A TRIBUTE TO DONALD OSCARSON '47

Eulogy by Headmaster Willy MacMullen '78

After Oscie died, I dreaded trying to do justice to his life here. Part of the challenge lies in the fact that although in his half a century here he was a dorm head, a fine Latin teacher, a class dean, and a legendary dean of students, we all know that what he did best has no job description. Seldom have I felt less equipped for a task than I felt when I sat down to write about Oscie.

And wouldn't you feel that way? How to begin? He was so large and so fixed, a constant, a rock that you clung to when the storms of adolescence had tossed you ashore, and you held on to his sharp edged and barnacled bulk, before you limped on, stronger if also scraped from clinging to him. My memories are countless and vivid„and not all happy ones! I think of him calling me into the dean's office in 1977 when I had misbehaved and I need not tell you that his office becomes a small place when he was mad. Or of him standing over Duffy in a horrific dogfight in the Main Hall, with little inclination to stop it, while I was meeting in a nearby office with a terrified family from Hong Kong. Or of sitting on that ugly couch and wondering why the pile of papers on the desk had not yet slid to the floor, of him watching lacrosse games with Joanna and Susan, of him sitting on what can only be called "Oscie's Bench," in the Headmaster Circle, under the gnarled, stubborn crab apple tree, and his reaction to two of my two nearly unforgivable errors„once taking his parking spot on a wintry day and then later, getting married-and how he finally forgave me quickly, after only two years. Where would you begin? "When I think of Oscie," you might write, " I think of the Charcoal Chef." "Chief? It was Jumpers, and those sweaty workouts in his house while he smoked More cigarettes and Caesar panted in the corner." Or maybe your first words would be, "Oscie loved his dogs, and they all died fat and happy," or "When I think of Don Oscarson, I think of a stack of books, some picture frames, and a clacketing typewriter." Some of you would begin, "He was a father, friend, and teacher," and others would pen, "I think of his face and his glasses, perched on his forehead, and his voice: scolding, sarcastic, and caring." Maybe you would begin, "I never would have made it through Taft if it were not for Oscie."

I have received numerous notes from alumni and parents about the effect Don Oscarson had on them or their children. Here is how some of them started:

A father: My son called and said, "Oscie died." Before I could say anything, a cascade of emotions gushed from [my son] the likes of which he never evoked. Until now, my wife and I never fully understood Oscie's role in his turnaround at Taft. It was now clear that he was loved, and in a special way, a quiet, boundless and enigmatic love that left indelible impressions and lasting memories.

An alumna: He used to drive me to the airport in Hartford in his station wagon, cigarettes going, Caesar in the back Ü he was the one who sent me back on my way to Iowa, and he picked me up. He was SO devoted. Nice without really every being nice. You said somewhere in your eulogy that with Oscie there, Taft wasn't a scary place - that is exactly how I felt. Oscie was a wonderfully peculiar person who could see and understand the obstacles that held certain kids back. He was a master indeed, bringing belief in one's self once you got into his shy heart. Our motto given flesh. I'm so sad. But I feel happy that I knew him.

An alumnus: Oscie was my introduction to Taft. I had never been east of the Mississippi, much less seen Taft, when I flew to Hartford in August of 1974 for pre-season soccer. I had no idea what or who to look for when I got off the plane; I'm sure Oscie didn't have any trouble picking me out of the crowd at the airport. I really don't remember him saying much of anything to me during the ride to Taft. About the only thing I remember was having to share the front seat in Oscie's old station wagon with him and Caesar, both of whom seemed enormous. At the time, of course, I didn't really think about why, or what it meant, that the Dean of the School was the one to pick me up. The next long talk I had with him was when I was in trouble in the dean's office.

A father: I never visited Taft without visiting Oscie-sometimes these visits were welcomed by him and at other times he would be quite gruff. Nonetheless, a visit to Watertown was not complete without seeing him. And, yes, I was known to have parked in his spot by the back door and to be scolded for it. Oscie tutored our kids and their friends, disciplined them, helped them pull themselves up by the bootstraps and did everything humanly possible to help them become productive adolescents. That was not an easy task and the amazing thing is that Oscie did this hundreds of times over, again and again. What a truly remarkable man he was!!

An alumnus and faculty "brat": Just as there is a part of me that is so sad to see one of Taft's most solid pillars pass away, there is a part of me that is comforted because I see many other talented teachers and administrators carrying Taft's torch, his torch, with the same level of commitment, strength, devotion, and vision.

I won't idealize him; it would not be fair to the man. He was not perfect, and he, could be as cantankerous as bear emerging from its den, as gruff as a Caesar woken up from his nap. If you wronged him, he held a grudge until you earned back his warmth, and even then it came slowly and reluctantly. He had a temper, and on a bad day, he was a man to avoid. . On a few occasions, I parked my pedagogical car behind his, and he backed into me. We all were dented at one time or another by Oscie, but if you were lucky, he fixed you up, turned you around, and helped you stay on the road„sometimes years after you left Taft. And the week before he died, he and I talked about a few of you sitting out there: students we both cared a lot about. We talked the way we usually did, me leaning against his old BMW, he with the door open and his legs stretched out, his cane in his big hands, grey pants and the enormous black shoes, his glasses reflecting the afternoon light. For a moment, I felt lucky, favored, chosen. Do you know that feeling?

He was above the rules and he was going to do what he wanted„drive his car on the grass, smoke in the classroom, not teach on Fathers' Day. In his last ten years, a lot of people were afraid of him, and every year new teachers, especially women, including Pam, had to come to Lance, Ferdie, Rusty or me to ask about that grumbling bear of a man who wouldn't say hello in the Main Hall. Someone would explain: he is Oscie, and he is shy, and it's just that he cares about kids more than you.
But where would I begin?
I begin this way: Love.
Love. Do you have a better word for it? No, it was not love expressed openly, nor even a word he would ever have been comfortable using. He was too gruff, too cantankerous, too private, and too moody. He didn't love Taft the school, and speaking personally„and maybe for John and Lance„he didn't love the headmaster office. But he loved us, you„the scared, successful, struggling, angry, confused, impulsive, jockish, nerdy, lonely, social, homesick, cocky, student. And underneath that toughness and shyness, there was love; and the remarkable thing was that he hid it from us, but we all knew it was there. How else do you explain fifty years of counsel, meals, workouts, advice, tutoring, rides, teaching, deaning, scolding, encouraging? The old bachelor had a lot of children, almost all in their confused and emotional teens, and if we are good adults today, I suspect it has a lot to do with Don Oscarson. We cannot and will not ever forget him. How would you begin describing the man who devoted his life to Taft and its students and families? How about, "He loved."

-Willy MacMullen '78, Headmaster

A Tribute by Lance R. Odden Headmaster 1972-2001

Like all first-year teachers, I was intimidated by Donald Oscarson when I first encountered him in the fall of 1961. Already he was an imposing figure, the protÚgÚ of both Bill sullivan and Ed Douglas, giants of the Cruikshank era. One day Mr. Oscarson informed me that I was to tutor a Chinese student, the son of a famous chef who worked for CV Starr, the legendary businessman who founded A.I.G. in China. Because Starr was important to Taft's first capital drive in 50 years, it was important for the chef's son to prevail. I was in charge.

Six weeks later at 9 p.m. on a Sunday evening, I received a call from Mr. Oscarson: "I am reviewing Yu's theme book," he said. "Please come to my apartment at once. We need to talk."

Fearing I was about to be fired, I hustled to the fourth floor of HDT, where I was directed to one of two large easy chairs separated by a table, with Yu's theme book prominently displayed. Mr. Oscarson then produced two large old fashion glasses, a bucket of ice, and a bottle of Jack Daniels. "Would you join me," he enquired. When I said "yes" he added some ice cubes and filled the glass to the brim. "About Yu," he said, "might Confucianism have anything to do with his reticence?"

Two hours later, having conversed about Chinese religion and philosophy but never Yu nor his theme book, the Jack Daniels was empty.

"Want another?" Knowing this meant a bottle, I demurred, but Mr. Oscarson had become Oscie, a friendship had been born and my respect for his encyclopedic mind established.

In those early years, there were many similar evenings, often with Patsy-the only woman to visit Oscie's apartment-and then there were those wonderful Scandinavian parties on Walnut Street. Oscie loved good food, good drink, and good company-a side rarely revealed to his students in that era.

Early on I came to understand why both Sullivan and Douglas claimed him as their protÚgÚ. He was a brilliant teacher who could tutor in any discipline save math, physics, and chemistry. He believed in his "boys,"stood by them in difficult times and provided the belief and structure they needed to make it. Thus he reflected both Sullivan's brilliance and Douglas's values. John Esty tapped Oscie to be dean of students, a post he so ably held for over 20 years, rivaling the legendary Dean McIntosh in longevity. In retrospect, I think we misused his talents for at the core, he hated having to discipline students, and especially disliked the process of expulsion.

"Lance," he would say, "why are we here but to stand by students to the end, unless of course, they do not tell the truth?"

Oscie made a formidable impression as a dean. He seemed huge, his look penetrating, and his beloved dogs only added to his image as an all-knowing sheriff, or perhaps a Roman councilor. The dogs had revealing names during those years: Caesar, Brutus, Cassius. People speculated that they reflected his reach for power. I thought otherwise, that they reflected his love of Roman culture, of a society dedicated to making things work well.

Moreover, the dogs served a paradoxical purpose. At once they were intimidating and yet set an advance message that the dean was coming-a clear warning for students to stop any transgressions. Never was this better illustrated than when a group of faculty joined Oscie to track down rumors of a senior party by the Nonawaug Falls near Woodbury. Indeed, many seniors were enjoying themselves by a fire when one girl began petting a stray dog. Suddenly she realized it was Caesar and shouted out a warning enabling a dozen seniors to flee in the darkess. If the search party was frustrated, Oscie was bemused as he recounted the story to me. After all, the night was ruined for the seniors, the place discovered, and no one got hurt.

Of course, for so many Oscie was the one who made the journey through Taft work. For that reason, many of you are here today. He was your conscience, your tutor, your host for countless feeds, your trainer, you Chief. He was always there for you in his office, in his basement gym, at your games. You had to report daily or risk his deep disappointment for he cared do much. He knew if you had to check in, you would want to report good news and so you worked harder than would have without his presence. I can say with certainly that Oscie saved more students than any master in Taft's 114 years.

Deeply steeped in our history, he felt called upon to preserve Taft's traditions which he did by checking change in areas under his domain, which were considerable, even after he gave up being dean of students. Everything from school furnishings, to transportation, to the adviser system, to how the dining room worked, was his province. To suggest change invited exile. To make change brought wrath. I remember granting Jenny Glenn Wuerker '83, then on the faculty, permission to hang student artwork in the main hall. The following morning an exercised Mr. Oscarson appeared in my doorway to proclaim: "Mr. Odden you have been here long enough to know that you should not have allowed that woman to replace the school's art with mediocre student work." Then he pivoted and walked away, brooking no discussion. Great schools are blessed with great characters, or perhaps it is the other way around. Great characters make great schools.

Don Oscarson disliked change, but he was an outstanding teacher using methods far more modern than most realized. Long before physical training and weight work were endorsed by Taft coaches, Oscie realized their physical and psychological benefits and created his own program. Late in the '60s and '70s when whole language and creativity were the fad, Oscie preached structure, memorization, and repetition to train the brain, recognizing its plasticity years before neurologists confirmed his theories. Again anticipating current thinking about mentoring, coaching and attachment theory, Oscie know what a difference a caring teacher could make in a teenager's life. He was a far-sighted and wonderful educator years before his time. Over the years I wrote down a few of his comments because they were so classic, the essence of his thoughts:

• Get mad at the transgression, but never at the student himself, or hate the sin, but love the sinner.
• Taft is about people, not aptitude scores
• If you think you want to teach brighter kids, go to Exeter; you will be miserable.
• The most enjoyable students to teach are not the most able. They do not need us and will not remember us nor the school after they are gone.
• Those who test us most, need us most, and are often the most successful in life.

Consider these words of one of those, Ted Judson '73, who wrote the following:
Oscie was an extraordinary man. I never forgot taking the spelling test at Taft. I thought I have never heard a British accent before, and because I tried to spell it as Mr. Oscarson said it, got 3 out of 100 on the test. He collared me and gave me hell. I mean, I felt, "this is what hell is like." The last thing he ever said to me was, "Judson, you are a great example of what a school like Taft can do for a student of mediocre talent." I thought that was a great compliment. Finally, Oscie told me, "Lance, I don't want to be dean anymore. I am happiest taking care of students." And so he did for 50 years, leaving a legacy that will never be matched.

An appreciation by John Esty Headmaster1963-1972

In his moving tribute to Don Oscarson, at the school assembly on January 16, 2004, Headmaster MacMullen has conveyed the richness and texture of Don Oscarson's life. At one point he mentions that I wrote to Don Oscarson every year to express my great appreciation for all he did in and out of class. I did so because I have always felt a very great debt of gratitude to Oscie for his support, and for his ability to translate my dream for a different kind of Taft into practical reality.

The decade of my stewardship was a time of great difficulty for America, for patriotism, for parents, for teachers, and especially for boarding school teachers. To this general societal background, I added the burden of urging that Taft and Taft teachers move away from the safety of the rulebook and automatic responses to student misdemeanors. Don Oscarson understood what I was trying to do, and he knew it was not going to be easy. As dean of students, he once said, "What we have provided them is a better environment in which to learn, but a more difficult one in which to teach."

That quote comes from Bill Nicholson's book, Those Who Served: Portraits of Eight Memorable Taft Teachers. His chapter on Don Oscarson notes that Oscie welcomed my arrival as Taft's third headmaster because I brought about many needed changes. According to Nicholson, Oscie liked "my insistence on the creation of a nurturing and humane environment for students, especially for those experiencing difficulty." Nicholson recounts that he also approved of instituting co-education, expanding the curriculum, and giving the faculty a greater role in the operation of the school.

As Oscie saw it, the changes involved a very conscious attempt to make the Taft community more of a microcosm of the world around us. He said to Bill Nicholson, "I think that the major change at Taft is the fact that we have become more tolerant of deviation in a less structured environment. In addition to that, while still retaining a fair degree of structure, we have allowed students the opportunity to make mistakes. We have done so believing that making mistakes is part of the learning process, and that we can teach students something by their making mistakes."

I have quoted Oscie's philosophy at length because, as dean of students in the sixties, he played a central role in the changing climate of the Taft School. That his beliefs accorded so closely with mine was part conviction and part loyalty. It explains why he was so important to my headmastership, and why I have always been so grateful to him.

In his letter to all Taft alumni telling them of Don Oscarson's death, Headmaster MacMullen noted that I described Oscie's contributions as "remarkable". At the time of the creation of a Learning Center as a tribute to Oscie's 44 years at Taft, I wrote that his service to Taft was "special, and extraordinary". But as I review these descriptive adjectives, it strikes me that they are simply inadequate to convey the largeness of Oscie's role at Taft and the bigness of his heart. What many of you have written about Oscie for the Taft website, conveys a much more concrete way to celebrate his life and to memorialize him-that is, by telling Oscie stories. I am therefore going to conclude with two Oscie stories-one probably never before known, and the other well known but still my favorite.

One day, Oscie and I were talking in my office-as we often did-and for some reason, we got on the subject of his first name. I remember asking him, "How did you get the name Donald?" He told me that for several days after he was born he had no first name at all. It was in warm weather, the hospital room windows were open, and his mother heard somebody shouting down at the street level to somebody else and bellowing his name, which was "Donald." Whereupon, according to Oscie, his mother turned to his father and said, "That's a nice name, why don't we call him Donald!" And out rolled that booming laugh! He did so enjoy the small drolleries of life!

I was always highly amused at the pleasure, and even mirth, with which Oscie devised different and colorful ways of announcing school holidays. As I wrote Bill Nicholson when he was doing his chapter on Oscie in his book on Taft teachers, I have never forgotten one in particular. The evening meal had Chow Mein as the main dish and Fortune Cookies for dessert. No sooner had the dessert serving dishes arrived than the cheers went up, for the message inside each cookie was, "HOLIDAY TOMORROW". After dinner, a beaming Don Oscarson came up to me to let me know that he would announce a holiday with fortune cookies once every four years. I asked him, "Why even do it again and why every four years?" The answer was, "Because I had to order 5,000 cookies in order to get the special message, and we still have 4,500 left!" Again the rumbling laugh! I used to think, "There will always be an Oscie." But even though he is no longer among us, we will always have Oscie stories. And the greatest story of all is that Donald Oscarson gave his whole life to the Taft School.

Ferdie Wandelt '66, Director of Admissions

Mr. Oscarson, Donald, Oscie, Osc, Chief-so many names that mean so much to so many people.

Joanna and I were having dinner the other night and she remarked that although we all knew Oscie's heart was not healthy, we expected him to be around forever. On the one hand, Oscie's heart may not have been medically healthy but it was emotionally strong . He reached out to countless students over his 50 years at Taft and, as we know, was particularly drawn to those students who needed a little extra care. What kept Oscie going were not the pills he took every day but his association with students, both past and present.

Joanna and I would stop in Oscie's office to chat on a daily basis, we would automatically ask how he was doing-his standard response was "I'm alive and well and living in Watertown!." He would then proceed to talk about his chores for the day (keeping in mind that his day didn't usually begin until 1:30 p.m. as he didn't go to sleep until well after 4:00 a.m.!) He would comment on who he had heard from, either by phone or letter, never by e-mail as he refused to even try it. He would update us on those alumni who planned to visit.

All of this is finally what kept Oscie "alive and well." He was so proud of so many and always quick to recall their struggles in adolescence, and then speak with pride about their success as adults.

In the days following January 14, Joanna and I heard from many people who had contacted Oscie only weeks prior to his death. It was, in a way, strange that he had touched base again with so many friends, many of whom he had not heard from in quite sometime. It was almost as though he was tying up "loose ends."

I think, at his death, he had a good feeling about the people he cared for and felt everyone was doing well. Jack had returned from Afghanistan, retired from the service on November 1, and was living in Pennsylvania with his wife. My son, Chris, was finally out of school, working in New York and married with two children, Mike Maher's graduate school thesis had been approved, and others that he knew so well seemed equally successful and happy with their lives. Much to his delight, all were always quick to express their gratitude to the Chief with the simple, but true statement, "Oscie, I couldn't have made it without you."

He was content-his work was done. You hear people say all the time, "this person can never be replaced," but we know most can. However, in Oscie's case, I don't believe that is true-there will never be in my lifetime another Oscie-a person who has helped so many students in countless ways, but most importantly taught young people to believe in themselves and go on to achieve more than they ever thought possible. That was his real gift . He was one of a kind.

My entire family was very fortunate to have had Oscie as our friend for many years. He spent holidays with us and we considered him part of our family. He was such a special friend to us as he was to so many of you here today. One felt a sense of peace being friends with Oscie and now he has also discovered that peace.

When Dan Kelly and I found Oscie at his home on January 14, I thought there could not have been a better place for him to have come to rest than in his home, behind his desk, with his cat by his feet. WE WILL MISS YOU, OSCIE.

If you have memories of Don Oscarson that you would like to share here, please e-mail them to Bulletin editor Julie Reiff. Please know that tributes may be edited for length, content, and clarity. Thank you.

OSCARSON LETTERS AND MEMORIES

Letters and Memories

Oscie is gone. We knew it would come; it could have come many years ago, as many of us feared it would. We had more years with him than might have been and we are to be grateful. Yet, for some the awful void left by his absence is greater than can be filled by gratitude.

What was it about Oscie that made so many of us love him so much?

I think about how I knew him for more years than I knew my parents. How he was advisor to my three children, one of which he called in Maine to chat two weeks before he died. How he provided me with clarity and purpose without sermonizing. How during my senior year he happened to be on a soufflÚ kick and we cooked chocolate and cheese soufflÚs every night trying to decide which was best. How during my college years I returned often for direction. How his mark resulted in my decision to embark on a teaching career. Other memories: the green Jaguar, blueberry picking in Snowville, his devoted Mom, his temper that failed to scare me, his adjustment to old age and poor health, that damn blue loden overcoat, walking Cassius. So much, yet not enough.

How many of us that Oscie mentored actually know how he came to "select" us? I don't. Oscie seemed to "find" you and once you were in his clutches, you were had, and blessed. The hundreds of students he "found" were from all backgrounds—non-athletes and athletes, well connected and disconnected, bright and struggling, model citizens and miscreants—it didn't matter to him. He made every one of us believe a little more in ourselves and for that we were not about to disappoint him.

The bond we had was always unspoken, didn't need much attention, and was unfailing. As a student one could not help but feel that Oscie gave so much and there seemed little of value to return. The years went by. Oscie mellowed, became ever so slightly reliant, more expressive of feeling, easier to be with, and receptive of love. For that I am grateful.
—Phil Miller '65

***

The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines the word advisor using the following synonyms: counsel, inform, recommend, caution, warn, and consult. Although it may seem clichÚ to use a definition to memorialize a loved one, Oscie embodied all aspects of these roles in my life. I was first introduced to Oscie through my brother, Tim, who also had the honor of Oscie's guidance during his years at Taft. Tim and I went up to Taft even before I started school and I had my first lunch at the Charcoal Chef with the two of them. I remember being nervous and scared, but I also knew that my brother was looking out for my best interest and wanted to ensure that I was in great hands as I embarked on my high school career. From that first lunch, Oscie began to advise and therefore change my life.

One of my strongest memories of Chief was the unwritten rule that when you returned from a weekend there was a very specific protocol that you followed: stop by the office, sign in with RD, stop by the office again, then return to your dorm. Oscie was the touchstone. He was the grounding force during a time when all worlds seem to collide. As we tried to adjust to life away from home, Chief's office was always open and warm. He laid out consequences to provide us options as we began to test our boundaries, and those of Taft. He forced us to toe the line with dignity, grace and good decision-making. He always remembered that high schoolers needed to eat burgers at the Chef, and that we needed a big, ugly, comfortable couch to hang out on (even if the dog wouldn't make room). Most importantly, Oscie taught us the importance of taking care of those you love, and love him we did.

As I began a career in teaching, I often looked to my time with Oscie as an emulating force and voice of reason. Today, he is in my heart and mind every time I step into my classroom. I hope that one day I can do justice to his teaching by becoming half of the advisor that he was.
—Libby Seibert '92

***

I do appreciate the word about Don Oscarson. Mr. Cruikshank appointed him to the faculty and asked me to "try him out" in teaching Latin. The rest is history!
—Robert Woolsey, former faculty

***

I still remember June 26, 1991, like it was yesterday. This was when Mr. Maher first introduced me to man named Donald Oscarson and his trusty dog Duffy. Little did I know then that for the next three years he would play an enormous role in my life, molding and grooming me into the person I am today.

Oscie was an unbelievable man. His heart was bigger than the world and his love for his students and the school was immeasurable. He was the type of man that shared my happiness, but also felt my pain. One thing that Oscie always told me when I was struggling through school or life was, "Don't worry! Let me do the worrying for you." And he did. When I reflect back on that, he relieved me from a lot of stress, which allowed me to fully concentrate on necessary things. His strong but sensitive character made it extremely comfortable for me to talk to him about the most personal issues without any hesitations. Oscie was the one whom I would approach for advice. It seemed like he experienced every possible aspect of life. He was like a second father. Unless you had the privilege and honor to be a part of Oscie's daily life, you'll never truly understand what a wonderful person he was.

When I lived with him for a year after college, we fortified our bond. I felt that it was now my time to take care of him after all that he had done for me. Watching the Yankees as our nightly ritual was never missed, along with our intense conversations.

Oscie, I just want to say thank you for 13 wonderful years. I wouldn't be in these shoes today if you didn't encourage and guide me as you did. You will be greatly missed and always loved.
—Muchie Dagliere '94

***

Oscie was the corridor head on HDT 4th Floor, 3 doors down from my room my lower-mid year. And he was my advisor as he would be for my four years at Taft. Though my parents lived in Greenwich, we had just moved from California and I knew no one in Greenwich. Taft became more a home for me than my parent's house in Greenwich. And during those years Oscie became more of a father/friend/mentor than my own father who traveled too much.

My lower-mid roommates and I spent most of our free time in Oscie's apartment. He exposed us to classical music, good food and always interesting conversation. He helped us begin to develop an intellectual curiosity. His advisee feeds were famous as he did enjoy good food and shared it generously. He ruled the corridor firmly but fairly. I remember one night when the monitors—all varsity football players—were making too much noise after lights. It was early in the year and he seemed most upset that they were not setting a good example for the lower mids they were charged with setting an example for. Oscie grabbed monitor Jim Goulard—who was a fullback on the football team and to me was absolutely huge—by the back of the neck and threw him about 15 feet and berated him for acting so irresponsibly. The message was clear to all—don't cross Oscie.

A struggling student throughout my years at Taft, I wouldn't have made it had it not been for Oscie. He tutored me in most of my classes my lower-mid year as the transition from a California public school to Taft was brutal—academically as well as culturally.

I was in Oscie's Latin I class my lower-mid year, in his Latin II-III my mid year and Latin IV my upper-mid year. Though not a great Latin student, I learned years later that Oscie had conspired with Classics Department head and Latin V teacher Bob Woolsey that I would be in Bob's class my senior year with some of the brightest people in my class. Though I was way over my head, the conspiracy included me getting a B in the class. Oscie spent lots of time tutoring me to make sure he could justify my even being in the Latin V class. Classic Oscie. I took the AP exam in Latin and passed out of my college language requirement.

By my upper-mid year Oscie had weaned me off his tutoring but I still struggled with my classes and my inability to concentrate—probably slightly ADD before anyone had heard of ADD. Oscie made me study in his office off the Lincoln Lobby corridor for several hours each night. And he checked on me periodically both to make sure I was studying but also to see if he could help with any of my homework. This went on most of my upper-mid and senior years. Classic Oscie.

I remember so many Oscie stories—things he did for me, little things and big things the combination of which were classic Oscie. Little things like having just received the word from college admissions director, Bill Sullivan, Oscie trudged up to the track during my track practice in the Spring of my senior year to tell me that I had been accepted into the only college I really wanted to attend—Stanford. He was probably more excited and more proud than I was that I had been accepted because it was to a great degree because of his tutoring and mentoring me that Stanford would even consider me much less accept me.

And there were big, more meaningful things, too. My upper-mid year I lived in the Annex, across Rt. 6. In those days, all students were required to attend breakfast that began at 7:00 a.m. and sit at assigned tables. Certain faculty members were notorious for sleeping in and missing breakfast and we all knew which those faculty members were. It was standard practice, particularly for those of us living in the Annex, to sleep in on brisk Spring mornings and have a fellow student "check us off" as having attended breakfast when we sat at tables of faculty we knew would not be there. On one occasion I was assigned to Mr. Neil Curry's table—a faculty member who frequently did not make it to breakfast. Without thinking much of it as it was such standard practice, I had a table mate "check me off", telling the attendance monitor that I had been to breakfast but had left early. My roommate slept in, too. However, unbeknownst to me, he did not get checked off. In order to account for all students, a faculty member was assigned to track down all students who did not attend breakfast. Both my roommate and me were found sound asleep in our beds, clearly neither having attended breakfast. Shortly thereafter I was called into Dean Ed Douglas' office and was soundly reprimanded not for sleeping in but for having been dishonest in having asked a classmate to check me off, representing that I had attended breakfast. For that act of dishonesty, I was thrown off the class committee and there would have to be a special hearing before the Discipline Committee to determine whether I would be able to serve as a Monitor the next year. For the balance of the quarter, I was also placed on what was then called "E Bounds" which meant I had to go to evening study hall (extreme punishment for an upper midƒ), I had to serve on penalty crew each Saturday morning, I could not go down town and I had a two-day stay over at the end of the quarter. My roommate received two demerits for having missed breakfast.

Believing myself to be someone with a great deal of integrity and having served on the class committee since lower-mid year, these actions—particularly being thrown off class committee and the uncertainty as to whether or not I would be able to serve as a monitor—were absolutely devastating to me as those leadership positions were very important to me. As I came out of Dean Douglas' office in tears, Oscie, who knew the decision, was waiting there to comfort me and to help me understand and learn from what had happened. After he was able to get me to become somewhat rational and in discussions for days and weeks after, he made me better understand the importance of personal integrity and honesty—invaluable lessons that I carry with me today more than 40 years later.

For the balance of that spring, the school has never seen a more hard-working, conscientious student, exceeding everyone's standard of good conduct. At Oscie's urging at the Discipline Committee, I was allowed to become a monitor the next year. Oscie had turned a devastating situation for me into a long-lasting learning experience. Classic Oscie.

After graduating from Stanford, at Oscie's urging, I returned to serve on the Taft faculty for three years to try to give back to Taft and to another generation of students in a small way what Taft and Oscie had done for me. As a faculty member, I became more aware how dedicated to the school and to their students faculty like Oscie are, frequently with little or no real "thanks." I realized, too, that while Oscie and I continued to be close when I was on the faculty, I had never really thanked him for all he had done for me. Knowing that he would never accept any expression of appreciation in person, I wrote him a long, thoughtful letter expressing my tremendous appreciation for all he had done for me and for so many other students. Though I know he appreciated that letter, he never acknowledged it. Classic Oscie.

Taft School is a better place and hundreds of his students and advisees are better people because they were fortunate to have been befriended by Don Oscarson. Oscie, I will never forget you. Thanks for helping make me who I am today.
—Biff Barnard '63

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Oscie was not only my adviser and mentor but a true friend, and we will all miss him tremendously.
—Elena Ford '84

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In 1976, Don Oscarson agreed to be my adviser. If memory serves me correctly, I was the first student to choose him to be an adviser. If I wasn't his first, I was his ONLY student in my graduating class to choose Mr. Oscarson. The reason I made this decision was simple. He was a man I admired tremendously. His desire to monitor my senior year performance was important to him. I had a troubled junior year in 1975, and he saw things in me that I didn't know existed. He encouraged me to better my academic focus and performance, actually, he demanded it, and one never went against what that man told you to do! He is the first man who made me start believing in myself, something I critically needed as a person. I joined the male singing group in 1976, performed in two plays, played varsity golf and intramural hockey. I graduated with better grades and was a better person because of his devotion to me as a student at Taft.

When I came to Taft I was a lost little boy. Mr. Oscarson, as I respectively always called him, help me grow into a self-confident young man ready to tackle college. At graduation, after I received my diploma, he gave me a huge hug, tears in both our eyes, and finally told me I had earned the right to call him "Oscie." I told him then he would always be Mr. Oscarson to me.

The passing of Mr. Oscarson is not a loss to Taft. His memories and contributions to "kids" like me are what everyone needs to never forget. That way he will always be a part of Taft and we can all keep smiling when we think of how much impact he made in life to students at Taft. I will always thank God for the impact he made in my life. I would not be where I am today, honestly, if it wasn't for this great man.
—Duncan Judson '76

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Oscie taught my very first class lower-mid year: Latin1A 8:00 ...ten dorky 14-year-olds... Oscie walks in with Cassius, slams the door...everyone leaps to their feet... except me (I honestly didn't know)...he stares, I stand, he waves, we all sit... I'll never forget that stare; I was terrified. The first quiz, he threw the papers in the room and left—never said a word. We stayed the whole class waiting; he never came back. What a hoot!

Upper-mid spring I took over as head headwaiter (read attendance lackey). Free seating Saturday-night dinners were a nightmare as we checked every name off the school master list. In the end there were always one or two missing students to be tracked down. Oscie always waited in the office until everyone was accounted for. It could be real late sometimes. He could be relentless and extremely demanding. Where was Mr. So&So and why wasn't he where he was supposed to be? Bring him here, please. The perks for working for Oscie were great—Big Beef Cheeseburgers especially—others, well, I think he really appreciated what it was like to be a student at a strict New England boarding school, and little pleasures were a big deal.

Most of all, though, there was this sense of honest fairness with Oscie. He could be tough, gruff, curt, and eccentric as all get out, but when he sensed I was trying my best, he always heard me out and gave me a fair shake—a rare quality these days. The best ones are always the characters (Sarge and Rick Davis come to mind, too) I'm sure grateful to have known Oscie; I'm sad he's gone.
—Fred Ball '69

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In the winter of 1976, early January I believe, I was making my long-range commute from Tucson, Arizona, back to Taft after Winter break. My plan was to fly to Hartford and then hitchhike to Watertown. At the time I was an accomplished hitchhiker, as Phil Deyo will no doubt attest. A Nor'easter had just savaged the East Coast making hitchhiking treacherous for Arizona Evans, his violin, 30 lb. recurve bow and arrows, suitcase, and homework. I walked about a mile from the airport to a major artery on-ramp. I held my thumb out, watched the sun set, and began to lose hope. Then a car stopped. Two giant dogs leapt out. The driver knew my name and invited me into the car. "Hey, aren't you Dean Oscarson?" I asked. Well, you know the rest of the story, except that my parents had called Oscie earlier, to alert him to my scheme. As they say, I never would have made it through Taft if it weren't for Oscie. And that ain't the half of it.
—Dave Evans

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Dean Donald Oscarson—Revisited

I arrived at Taft with a deep, abiding, and well-deserved fear of authority figures, and especially those with gruff exteriors. From the outset, I was petrified of Donald Oscarson. One look at his severe visage, his dark suits, white shirts, somber ties, and body language put the fear of god in me. But as dean of students, Oscie personified the grades-based disciplinary system which I found highly subjective and exceedingly punitive: One theoretically started with a clean slate, but the bottom line reflected only transgressions. Essentially, it took away, rather swiftly, privileges, meted out punishments, and had no mechanism for earning one's way back into good graces. All grades were permanent, indelible.

As a homesick, lonely, hungry, confused, new-boy lower-mid, I admit it: I was guilty as all heck of "gluttony at milk lunch" and "entering the post office before 11." Though most of my transgressions went unreported and punished, before long I had accumulated several grades, had a C in citizenship, and lost my meager "weekend" privilege. For some reason„in retrospect probably because I was a pawn in my parent's internecine battles„I was also unable to perform academically. Therefore, the bad citizen rap came as a double blow. I felt it was particularly odious and unfair, because I knew in my heart that, behavioral issues aside, I was a good citizen; if anything, I was—and continue to be—overly-concerned with the welfare of others.

Filing past Dean Oscarson's office door six times a day en route to and from meals, to say nothing of coming and going to study hall, I felt like the condemned on his way to the gallows. And as often as not, Dean Oscarson stood in his doorway darkly inspecting each of us as we passed in review.

But I had a special problem. My mother had sent me off to Taft without a suit, even though this had been clearly specified as something required of all students. I didn't own a suit, and for whatever reason, my mother wasn't willing to buy me one before I left for school. School rules required all students to wear suits to Sunday dinner. So there I was every Sunday evening, dressed in a navy blazer and my darkest trousers, trying to sneak past Dean Oscarson standing in his doorway. And the feeling of imminent detection and swift retribution never diminished that first fall.

Some time that winter, my brother Tom was able to talk my mother into springing for a suit for me at Gentlemen's Resale in New York, and so ended that particular problem. For years, I assumed that I'd pulled one over on Oscie and the rest of the faculty. But, having reflected on this for nearly 40 years, I can see only one possible conclusion: Oscie and the rest of the faculty decided to pretend that this particular emperor was wearing the required suit. There can be no other explanation. There is no way that I could've survived a dozen Sundays of busing and waiting tables without someone noticing, Oscie foremost. The way I figure it, either a sympathetic roommate pled my case or Oscie figured out on his own what was up and decided to cut me some, well, slacks. For this, I will be forever grateful, because my tenure at Taft hung by such a precarious thread for the entire four years. My first year, I failed four out five classes and was given the choice of summer school or withdrawing. Had Oscie not given me special dispensation and silently waived the suit rule, my life might've been very different. And equally importantly, my father's heart would've been broken as he (Class of 1928) absolutely loved Taft and had made huge financial sacrifices so that I could go there, too.

I last saw Oscie at our 30th Reunion in 1999. He looked pretty much as I remembered him, though for once I didn't recoil in fear. Something changed over the years, and all the evidence suggests that it's more likely my attitude than Donald Oscarson. I never really liked the school's anthem, which we were often obliged to sing at Vespers. I have always taken particular umbrage at the phrase, "kind, firm molder of a thousand boys." But with any luck, I'll have another 30 years to reflect on, and possibly accommodate myself, to that possibility. Thanks, Oscie and Happy Trails to youƒ until we meet again.
—Mike Macy '69

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My father, John Hammerslough '46, told me that as a student, Oscie read every book in the Taft Library. I never doubted it.
—Charlie Hammerslough '76

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If you have memories of Don Oscarson that you would like to share here, please e-mail them to Bulletin editor Julie Reiff. Please know that tributes may be edited for length, content, and clarity. Thank you.