The following thoughts were shared by John Ackroff:

I first met Richard Rouse late in 1967. Introduction to Psychology was taught at that time by dividing the semester into quarters and having a different faculty member take each piece and talk about his area of interest. Richard went last, and spoke about memory. At the end of his first lecture, I asked if there was any work I could do with him, since I found the topic, even with that bare exposure, fascinating. The answer was “not now,” but I was still interested. I next had him as an instructor in the spring of 1969, for Experimental Methods.

In the fall of 1969, I changed my major from Chemistry to Psychology, due mainly to Organic Chemistry, and took, among other courses, Theories of Memory and Thought. This was an amazing experience. When I described the course to some of my Rutgers colleagues, they were astounded that anyone would even attempt something of that scope. In the first third of the semester, we read and discussed Hebb’s Organization of Behavior, published in 1949, describing the neurological underpinnings of learning. At the same time, we were reading the first six chapters of Freud’s The Interpretation of Dreams “in the background.” The second third of the course was an in-depth study of Chapter Seven, in which Freud explains how he thinks dreams work and their role in our mental lives, using the same set of questions the folks at Austen Riggs used. The third part of the course was reading and discussing Ulric Neisser’s relatively recent Cognitive Psychology.

In the summer of 1970, I had an NSF Summer Research grant, and we worked on an experiment to understand the types of encoding strategies that we use in short term memory. Conrad (who Richard knew from one of his stays in England) offered evidence that we use an acoustical scheme, but we showed that meaning is more important. It led to my first publication. One of two afternoons each week, the Summer Research students would get together with some of the faculty in the Math Lounge on the second floor of Bronfman to talk about what we were doing, what progress we were making, what obstacles we were facing, etc. It was during one of those sessions, when someone was talking about trying to solve some particular problem that Richard said “Ah, but you’re asking the wrong question.” I have often said that this is probably the most valuable and important thing I learned at Williams. If you don’t ask the right question, you’re pretty much guaranteed not to get the right answer.

In the classroom, Richard would often give the derivation of words, citing their Greek and Latin roots, and tout “the value of a classical education.” After Commencement, I found him, handed him my diploma (which is in Latin) and asked whether or not I had all the rights, privileges, and honors. He expressed surprise that it was in Latin, but was able to give me a decent reading.

After I left for graduate school, the intervals between our correspondence became longer and longer. We were re-united at the dinner for the dedication of the new Science Center in the fall of 2000. Email made keeping in touch much easier, and I also started visiting Williamstown a few times a year for various reasons, which gave us the opportunity to get together. Karen and I looked forward to these visits, and would make sure to schedule one whenever we could. Karen’s lab used a procedure similar to the one Richard used in Clark Hull’s lab at Yale for a study of sham and esophageal feeding in dogs. One day shortly before one of our visits, her lab director mentioned something about the Hull study, and she said to him “Well, let me know if you have any questions; I’m having lunch with the third author this weekend.”

I’ll finish by including an email message from October, 2002. I had been in a bicycle accident, separating my shoulder and fracturing several ribs while trying to avoid hitting a groundhog head-on, and wrote him about it, because I remembered him telling us that one of the authors of the Skaggs-Robinson hypothesis, which has to do with interference in memory, was killed in a bicycle accident. I can hear him when I read it, and it’s a very nice illustration of differences between episodic and semantic memory (remembering things about our lives vs. things we learned) with respect to permanence. With his permission, I read parts of it to my Cognition students at an appropriate part of the semester:

J. WOW.
The varmint might indeed have thrown you. Shoulders take a long
time, but better than head first.
I had 2 accidents like that as a teen ager. I was coming down a
hill when a car coming up made a left turm in front of me. Coaster rear
brakes were what we had back then. Braking and turning made me go into a
feet first, wheels first slide. Avoided the car, got a real fear
experience, but only skin scrapes. . The other was worse. That time I hit a
car’s left rear fender and flew thru the air, spraining a wrist upon
landing. Friend with me said he heard me shout ‘Oh, my bike’ as I flew. It
was almost new and I’d saved for months to buy it at $12 from Sears. Fork
was bent at right angles. Motorist was real nice, didn’t want anything of
me. It was in front of friend’s house, so he & I declined help. My father,
out of work in the depression (hence my need to save for the bike), thought
we should sue, but I said it was my fault.
It was Robinson. Walking on a shopping street sidewalk, he was
knocked down by a student bicyclist. Hit his head. Parhaps 5 or 6 years
later, in ’41-’42, my first year at Yale grad school, I dated a niece of
his widow. Pat something-or-other. I never can retrieve that gal’s name.
She lived with her aunt, Varly Robinson. Varly was still in a big house in
North Haven. She taught me how to make martinis, manhattans,
old-fashioneds, other mixed drinks, at the parties she hosted for us
psychol students, saying a woman shouldn’t do that. sort of thing. Later,the Marquises bought the house, so I was at parties there again after the war.
Memories, memories. Those events are easy to retrieve. but I had to
go to a book to see what the Skaggs-Robinson hypothesis was. All that came
up was the name. Wonder what became of Skaggs. My ref Hilgard & Bowers,
shows that Robinson published it, giving Skaggs priority. Robinson had
several other publications, and one heard in the Dept that his death was a
big loss to teaching, reserch and theory.
Rib muscles really hurt, even if only bruised. For me, that was a
fall going upstairs with a plate of food at Fielding & Ellie Brown’s. Saved
the plate, hit the ribs on a step edge. Don’t use that shoulder. R.

As he said, “Memories, memories.” He has given us many good ones.

 
A diary belonging to Professor Faison has been donated to the National Archives by the Monuments Men Foundation. The diary documented his time as director of the Central Collecting Point in Munich, where he oversaw the return of artwork stolen by Nazis.
 
The following thoughts were shared by Bob Eyre:

S. Lane Faison

I count myself among the many fortunate members of our class who were told that Art History at Williams was almost a required course. Once you came under the spell of the Faison-Stoddard-Pierson triumvirate, you rarely could or wanted to escape. Lane Faison was, to me, the quintessential embodiment of what made Williams great – a formidable intellect, a teacher with encyclopedic command of his subject, a brilliant lecturer, a kind but pointed critic, and a man with infectious enthusiasm for his subject and for his students.

Before his long and distinguished career at Williams, he was a Lt. Commander in the US Naval Reserve. He wrote the official top-secret report on Hitler’s collection of stolen art. Five years later, he supervised the return of those works under the Department of State (Monument Man).   He was awarded the French Legion of Honor for this effort, which he proudly wore in his jacket lapel.

After taking his introductory course, I decided to double major in art history and I took every course that Lane offered. His course on critical writing (H353) was, by far, the most influential one I ever took at Williams. He graciously hosted the classes at his home on Scott Hill Road, where the atmosphere was conducive to spirited discussions and interactive learning. He nurtured his students’ ability to see and appreciate works of art in all genres and to crystallize their thoughts in succinct, economical prose. Nothing would make him happier than to know that his insistence on quality writing has immensely impacted all of the scholarly writing and editing I have done in my medical career.

When the college went on strike, Lane felt that it was important for influential alumni in NYC to hear directly from students about the motivations and constructive activities that were occurring on campus, and I was honored to accompany him to the Williams Club to participate in a panel discussion. His presence and support of the students played a huge role in calming the fears of older alumni, assuring them that Williams would emerge a stronger institution.

Lane’s wife, Jodie, was a lovely and gracious hostess. To this day, I remember a beautiful luncheon they invited me to at their home just before graduation where she served an asparagus salad (which I still detest). It is a tribute to my love for both of them that I somehow managed to eat it.

Whenever I returned to Williamstown for reunions or to visit our kids during their undergraduate years, I always looked to see if Lane was walking down Spring Street, looking dapper in his tweed jacket. He had a prodigious memory and seemed to recall our names and details of our lives after Williams with great accuracy. He passed away in November 2006, just short of his 99^th birthday. He will always be remembered as one of the giants in the history of Williams.

Mr. Gaudino — Biography with video

Mr. Gaudino — an oral history

A year after Fred Rudolph’s passing, Dottie followed through on his wish for a springtime “Tulip Party” at their home on Ide Road.  Those in attendance included every College President still living, present and past faculty, family, friends and former students – including  John Chambers ’71, seen next to Fred’s portrait.

Uncle Fred

            Fred Rudolph was, in many ways, an exemplar of the best Williams faculty traditions – teacher as much as scholar, generous mentor as much as gracious gentleman. His influence on me, both personal and professional, still fills me with gratitude, and of course I am but one of countless alumni who would say the same of Uncle Fred, or indeed of so many Williams professors and coaches.  Allow me, please, just a bit of testimony in appreciation of my particular gratitude, and another part of his legacy perhaps not so well known.

            Arriving at Williams more than fifty years ago from a public high school where I had learned more football than academics, initially intimidated by the sense that everyone I met was better prepared, Fred’s teaching helped me to build confidence.  Among the more personal interactions I still recall was a visit to his book-lined office in the old Stetson Library, where he tactfully let me know that my SAT scores were in a realm where confidence was fully deserved, and that my academic career had horizons even beyond Williams.  Over the rest of those undergraduate years he was an inspiring instructor of history, and with his beloved Dottie, an island of calm and encouragement amidst the political and social turmoil of the times.  Moreover, he and Dottie took Mary (new wife!), Melissa (new baby!) and me into their warm embrace, providing opportunities like house-sitting and looking after their Lisa, that in retrospect were perhaps more invention for us than convenience for them.

            All that culminated in an inflection point, when one day at the beginning of senior year, even as I was struggling to imagine next steps for my fledgling family and me, he asked, “Would you be interested in a scholarship for graduate study at Harvard?” Not only a scholarship, it turned out, but another new mentor – Fred’s dissertation advisee at Yale, the “boy dean” at Harvard’s Graduate School of Education, later a leading reformer of American education, Ted Sizer.  My professional course was set along a path that carried on the tenets of the Progressive Education movement (first introduced to me in Fred’s classes) through years of public school work as teacher, principal, and then two decades as a school superintendent.  All with a gentle nudge and continuing encouragement from Uncle Fred; that nudge also made me, among other things, a very loyal Williams alumnus.

            Many a classmate, to be sure, can tell a similar tale of the influence of teachers and coaches, and I hope they will share such stories in these pages.  How many of us are thankful for Renzie Lamb, especially just now with news of his passing? Or for Bob Gaudino, whose work inspired an endowment organized in part by members of our class?  But there was something unique, too, in what Fred Rudolph was doing.  Without fanfare or expectation of thanks, Fred was carrying on a tradition passed to him by a faculty mentor of his own – Charlie Keller.  By encouraging interest in pubic schooling, in service as teachers and then perhaps as principals, they were building a cadre of future school leaders that produced, from tiny little Williams, a remarkably disproportionate number of public school superintendents.  Some, I know, would testify to the direct influence of Charlie or Fred in their eventual service as superintendents – among them Ernie Fleischman ’59 (Greenwich, CT), Tom Payzant ‘63 (Portland, OR, Boston, MA), Mike McGill ’65 (Mt. Greylock, MA, North Shore and Scarsdale, NY). Many others served in school districts less known, some less fortunate in resources, and perhaps that pleased Fred even more.

            All this alongside the older, honored, and better-known traditions of Williams alumni serving in independent schools, or teaching at the college level.  The Alumni Directory currently shows hundreds of alums proudly working in K-12 education, both public and private.  Encouragement toward such careers is provided by the traditional alumni networks, and now also by the Class of 1959 Program in Teaching, currently directed by Susan Engel.  But does the smaller subculture of school superintendents still continue? Only a handful of alums presently show up in the Directory as school superintendents – Hank Bangser ’70 (now in Ojai, CA, formerly in New Trier, IL), Paul Goren ’80 (Evanston/Skokie, IL), and – of particular resonance, since she is the one of the pioneers of Williams coeducation, the sister of Nick ‘71, and spouse of Art ’71 – Rosmarie Tortorello Bovino ’75. (Island Park, NY). 

I am unsure whether Fred Rudolph influenced any of the latter three, but I am certain of his legacy in my career, and those of Ernie, Tom, Mike… Quietly, Fred helped build a legacy no less impactful for its tendency to fly below the radar of broad awareness and acclaim.  I am also unsure whether Fred ever set foot in a public school, but he surely helped further their mission, thanks to his influence on so many alumni who put a hand to their work. 

            And yes, he and Dottie touched many lives in personal ways, and (ahem!) gave memorable parties – have you ever seen better swing dancers?  Blessings on them both; may others carry on in their footsteps.

John Chambers ‘71

November, 2018