View From Olympus: Embracing Adversity

6/25/2012

The complete text of Head of School Michael K. Mulligan's address from Fall Family Weekend 2011

Head of School's Fall Family Weekend Address

Family Weekend, October 28, 2011

Michael K. Mulligan

Head of School

Welcome Dear Parents and Friends,

We are happy to have you back at Casa de Piedra, here on the historic Upper

School Lawn, uniting with sons and daughters.

It was not that long ago, before the creation of the Lake Casitas Reservoir, that

this slope and nearly every other patch of earth about this campus reflected the

true dusty glory of the Ojai. The horses and boys wore down whatever vegetation

managed to sprout each winter. The campus dirt patches were punctuated by

scrub oak; chaparral; black, purple, and white sage; greasewood; and manzanita.

Mr. Thacher irrigated his orchards by hand. He relied on a stingy spring during the

hot months to collect his water. Showers were limited and short. Dishwater was

poured onto flowerbeds. Rigorous grooming replaced horse baths. For all our talk

about sustainability, can you help but think at how spoiled we are today? We turn

on the tap and the water flows. Mr. Thacher could teach us a lot about economy

and conservation.

Upon this slope, Mr. Thacher and his boys played recess baseball at mid-morning

break. In true headmaster fashion, Mr. Thacher insisted upon pitching. The boys

would always swing for the Library in hopes of breaking a window—a harder feat

than you might imagine. Mr. Thacher did not need formal research to document

the wisdom that teens benefit from alternating intellectual endeavor with exercise.

With similar sentiments, we have recently lifted the ban on ping-pong during the

academic day. We are hopeful that this will not result in the academic demolition

of the otherwise twitchy freshmen.

Moving from the lawn, I draw your attention to the venerable Upper School.

The original Upper School, built in the early 1890’s, was destroyed in a 1910 fire

that consumed it and several other buildings. The culprit was one of the many

early stove fires that the Chinese workers would light each morning. Sparks

became flames and the conflagration raced across the campus. Mr. Thacher had

not learned his lesson from the fire of 1895 for, once again, he was without any

insurance. He relied on family, friends, and some generous parents to rebuild the

campus—incurring debt that weighed heavily upon him but that he eventually did

pay off—no danger of that good Yankee, Sherman Day Thacher, defaulting on

anything. And never once did he waiver in his intent to rebuild his School, and

make it a lasting one.

The dormitory you see above you, despite its refurbishment in 1996, is essentially

the same dorm he designed and had constructed in 1911. Perhaps the best part of

the original Upper School is lost: the third floor used to be the wrestling and

boxing room. Mr. Thacher hired a charismatic Irishman named Eddy O’Connell to

teach the boys the fine arts of grappling and pugilism. Mr. Thacher’s biographer,

LeRoy Makepeace CdeP 1932) tells us that Mr. O’Connell gained the confidence

of the boys faster than any other teacher. These skills, along with riding, shooting,

horses, trapping, camping, baseball, and tennis were the hallmarks of a Thacher

education.

As remains true today, the School was so distinctive that even Bull Moose

Candidate Teddy Roosevelt, in 1912, tipped his hat in a stump speech in San

Buena Ventura—as he looked admiringly at the Thacher boys all decked out in

western hats, white shirts, green ties, and wooly chaps. The boys, amazingly

enough, rode as escorts to the presidential party. Mr. Makepeace writes: “Their

reward came when the President addressed part of his short speech to them

saying, ‘I want to say a word to my friends over there, of the School, who are on

horseback. You know the old idea of education was to teach a boy to ride, shoot,

and tell the truth…”

We have a School today that I hope Mr. Thacher would be proud of, although I

cannot help but think he would be astonished at how his simple ranch school,

nestled into the foothills, would be so radically different in some profound ways.

The guns are now locked safely away rather than hanging on the walls of Upper

School.

The School’s Trapping Club disappeared in 1956 after an unnamed Casa de

Piedran captured Headmaster Newt Chase’s dog in a steel trap in the barranca.

The dog was quietly released to limp away, and the youthful trapper never

admitted this event to another soul until his 50th reunion, at which he pulled me

aside with the warning, “I am going to tell you something that I have never told

anyone else.”

We are a much bigger School, having grown from some 60 under his care to 250

at present. I doubt Mr. Thacher would approve of this.

He would, of course, recognize the Upper School, the Study Hall, the old Library,

and Dining Room, and a few of the historic cottages at campus. He would be

astounded at the Performing Arts Buildings, the quality of the dormitories, the

track, fitness area, the size and number of trees, and most especially the green

playing fields and lawns—the amount of water used for irrigation would shock

him.

He knew the value of sleep balanced with intellectual rigor and a rugged outdoor

life. He would be outraged that students are not all in bed by 9:00 pm. He would

decry that most students do not head into the Sespe backcountry on horses trips

most weekends. He would lament that the School does not gather for poetry at

each Assembly, and stories (Dickens, in particular) each night before bed. He

would be distressed that college songs and other popular ditties are not sung with

gusto each night following formal dinner. He would also have to adjust to the fact

that Lee Quong was not the renowned Thacher chef, and that Lee Quong’s clan

was no longer responsible for campus cooking and upkeep. For all the talk of

roughing it in the early days, take note that Chinese workers cleaned student

rooms and did their laundry!

He also would not recognize the diversity of the faculty or student body, the

presence of women and girls, or the abundance of non Anglo-Saxon names and the

cultures, races, and socio-economic mix they represent. I imagine it would take

him some time as well to get a grip on the School’s appropriately open

acknowledgement and understanding of the issues of gender orientation. I do not

doubt, however, that upon some serious reflection, he would soon embrace this

diversity and what it represents. The man was a part of his era—a Victorian one

that was in many ways diametrically opposite to today’s gestalt—but he was open

minded, good hearted, and kind. He would recognize and appreciate the School’s

emphasis on honor, kindness, fairness, and truth.

He would most certainly disapprove that some of the student might refer to me as

“Mully” in informal settings—for he was always “Mr. Thacher” and always insisted

on strict formality. He fired, on the spot, a man who worked along side him in the

orchard for calling him “Sherman.”

He was also not one for pranks directed at himself. When one of his students made

the very big mistake of squirting Mr. Thacher in the face with water, Mr. Thacher,

piqued, slapped him sharply across the face. He later admitted that he was the

only boy he had ever hit. He never apologized, nor did he express regret over his

swift response.

One thing I am quite sure he would be horrified about is the ubiquity of

technology and its invasive presence in the lives of faculty and students. The

presence of cell phones would strike him as both marvelous and preposterous; the

endless access to media, movies, and television would be inconceivable—and,

insofar as they take students away from the outdoors, not a good idea.

The access of parents to students and faculty would appall him. He would also

severely miss the ability to write to the colleges, Yale especially, to tell them

which students to take. And he would blanch at the diplomacy that is required of

teachers and heads today.

Not one to mince his words, in what is now an unthinkable expression of candor,

he wrote this to Nathan Weston Blanchard of Santa Paula, about his son Nathan

Weston Blanchard, the second.

________________________________________________________________________

FROM:

March 23, 1891

Casa de Piedra Ranch

Nordhoff, California

Dear Mr. Blanchard:

It is my desire that this communication concerning your son Nathan and his

iniquities will neither offend your sensibilities nor cause a diminution of the

mutual esteem that we hold for one another.

I am expelling as of this date your son Nathan. His very presence here bodes ill for

my school.

I will not tolerate a liar and a cheat.

Your obedient servant,

Sherman Day Thacher

________________________________________________________________________

How times have changed.

What has not changed, however, is that all teens make mistakes. Some mistakes

require a parting of the ways, as was the case with Mr. Blanchard. And this latest

point is to say that in case you had not noticed, there is no such thing as a perfect

person, a perfect School, or needless to say, a perfect teenager. Mr. Thacher knew

this and we know it today. This is my short way of saying that while I hope your

children can avoid Mr. Blanchard’s perfidy, I can guarantee at some point your son

or daughter will likely bring you to your knees, or at least close to it. Thacher is

not all orange blossoms, pink sunsets, and fruit smoothies.

Horses buck. Los Padres trails are precipitous. Football and lacrosse players lay

each other out. Soccer balls and heads (often with other heads) collide. Rockwalls

are hard and landings tough. Ankles are twisted; legs are broken. Gravity is always

pulling.

A’s are earned the hard way. Work is plentiful and sometimes unrelenting.

Disappointments happen. Kids get cut from some teams and some productions.

Some seniors are prefects; others are not.

And unlike Mr. Thacher’s days, not everyone can go to Yale. (Current acceptance

rates of 6-7 percent!)

And, of course, you will learn that even your son or daughter can do dumb

things—and these things will get addressed while they are here at Thacher.

Embrace the experience and know that, as educators and as a community, we’ve

had some practice in this area. It’s far better for your children to learn the

important lessons now—rather than in college, the workplace, or in marriage.

I talk about the importance of failure. Parents always nod their heads and say, yes,

of course. But we all know that we mean, yes—for someone else’s kid. “Dear Lord,

please, just not my son or daughter.”

We understand.

But life has a way of delivering up to our children and to us exactly what they and

we need, and Thacher is particularly good at this kind of delivery.

Pain accompanies growth. The pain is the expression of shedding one self for a

new and expanded one—like the little nautilus moving into the next, more

capacious, chamber. (The reference here for the uninitiated is to Mr. Thacher’s

favorite poem, “The Chambered Nautilus” by Oliver Wendell Holmes, which he

read, and we continue to read, at the beginning of every school year.)

Failure, pain, and suffering, while never to be sought, are part of the program for

all of us, your children included.

My advice to all of you tonight: enjoy the Thacher ride, all of it, even the tough

parts.

We want your children to learn to persist in the face of adversity. To work hard.

To develop resilience, grit. To stay curious. These are qualities for the long haul—

as are honor, fairness, kindness, and truth, the constant constellation by which we

set our moral compass.

Speaking of resilience and grit, I return to Nathan Blanchard CdeP 1891.

Nathan Blanchard is expelled from Thacher. His father takes him back at the

Santa Paula Ranch and sets him to shoveling manure for fertilizer in the orchards.

(As Dave Barry would say, “I am not making this up.”) The year is 1891. Fed up

with farm work, Nathan runs away and joins the US Army. The Arizona Territory

is terrorized by Apaches breaking out of the incarceration of their reservations.

From his time at Thacher, Blanchard knows how to ride and is assigned to the 7th

Cavalry—yes, of Custer fame and Wounded Knee infamy. They are Indian haters.

He witnesses and opposes three troopers who attempt to rape an Indian girl. He

takes them on and in the ensuing brawl, he fells all three troopers with the butt of

his Springfield rifle. He slings them into a wagon, drives hard and fast, and delivers

them to the Commandant who, in turn, shuns Blanchard and looks the other way.

Blanchard is harassed by troopers. The Commandant assigns Blanchard to the

outback telegraph corps: a death sentence—a 100 percent casualty rate at the hands of

renegade Apaches.

Out in the mountains, alone, he was approached by an Apache band on

horseback. They smash his heliograph, and Blanchard figures he is done for. They

speak Mexican Spanish and so can Blanchard. They know of him: here is the one

white man they know of as a hero—who is legendary because he saved the life on

an Apache girl. They honor him—and let him go unharmed.

He is transferred to the Presidio. He is called an “Indian lover” and is ganged up

on. He is assaulted in barroom fight. Cornered, he fights back and is assisted by

another hated minority in San Francisco in 1892—The Irish.

From the Blanchard Family Papers:

“Ten soldiers rushed him. Father was very adept at breaking off the neck of a

whiskey bottle. The Irish in the bar joined up with father. The fight ended with

eight soldiers going to the hospital and two others escaping via a back window. I

might say that father was never bothered again. If Sherman Day Thacher had

known this story, he would have been mighty proud of Pa.”

The boy who is expelled from Thacher for being a liar and a cheat grows up to

stand up to an age of hate and racism. He stands up for the underdog, save a girl’s

life, and is roundly castigated for the duration of his term in the Army. He later

tells his son that his last three years in the Army were made “living hell” by the

bigoted troopers who expressed the wicked ignorance that Indians were subhuman.

Nathan Blanchard would have no part of this.

Mr. Thacher eventually did become proud of Nathan Blanchard, this man who

became a profile in courage. SDT accepted Nathan’s son into his School. And that

son sent his son to Thacher. And that son sent his son to Thacher. And that son

sent his son to Thacher. And that man’s son is now a freshman at Thacher. Five

generations.

Failure is all about perspective. Who knows how important it was for Nathan

Blanchard to have to leave Thacher and make his way in the world?

Who knows how this trail we are on resolves itself?

We are wise, therefore, to embrace adversity. It is part of life and it is here for us

to learn.

Never give up. No matter how bad the trail ahead looks.

Do the right thing, especially when no one is looking, or you are standing alone

confronting evil. That is true courage.

Life has a way of coming around to those who can stick with it and stay true.

Here is the thing: The liar and cheat became a fine man, a successful rancher, and

a community leader. He also had the wisdom of enrolling his son at Thacher.

And—as much as with all of you parents who have made this same commitment,

for one child, or two, or even three--that speaks for itself.

Welcome to Family Weekend.

Back

Explore

Admissions

Academics

Programs

Community

View From Olympus: Embracing Adversity

More About Thacher