Requiem and Resurrection
“Believe in and do not underestimate students’ ability to be responsibly independent.” — Douglas Heath, “Schools of Hope”
Both requiem and resurrection, this is the first and last 2018–2019 edition of the Proctor Press.
Founded in September of 1937 by Richard Alton, who called a meeting in Cary House at which Arnold Rogers was selected its first Editor-in-Chief, the Proctor Press continued publishing the news of Proctor Academy for at least three decades. This is the first new edition of the Proctor Press since the 1970s.
I accidentally learned about the Proctor Press when one of my children somehow got something stuck in the Gannett House common room display case, circa 2010. I had to ask around, and eventually, Kurt Meyer opened the case for me. The case was full of old black and white photos of Gannett House, a Proctor Skiier china cup and saucer, and a 1950s copy of the Proctor Student Handbook. While rearranging the display items, I took a moment to peruse the handbook, and within its pages, I learned of this little, once-thriving press.
Over the ensuing decade, I asked around a few times, but no one seemed to know much about the Proctor Press. It wasn’t until this spring, following a hunch, that I came across a half-dozen or so copies from the early 1950s in Proctor’s archives, two of which (1950 & 1953), Heidi Thoma graciously digitized.
With Peter Elbow ’53, the future author of Writing for Power, at its helm, the Proctor Press editorial staff wrote the following on April 27, 1953: “We’ve tried to instill a spirit into our little Press. Perhaps ‘conjure up’ is the verb to use, for, in an institution, the conjuring up is all that’s needed to create it; and if it is treated right, it’s conjured up for good.”
I love this image of conjuring up a newspaper as both a spiritual act as well as a force of good. Ghandi used the Hindi term “satyagraha,” which has been translated as the “force of truth” to invoke a similar image. It is in this spirit that we have unearthed the mantle left behind for us amid the Proctor archives and returned to work, conjuring up, once again.
The times have changed and the school has changed since Elbow’s days here in the 1950s. But, the need for students to describe, investigate, question, contemplate, and express their joys, appreciations, and concerns has never left. Having a voice is the inalienable right of every American; while teaching students to constructively use their voices with intelligence and care is a cornerstone of every civically-minded school.
In fact, in order to help students develop the critical thinking skills necessary to solve complex, real-world problems, there is no better way than to engage them than in an in-depth investigation of controversial issues. And to this end, I began the second unit of the spring term in my Creative Nonfiction class by asking students to name the most controversial issues at school right now.
Not surprisingly, perennial favorites emerged quickly, such as disciplinary issues, the dining hall flow, seniors’ disappointment in underclassmen, and a vague sense that school spirit is in decline. Beneath these well-worn topics, however, were some other, possibly more timely, issues to dive into: the effects of video surveillance on student culture, distrust in the school leader election system, the Health Center’s new tobacco cessation program, issues of identity politics, a general loss of interest in the outdoors amongst the student body, and reactions to the recent college admissions scandal.
The juniors in the class — Steph, Nate, Grant, Peter, Geoffrey, Quinn, Ryan — and I, have speculated, debated, and thought deeply about each of these issues; we have interviewed dozens and dozens of students and faculty members; and we have toiled away during class, in extra help, and into the wee hours crafting these words.
As we talked about these issues and others, the common theme that emerged was the uneasy change in the school culture felt by the three and four-year students. Members of the 2019 class are the last students to have eaten in the Canon Dining Hall and to have roomed in Thoreau House.
Since their wilderness orientation trip in September of 2015, Proctor’s campus has been transformed. The Farrell Field House Complex has been in a near-constant state of flux, the West End Dorm built, and the Fire Shed and Wilson Building torn down. Amid this tumult and a variety of policy changes, schedule additions, and technological improvements, the pace of life at the Proctor has quickened. While the facilities have certainly improved — as often happens — the school’s authenticity has diminished, and with it, a sense of place.
The requiem of which my students write is ineffable and difficult to discern. On one hand, it’s a product of easily-dismissable sentimental nostalgia. On the other hand, what they have noticed is nonetheless true. Maybe the shift from unconventional to conforming was inevitable, but to those students whose learning styles, ways of seeing, circumstance, or upbringing set them apart — to those to whom Proctor represents a safe space to be free from the social pressures of fitting into stereotypical norms — seeing Proctor become increasingly like everywhere else seems worthy of comment, if not critique.
“When we are able to operate in that place of true honesty, not superficial, painted-on-the-top-of-core-values honesty, but real honesty, we will move forward as a school.” — Scott Allenby, Director of Communications
In a recent Proctor Buzz post, Communications Director, Scott Allenby, wrote about this month’s Board of Trustee Meeting when Matt Nathanson ’91 asked, “Are we losing track of our soul for the sake of building buildings?”
According to Allenby, “The ensuing hour-long conversation… refocused our need to nurture the soul of Proctor.” At the close of the meeting, long-time Board member Doug Winsor ’71, P’14, ’16, remarked, “This is the most important conversation we have had as a board in a long, long time.”
Our hope is that as we emerge from this requiem, we resurrect some of the remarkable gems of Proctor’s past and bring them back to the fore. One trip to the archives has convinced me that the treasure chest is spilling over, but the conjuring requires hard work and a steady hand. This is our small attempt to instill a little spirit of the past into the final days of the 2018–2019 school year.
Enjoy,
Tom Morgan
