information. He includes several descriptions of Sigma Nu happenings on the Moscow campus. He gives “clowning around” with buddies, including fraternity brothers, as one reason for his lackluster academic work. Kramer finished nearly four years at Idaho as a football and track all-star, but without a degree.
The Sigma Nu chapter at Idaho was known to be strong during the time I worked in the state and nearby in Utah. Its members included plenty of academic achievers, and a number of men who went on to become leaders after graduation. I met several who were successful businessmen in Boise. Throughout the 1980s, both U.S. Senators from Idaho—Republicans Steve Symms and Jim McClure--were Sigma Nus. I met one of them.
I did not meet McClure, but as far as I know, he served with distinction during his 18 years in the Senate. He was said to be strongly influenced by the mining industry, which did not always gladden the hearts of those of us interested in sound forest management. But mining was important in Idaho, and McClure was up front about his political positions. I saw no reason not to respect him.
Symms was another story. When we met in Boise in 1973, I was performing one of those low-level duties that sometimes fell to information officers. Wearing my uniform, I was working at a booth at the Idaho State Fair, answering questions about the National Forests and handing out maps and brochures. Symms had a booth almost directly across the aisle where he was promoting his candidacy for Congress.
The Symms family ran a large orchard and fruit processing business west of Boise. His campaign slogan was, “Let’s Upset the Applecart.” He was running hard against the status quo in Washington and what he saw as excessive governmental control on every level (sound familiar?). He and his supporters said some pretty nasty things about federal and state employees during that first campaign.
When the lunch hour provided a lull in booth visitors, Symms strode over to me. He offered a friendly smile and a firm handshake. “You’ve probably heard some of my comments about feds,” he said. “You know, of course, I don’t mean you Forest Service guys. You do a great job.”
I said, “Sure, we know you’re not talking about us.” By that time in my career, I had met enough politicians to not be surprised by enthusiastic insincerity. And I knew he probably was not surprised by my insincere response.
Symms won the election and went on to serve four terms in the House and two in the Senate. If he was distinguished by anything, it was as an accomplished philanderer. Rumors flew about his romantic adventures in Washington. Idaho journalists were said to know about several, but, as they did in those days, they kept his personal life out of their reports. However, when Symms’ long-suffering wife sued for divorce she put his alleged extra-marital activities on the public record. The media carried the stories, and Symms declined to run for another term, perhaps thinking his behavior would not be appreciated by voters in a conservative state.
I saw Symms once more after our Boise encounter. He passed within several feet of me as he rushed down a busy hallway in the Capitol Building in Washington. I was there as part of a legislative training course. I called out, “Hello, Steve.”
He responded with a big wave, and a hearty, “Well hi, great to see you,” as he continued on his way. He made it sound as though he remembered me well. I didn’t believe it for a minute.
So what does all that prove? Fraternity brothers, especially those from other chapters, certainly are not equivalent to birth brothers. However, they have one thing in common. Whether you respect them, admire them, choose to ignore them, or dislike them and their activities, they are yours forever.
Just when you think you’ve said it all on a topic, up pops a new angle on an old story.
I thought a tale in Days with the Dads, my memoir, included every detail of the connection between Jerry Kramer, a five-time All-Pro with the Green Bay Packers in the 60s, and our son and me. It did. At least, it included everything I knew about that when the book was published late last year.
I was mystified, and frankly a bit miffed, about Kramer’s lack of interest in talking with me while we were seated next to each other for an hour or more in the Chicago airport. After all, I had told him I was a long-time Packers fan and admired his play. Only recently did I stumble onto a fact that would have guaranteed some Klade-Kramer conversation.
Sandy and I were visiting one of our local library’s periodic discount book sales. Sandy usually fills a couple of bags with titles to support her two to three book a week reading habit. I usually fill one hand with two or three titles. This time, I found more. One was a well-worn copy of Jerry Kramer’s Farewell to Football, published in 1969. I’d never heard of the book, and assumed he authored only two—Instant Replay and Distant Replay.
When we got home, I casually flipped Kramer’s book open, and read a few lines. One jumped right out at me. “I’d just pledged Sigma Nu,” Kramer said on page 106. That was at the University of Idaho. That was the same year I pledged Sigma Nu at the University of Wisconsin. Lo and behold, our family football hero and I were fraternity brothers! I just didn’t know it when we met at O’Hare.
Kramer’s Farewell book has a lot of personal information. He includes several descriptions of Sigma Nu happenings on the Moscow campus. He gives “clowning around” with buddies, including fraternity brothers, as one reason for his lackluster academic work. Kramer finished nearly four years at Idaho as a football and track all-star, but without a degree.
The Sigma Nu chapter at Idaho was known to be strong during the time I worked in the state and nearby in Utah. Its members included plenty of academic achievers, and a number of men who went on to become leaders after graduation. I met several who were successful businessmen in Boise. Throughout the 1980s, both U.S. Senators from Idaho—Republicans Steve Symms and Jim McClure--were Sigma Nus. I met one of them.
I did not meet McClure, but as far as I know, he served with distinction during his 18 years in the Senate. He was said to be strongly influenced by the mining industry, which did not always gladden the hearts of those of us interested in sound forest management. But mining was important in Idaho, and McClure was up front about his political positions. I saw no reason not to respect him.
Symms was another story. When we met in Boise in 1973, I was performing one of those low-level duties that sometimes fell to information officers. Wearing my uniform, I was working at a booth at the Idaho State Fair, answering questions about the National Forests and handing out maps and brochures. Symms had a booth almost directly across the aisle where he was promoting his candidacy for Congress.
The Symms family ran a large orchard and fruit processing business west of Boise. His campaign slogan was, “Let’s Upset the Applecart.” He was running hard against the status quo in Washington and what he saw as excessive governmental control on every level (sound familiar?). He and his supporters said some pretty nasty things about federal and state employees during that first campaign.
When the lunch hour provided a lull in booth visitors, Symms strode over to me. He offered a friendly smile and a firm handshake. “You’ve probably heard some of my comments about feds,” he said. “You know, of course, I don’t mean you Forest Service guys. You do a great job.”
I said, “Sure, we know you’re not talking about us.” By that time in my career, I had met enough politicians to not be surprised by enthusiastic insincerity. And I knew he probably was not surprised by my insincere response.
Symms won the election and went on to serve four terms in the House and two in the Senate. If he was distinguished by anything, it was as an accomplished philanderer. Rumors flew about his romantic adventures in Washington. Idaho journalists were said to know about several, but, as they did in those days, they kept his personal life out of their reports. However, when Symms’ long-suffering wife sued for divorce she put his alleged extra-marital activities on the public record. The media carried the stories, and Symms declined to run for another term, perhaps thinking his behavior would not be appreciated by voters in a conservative state.
I saw Symms once more after our Boise encounter. He passed within several feet of me as he rushed down a busy hallway in the Capitol Building in Washington. I was there as part of a legislative training course. I called out, “Hello, Steve.”
He responded with a big wave, and a hearty, “Well hi, great to see you,” as he continued on his way. He made it sound as though he remembered me well. I didn’t believe it for a minute.
So what does all that prove? Fraternity brothers, especially those from other chapters, certainly are not equivalent to birth brothers. However, they have one thing in common. Whether you respect them, admire them, choose to ignore them, or dislike them and their activities, they are yours forever.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Give Yourself a Proper Sendoff
A badly overused joke among mature adults is that they read death notices in newspapers just to make sure they're not among the deceased that day. Having reached a ripe old age, I'm certain the real reason oldsters read the obits so religiously is because their contemporaries are dropping like flies, and the readers are very curious to see what is written about the dearly departeds they knew. I maintain that obituaries prepared by funeral directors or newspaper staffers with information provided by family members are not first rate, an unfortunate situation that could be corrected with a bit of advance work.
Everyone should write his or her own obituary.
An elderly writer who I supervised in the early 1980s convinced me of the truth of this. The guy wasn't extremely productive, but he could be creative. When he began telling me of the virtues of writing one's own swan song, I expected some of the usual fiddle faddle about how it would help the family in a time of great emotional stress. Nope. The principal reason was entirely self serving--you can portray yourself in a highly favorable way and not say a single thing that is untrue. And you'll be doing the readers a favor because you can leave out all those unfounded, irritating laudatory statements, such as "he was beloved by all who knew him" or "she was a true friend in times of need" or "he will be sorely missed" or similar banal nonsense.
Another virtue of the do-it-yourself approach is it gives you one last chance to say before a large audience a few nice things about the people you love or admire.
The secret to successful, yet honest, self-aggrandizement starts with the realization that all obituaries are written in the past tense. Thus, you can mention every positive activity you ever engaged in without regard to how long you did it or how effective you were. You know more of the little positive things in your life than anyone else, so you should do the job or work with another to prepare the final salute to yourself.
The obituary I wrote in preparation for my demise follows. Every word in it is the truth. But you will find several instances of making myself look more impressive than I was by simply stating an unqualified fact. An example is in the second paragraph. I was a class president in high school. Sounds pretty grand. However, I was the freshman class president, and the frosh came from several different grade schools. They hadn't been together long enough to get to know each other before elections were held. Most who voted for me didn't know a thing about me. And there were only 80 kids in the class, anyway.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Richard J. Klade left us on ___________ after __ years of living well, laughing often, and loving much.
Dick was born Jan. 1, 1936 at Tomahawk, WI, to wonderful parents, Fred and Margaret Klade. As a youth, his passion was playing baseball on youth league, high school, American Legion, and county league teams. He also was a high school class president, saxophonist in the band, and a football player.
He started working at age 10 as a shoeshine boy and later was a waiter, farm and canning factory laborer, supermarket butcher, and printing shop helper. His savings and two small scholarships financed study at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, where he earned a journalism degree in 1957. At UW, he was a member of Sigma Delta Chi, professional journalism fraternity, and was elected president of Sigma Nu social fraternity.
He served with pride in the U.S. Army from 1958 to 1960, primarily as a troop information specialist at Fort Sill, OK.
Dick's professional work included stints as City Editor of the De Pere (WI) Journal-Democrat and Sports Editor of the Daily Tribune in Wisconsin Rapids. He also worked in public relations and sales promotion at The West Bend Company, Allis-Chalmers, and the McCoy Job Corps Center as an RCA employee. His writing occasionally appeared in the Sporting News and other national media. Dick achieved his two minutes of fame in 1973 when he presented a report on the "CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite."
He joined a great outfit, the U.S. Forest Service, in 1968. He served as a writer-editor at the Forest Products Laboratory, Public Information Officer for the Boise National Forest and Eastern and Intermountain Regions, and Director of Research Information for the Intermountain Station in Ogden where he retired in 1994. He was awarded 11 Certificates of Merit for outstanding performance during his Forest Service career.
Along the way he was a charter member of the De Pere Junior Chamber of Commerce, a Kiwanis Club member in Boise, and for several years volunteered as a Greek Awards applications judge for Weber State University. He devoted more than 16 years to serving his neighbors in various capacities with the White Barn Homeowners Association in Pleasant View, UT.
Dick married the love of his life and best friend, Sandy, in West Bend, WI in 1961. Their son Lee, a stained glass artist in Plainwell, MI, was raised to be an honest man with good values by Sandy while his father pursued less important activities. Sandy and Lee remain with us, along with five nieces and nephews.
Dick loved his family, people of integrity, trying to hit golf balls (he got four holes-in-one, but said all were accidental), the Green Bay Packers, and Dixieland jazz, in about that order. He was a member of People's Church, a Unitarian-Universalist congregation in Kalamazoo, where for several years he chaired the Men's Discussion Group and met many new friends.
A badly overused joke among mature adults is that they read death notices in newspapers just to make sure they're not among the deceased that day. Having reached a ripe old age, I'm certain the real reason oldsters read the obits so religiously is because their contemporaries are dropping like flies, and the readers are very curious to see what is written about the dearly departeds they knew. I maintain that obituaries prepared by funeral directors or newspaper staffers with information provided by family members are not first rate, an unfortunate situation that could be corrected with a bit of advance work.
Everyone should write his or her own obituary.
An elderly writer who I supervised in the early 1980s convinced me of the truth of this. The guy wasn't extremely productive, but he could be creative. When he began telling me of the virtues of writing one's own swan song, I expected some of the usual fiddle faddle about how it would help the family in a time of great emotional stress. Nope. The principal reason was entirely self serving--you can portray yourself in a highly favorable way and not say a single thing that is untrue. And you'll be doing the readers a favor because you can leave out all those unfounded, irritating laudatory statements, such as "he was beloved by all who knew him" or "she was a true friend in times of need" or "he will be sorely missed" or similar banal nonsense.
Another virtue of the do-it-yourself approach is it gives you one last chance to say before a large audience a few nice things about the people you love or admire.
The secret to successful, yet honest, self-aggrandizement starts with the realization that all obituaries are written in the past tense. Thus, you can mention every positive activity you ever engaged in without regard to how long you did it or how effective you were. You know more of the little positive things in your life than anyone else, so you should do the job or work with another to prepare the final salute to yourself.
The obituary I wrote in preparation for my demise follows. Every word in it is the truth. But you will find several instances of making myself look more impressive than I was by simply stating an unqualified fact. An example is in the second paragraph. I was a class president in high school. Sounds pretty grand. However, I was the freshman class president, and the frosh came from several different grade schools. They hadn't been together long enough to get to know each other before elections were held. Most who voted for me didn't know a thing about me. And there were only 80 kids in the class, anyway.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Richard J. Klade left us on ___________ after __ years of living well, laughing often, and loving much.
Dick was born Jan. 1, 1936 at Tomahawk, WI, to wonderful parents, Fred and Margaret Klade. As a youth, his passion was playing baseball on youth league, high school, American Legion, and county league teams. He also was a high school class president, saxophonist in the band, and a football player.
He started working at age 10 as a shoeshine boy and later was a waiter, farm and canning factory laborer, supermarket butcher, and printing shop helper. His savings and two small scholarships financed study at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, where he earned a journalism degree in 1957. At UW, he was a member of Sigma Delta Chi, professional journalism fraternity, and was elected president of Sigma Nu social fraternity.
He served with pride in the U.S. Army from 1958 to 1960, primarily as a troop information specialist at Fort Sill, OK.
Dick's professional work included stints as City Editor of the De Pere (WI) Journal-Democrat and Sports Editor of the Daily Tribune in Wisconsin Rapids. He also worked in public relations and sales promotion at The West Bend Company, Allis-Chalmers, and the McCoy Job Corps Center as an RCA employee. His writing occasionally appeared in the Sporting News and other national media. Dick achieved his two minutes of fame in 1973 when he presented a report on the "CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite."
He joined a great outfit, the U.S. Forest Service, in 1968. He served as a writer-editor at the Forest Products Laboratory, Public Information Officer for the Boise National Forest and Eastern and Intermountain Regions, and Director of Research Information for the Intermountain Station in Ogden where he retired in 1994. He was awarded 11 Certificates of Merit for outstanding performance during his Forest Service career.
Along the way he was a charter member of the De Pere Junior Chamber of Commerce, a Kiwanis Club member in Boise, and for several years volunteered as a Greek Awards applications judge for Weber State University. He devoted more than 16 years to serving his neighbors in various capacities with the White Barn Homeowners Association in Pleasant View, UT.
Dick married the love of his life and best friend, Sandy, in West Bend, WI in 1961. Their son Lee, a stained glass artist in Plainwell, MI, was raised to be an honest man with good values by Sandy while his father pursued less important activities. Sandy and Lee remain with us, along with five nieces and nephews.
Dick loved his family, people of integrity, trying to hit golf balls (he got four holes-in-one, but said all were accidental), the Green Bay Packers, and Dixieland jazz, in about that order. He was a member of People's Church, a Unitarian-Universalist congregation in Kalamazoo, where for several years he chaired the Men's Discussion Group and met many new friends.
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