Confessions of a Stool Specimen Collector

For me, Tam was much more than a special place. In one happy, four-year package the school combined church, theater, gymnasium, and observatory. Perhaps, ultimately, least important of all was what I actually learned in class.

Post-graduation, I have spent most of my adult life practicing several of the good habits I learned at Tam, under the tutelage of "Gus" and "Benny." I was never very good on the junior varsity cross-country team (anyone who says I beat him is a liar!), and I wasn't much of a swimmer, either. Yet running and swimming, now with wife and son or daughter, continue to provide some of my most rewarding moments.

Fondest memories persist of running up those steep steps that link Buena Vista with Circle, and then on up Hillcrest, past Carson Skagg's old home there on the corner, to the end of Elinor, where, just beyond Mr. George's house, was the beginning of the trail along Blithedale Ridge. On a hot October afternoon, there was nothing more wonderful than the sweet, sweet pungency of the dry bay leaves as they crackled under my feet; and sometimes, I would see the last of the morning fog retreating through the Golden Gate, like the tail of a fabulous dragon!

On an equally hot afternoon, some of us might, on occasion, find ourselves at Stinson Beach, after a terrifyingly rapid journey in Kit Goldsmith's Citroen! It was at Stinson Beach I first learned the pain--and then the exhilarating joy!--of plunging into ice-cold water! There would be nothing left of your balls but a little tuft of leather; soon, however, the warm, warm sun would bring comfort! Fool that I am, I have subsequently jumped into many icy ponds and rivers in the Sierra, the Columbia River Gorge, and other parts of the Northwest.

As far as work and education are concerned, I have, since Tam, spent most of my years on the waterfront in one guise or another. After an abortive freshman year at Dartmouth College (where my friendships with Alan Eshleman and Lyn Elder were about all that sustained me), and intermittent months as a furniture mover (working, on one unforgettable day, with Lloyd Potts!), I signed aboard the old Standard Oil tanker W. H. Berg. Thus began a long period of shipping out, during which I worked my way up from "wiper," lowest man in the engine room, to Chief Engineer.

Along the way, after semesters at the College of Marin, the University of Hawaii, and finally, the University of California at Berkeley, I took a Master's degree in Biological Anthropology at Harvard University.

The highlight of my academic career came as head stool specimen collector in the 1970 Harvard University-Peabody Museum Biomedical Expedition to the Solomon Islands. In one of the tribes we studied, on the island of Bougainville, there lived a very elderly woman. She was rumored to be over 100, although there were no records; surely, a sample of her excrement would be a rare prize for the expedition!

Now, stool specimen collectors are made, not born. Imagine if someone from a very alien culture were to ask you for a sample of your own stool! I had to use every device to gain her trust, especially that I was not later going to use her specimen to bewitch her. Using obsequious politeness, trying to charm her with my best, practically non-existent command of the Aita language, I finally elicited a vague smile. She took one of my cups, and walked slowly away. About half an hour later she returned with my cherished sample! After extending profuse thanks, she muttered a few words, in response to which the villagers standing near-by erupted into wild laughter! Looking bewildered, I turned to my friend Don Mitchell, the noted anthropologist. "Stew," Don said, "that old woman just called you a hard-on!"

As things turned out, my faculty advisor, a very dear man, passed away not long after we returned to Cambridge. For that, and a variety of other reasons, I never finished what would undoubtedly have been a very popular thesis on faeces!

The next major event in my life came in the late 1970s, when my wife, Diana (whom I had met in Cambridge), and I attempted to homestead 43 acres on a ridge overlooking the ocean and the mouth of the Mattole River in southern Humboldt County. Friend and classmate Peter Greensfelder (known locally as Peter "G") was living in those hills at that time, and offered a lot of help; Jim Weil was up for a little while, too, and aided us in setting our corners. Other friends and neighbors also gave us much; eventually, there was an old-fashioned community "barn-raising" as we put up the walls of our cabin.

Our son, Ian, was born there in 1981, and suddenly Diana wanted insane things like electricity and hot-and-cold running water! I could only agree, as washing Ian's diapers on an antique scrub-board had become stale in a hurry! Shortly afterwards, we moved to the town of Sonoma, and then to Glen Ellen, where we still live.

To summarize the last twenty years in a paragraph or two: 1983-84 were two excellent years I taught on the faculty of the California Maritime Academy in Vallejo, where I still give occasional lectures. I spent several fun months working with Bill Buffalow (Tam '60) at the Levin Terminal in Richmond, and then went on to run the San Francisco Cable Cars for a year. I spent four years on the staff of the California Academy of Sciences, where I served mostly in the Steinhart Aquarium as an engineer (read "fish janitor!"). At the aquarium, one of the side benefits was occasional (and officially forbidden, but usually overlooked) swimming with the dolphins. Staff members were on very good terms with these remarkable creatures, who would play and cavort with us like fun-loving dogs!

Since 1991, I have been a Port Engineer for Sea-Land Service, now Maersk/Sea-Land, in charge of maintenance and repair on some of their big container-handling cranes. I have worked in Oakland, San Juan, and most recently, Tacoma, Washington, where I maintain a small apartment, and "commute" to Glen Ellen.

My "golden parachute" is just around the corner, folks! It may be made from tinfoil by the time I'm ready for it, but as long as it catches air, I'm not worried.