1972-1974 Connecticut: Sports

Posted on January 15, 2021 by Mike

Athletic activities in the Hartford area: basketball, golf, etc. Continue reading →

Swimming: The apartment building in which I lived in East Hartford had an outdoor swimming pool. I brought a bathing suit with me to Connecticut, and I spent some pleasurable hours sitting next to the pool. I may have also entered the water for short periods once or twice.

Basketball: Tom Herget and Tom Corcoran had discovered that pickup basketball games were often held on the asphalt court near Batchelder School. After I had been working for a week or so, they invited me to join them. At first I demurred, but Herget was very good at shaming people into joining the fun. A bunch of us played there on a regular basis.

Batchelder School still exists, but the basketball court seems to be gone.

It was a good court. We played a full-court game without a ref. The court was neither as long nor as wide as a regulation court, but it was quite adequate for a three-on-three or four-on-four game. The rims were regulation-height and quite sturdy.

Sometimes so many guys were there that we had two one-basket games. As often as we could, we played full-court.

Guys would come and go. The teams were fluid. I think that we kept score, but no one cared who won. There were arguments about fouls, of course, but I can’t remember anyone getting upset enough to do anything about it.

I can’t remember the names of any of the players except for people from the Hartford. Here are my most vivid recollections:

A guy who played with us all the time had a unique shot. He was only 5’8″ or so, and he was not very mobile. If he got open, however, he would quickly bring the ball up over his head and launch a shot with virtually no arc that just cleared the front of the rim. When the ball made contact with the back of the rim it almost always dove straight down into the net. This was due to the fact that he somehow imparted an enormous amount of backspin to his shot. I was a great admirer of his shot; my attempts to emulate it were failures.
Herget also had a devilish shot. He liked to drive right into an opponent’s chest and then scoop the ball underhand toward the basket behind the opponent’s back. He beat me with this maneuver many times even after Tom Corcoran showed me how to defend it—by keeping one’s own arms down and once he started the scoop just placing the hand on that side on top of the ball. Herget usually passed the ball away if Corcoran was guarding him.
A couple of times an Emergency Medical Technician played with us a few times while he was on duty. He parked his vehicle near the court and left the radio on. I don’t think that he ever got any calls while he was playing. I wonder what he would have been doing if he wasn’t playing with us.
I remember one magical day in 1974 when, for some strange reason, I could do no wrong on the court. On most days I missed three or four shots for every one that I made, but on the magical day my shooting percentage was certainly in the eighties or nineties. I got several rebounds and made some good defensive plays, too. It never happened again.
Several times opponents—to their regret—brushed up against my very sharp elbows or knees. Once a guy’s thigh hit my knee harder than usual. I barely felt it, but he stopped playing and, as I recall, just limped to his car and drove home.
One day in late May or June of 1974 we were playing a full-court game. I had the ball, and I was running at a good speed and dribbling while looking for an open teammate. Somehow I slipped or tripped and fell forward. I landed on the heels of my hand, but the top of my right knee hit the pavement about as hard as one might knock on a door. I cried out in pain, but when I rolled up the leg of my pants to unveil a small scratch, I was ridiculed by the other guys for stopping the game. I played for a few more minutes, but then my knee gave out, and I limped to Greenie and drove home. That was my last game at Batchelder.

On the way home I had to stop to buy something for supper, cauliflower I think. By the time that I reached the apartment in Andover in which I was living my knee was so swollen that it looked like a cantaloupe was stuffed in my jeans. Sue Comparetto somehow brought me to a doctor whose name I don’t remember. He took X-rays and determined that my patella (kneecap to you) had broken into several pieces. The largest one could stay, but the others needed to be surgically removed.

An ambulance took me to the Windham Community Memorial Hospital in Willimantic. I was assigned to a room with three older men, all of whom were there for hernia operations. One at a time, they each went to the OR before I did. The scenes were similar. The anesthetic was administered. The patient counted backward from 100. The first two were out buy 97. The third guy, however, was down into the seventies when they told him he could stop. I am not sure how they ever knocked him out. Maybe they just gave him something to stick between his teeth.

I, who have a mortal dread of needles, was much more apprehensive about the injection of the anesthetic than of the carving of my leg. They gave me the shot, and the next thing that I knew was that I was back in the room with a cast on my leg. The surgeon came to see me a little later. He asked me to lift the leg. I couldn’t do it. He said that I could not leave until I could lift it by myself.

In the day or two it took me to find those muscles again I had a few visitors. I am sure that Sue came. So did Jim and Ann Cochran.

I had a view of downtown Willy from my bed. I could either see a sign for Kentucky Fried Chicken of one of the colonel’s stores. In either case it gave me a strong incentive to raise my leg. I really wanted some fried chicken. I was released before any of the hernia guys.

My injury had a good side and a bad side. The benefit was immediate. I had been called up for summer camp by the Army Reserve. I called the phone number on the notice to report that I had broken my kneecap and could not come. The guy who answered—I took down his name, but I don’t remember it—assured me that I did not need to come. Since 1974 was the last year that I was eligible, I never had to atten reserve camp. I was not dreading the duty, but I did not want to return to work at the Hartford with a military haircut.

The bad side was that the surgeon missed one small piece of bone, and it eventually adhered to my femur. It did not bother me much for twenty-five years, but in 1999 I was diagnosed with tendinitis of the IT band. The doctor attributed it to that tiny piece of my patella. Some stretching exercises made the condition manageable, but in 2017 I got arthritis in that knee. This in turn has made it more difficult to keep the IT band from bunching up. I am not complaining. I have averaged walking five miles per day in the ten months starting in March of 2020, but I need to do a lot more stretching.

Golf: I started playing golf with John Sigler late in the summer of 1972. We played together every chance that we got, and we tried nearly every public course in the area. He was better than I was at every aspect of the game, but I enjoyed our outings together immensely. In 1973 we even took off many Wednesdays during the summer to play golf.

On one of those days in the summer of 1973 we drove down to Cromwell to play the Edgewood Golf Club. The layout was later redone to suit the pros, and the name was changed to TPC River Highlands. It was the most difficult course that I had ever played then, and they made it much tougher when they made it a Tournament Players Championship course in the eighties.

In 1973 John and I also played together at the annual outing of the Actuarial Club of Hartford in Moodus, CT. I did not remember the name of the course, but the only one in Moodus seems to be Black Birch Golf Club. It was a miserable day for golf—or anything else. The rain started halfway through our round, and it was also very windy. I seem to remember that John played well enough to win a dozen Titleists. I think that I won three Club Specials as a kind of booby prize. The highlight of the round for me was watching Mike Swiecicki ride merrily around in a cart and swatting at his ball with little care about the results. I also enjoyed playing bridge with John and a cigar-smoking Tom Corcoran. I don’t remember who was our fourth.

At some point John and I added Norm Newfield and Bill Mustard to our golfing group. Norm, who was a star quarterback and pitcher at Central Connecticut and the Navy¹, worked in the Personnel Department. I think that Bill worked in the IT Department. Norm was a big hitter, and Bill was an absolute beast, but neither of them could control the ball’s flight like John could. I was definitely the wimp in this foursome. Most of the time we played at Tallwood in Hebron.

In 1974 John and I signed up to play in the Hartford’s golf league. The nine-hole matches were on Fridays at Minnechaug Golf Course in Glastonbury. I have always been better at team sports than individual ones, and it proved true again. Of course, John always played against the opponent’s better player. Still, we played seven or eight matches, and I tied won and won the rest. We were in first place in the league with only one or two matches remaining when I broke my kneecap. Our proudest achievement was defeating Norm and his partner, whose name was, I think, Bill Something. He probably worked in HR with Norm.

I remember one match pretty clearly. We were playing against two guys whom we did not know at all. I think that I had to give up six strokes, and John had to give up seven in only nine holes. John’s opponent had a new set of really nice-looking clubs. My opponent was from India, or at least his parents were. When I told this story to friends I usually called him “The Perfect Master”. We were afraid of a setup. Because of the handicap differentials, if they played at all well, we would have no chance.

On the first tee John’s opponent exhibited a monstrous slice, but the ball stayed in play. My opponent then hit the shortest drive I have ever seen. He did not whiff, but the impact was much less than Lou Aiello’s swinging bunt (described here). The ball stayed in the tee box less than a foot in front of his left shoe.

Neither John nor I could take the match seriously after that. We both played worse than we would have thought possible. Going into the eighth hole, the match was in serious jeopardy. However, the eighth, a short island hole, was always good to us. We both put our iron shots on the green. The opponents both plunked their tee shots into the water. The last hole cinched all three points for us when both of our opponents found the water again. We survived our worst match ever and, of course, enjoyed a beer afterwards.

Jim Cochran stepped in to take my place for the last few matches. Alas, John and Jim lost the championship match.

Buena Vista's swank clubhouse. — Buena Vista’s swank clubhouse.

There was one other interesting golf adventure. Tom Herget arranged for John, Tom Corcoran, and I to join him for nine holes at the Buena Vista Golf Course in West Hartford. Par for this course is only 31 or 32. It is much easier than Minnechaug.

Herget evidently wanted to try out the golf clubs that he had purchased (or perhaps found in an alley) somewhere. They were at least six inches too short for him, and he is not tall. When he went to hit the ball, his hands were at knee level. Danny Devito is too tall for these clubs.

The round itself produced few memories. I do not remember the scores, but I do remember that Sigler shot in the thirties, I scored in the forties, Corcoran in the fifties, and Herget in the sixties.

Baseball/Softball: I remember that several of us drove up to Fenway for a game between the Red Sox and the Yankees. Somehow we got box seats in the upper deck right even with third base. I have been to games in four or five stadiums. This was by far my best experience. I remember eating peanuts, drinking beer, and yelling at the players and coaches. We were unbelievably close to them. It was more intimate than a Little League game.

Dick Howser was third base coach for the Yankees for ten years!

I channeled my inner Bob Anderson to loudly rebuke New York’s third-base coach, Dick Howser², for mistakenly waving a runner home. He actually looked up at us. I remembered him as a so-so shortstop (after his promising rookie season) for the KC A’s. He had a goofy batting stance with his legs spread wide and his head about four feet off the ground.

I later felt a little guilty about my boorish conduct at Fenway when he became the Royals’ manager and in 1985 guided them to the my home town’s only World Series win. One must understand that people who grew up in KC in the fifties and sixties REALLY hate the Yankees.

I remember going to watch Patti Lewonczyk play softball a couple of times. I do not recall whether the Hartford had a team in a city-wide league or an entire league of teams like the men’s. Patti was a good hitter, and she did not throw like a girl. I am pretty sure that Sue took photos on at least one occasion, but I don’t know where they are, and I dasn’t ask.

Football: On September 23, 1973, a group of us went to a football game between the Patriots and the Chiefs at Schaefer₃ Stadium in Foxborough. I could not believe what a dump the place was. I don’t remember any details. The game was a real snoozer. The Chiefs held the Pats to only one touchdown, but they only scored ten points themselves, which was enough for a W. After that one magic season in 1969-70, the Chiefs quickly became an also-ran team for the next five decades!

I also attended several college games. The most entertaining one was on October 20, 1973. I rode to Providence in Tom Corcora’s Volkswagen for the game between Brown and Dartmouth. Dartmouth entered the game with an 0-3 record, but they beat the Bears 28-16. The Big Green went on to win all the rest of their its (their?) games that year. Brown finished 4-3-1, which was very good for Brown teams of that era.

I guess you could see the band’s formations from the Brown side. We were in the visitor’s bleachers.

The game was fairly interesting. There were no NFL prospects, but the Ivy League schools were famous for their trick plays. That is my kind of football.

Even more interesting was the rascally atmosphere that shocking for a deadly serious Michigan fan to experience. For example, one guy in the stands had brought a keg of beer as a date. The keg was wearing a dress and a blonde wig. This would never happen at Michigan Stadium. Alcohol was strictly forbidden at the games, and seats were precious possessions; nobody got two.

Dartmouth had never had an official mascot, but for decades most people called them the Indians. In 1972 the Alumni Association advised against this in favor of another nickname, the Big Green. The teams embraced this, but a set of alternate cheerleaders attended this game. They sat in the stands and wore identity-concealing costumes. One was a gorilla; I don’t remember the others, but none were Indians. Whenever the official cheerleaders finished a cheer for the Big Green, the alt-leaders rushed to the sidelines to lead the same cheer for the Indians. This went on without objection. It did not seem strange to anyone but me.

The Brown band played at halftime. Their uniforms were brown turtlenecks. Most people wore nondescript pants, but several had evidently played for the soccer or rugby team that morning. Their legs were muddy, and they wore shorts. A few of them also had comical hats.

The band formed itself into various formations, but our seats were too low to make sense of them. The stadium was not big. I doubt that many people could decipher them. The band members just ran to their spots for each formation. They did not march in the orderly fashion that I was used to. I think that the primary purpose of the entertainment was to make fun of Dartmouth.

This is the only picture I could find of Eric Torkelson in a UConn uniform.

The very next Saturday I drove to Storrs by myself to watch a game between UMass and UConn. Both at the time were 1AA schools and members of the Yankee Conference. I did not know exactly where the stadium was. I expect to see crowds of people walking toward the stadium. After all, this was their rivalry game. UMass had won last year, but UConn had a pretty good team in 1973. The star, as I remember, was fullback Eric Torkelson⁴. The conference championship was on the line. The weather was beautiful.

In fact, however, two-thirds of the seat were empty. Very few students showed up. The closest people to me were a guy and his young son. UConn won 28-7 and won the conference championship.

I also tried to play a little flag football. I bought some cleats at G. Fox in downtown Hartford. Norm Newfield was on a team in New Britain. Tom Herget and I went to their tryouts. I played pretty well; I caught every pass that I got a hand on. However, they were looking for blockers and rushers, and I did not fit their plans. Tom did.

I went to several of their games. Once I ended up sitting with Mel, Tom’s girlfriend at the time. I soon discovered that she knew surprising little about football. I explained about the first-down yardage markers and what Tom’s role was on every play. I was just mansplaining, but she seemed to appreciate it.

I played in one pickup game with Tom and some of his acquaintances. It might have been on a field near Batchelder School. Because no one could guard me when I wore my cleats, I had to take them off and play in sneakers.

I watched college football on television every Saturday. In those days I could even bear to watch when Michigan was playing. Jan Pollnow invited me over to his house to watch the Wolverines one Saturday. Michigan won easily. The Big Ten was then better known as the Big Two and the Little Eight.

I felt a little uneasy at his house, as I did the time in Romulus, NY, when the lieutenant in the Intelligence Office had me over for dinner.

Tennis: I brought my tennis racket with me from KC, and I actually played one game of tennis. It was on Saturday, August 18, 1973. My opponent was Jim Kreidler. I was “under the weather” from overindulgence on my twenty-fifth birthday the night before. Nevertheless, I was ahead in the match by a game or two when Jim twisted his ankle.

He wanted to quit. I argued that we should continue the match. I would not require him to stand on his ankle. He could just sit there and wave at the ball with his racket. I would retrieve all the shots on both sides of the net. We could probably finish in a half hour or less.

He stubbornly refused this most generous offer. So, I fear that I must report that I have never actually won a tennis match.

In New England there are three types of bowling.

Bowling: At least once I went duckpin bowling with Tom Corcoran and Patti Lewonczyk. It does not feel at all like tenpin bowling, and I have no idea what it takes to be a good duckpin bowler. It seemed like you just grabbed any old ball and let it fly.

On TV I also watched candlepin bowling from Springfield. In this version you get three shots, not two, and they do not sweep away the toppled pins until the third ball has been rolled. So, you can use your “wood” to help pick up spares. I never tried this version.

1. Norm is in CCSU’s Hall of Fame. His page is here. In 2021 his FaceBook page says that he lives in Winsted, CT.

2. Dick Howser died in 1987 of a brain tumor only two years after managing the World Series winners and one year after managing the winners of the All-Star game.

3. Schaefer was a popular beer in the northeast in the seventies. Its slogan was “Schaefer is the one beer to have if you’re having more than one.” No one that I knew liked it. We reformulated it to “Schaefer is the one beer to have if you’ve alreadh had more than one.”

4. Torkelson, although not drafted until the eleventh round, played seven seasons for the Green Bay Packers.

1972-1974 Connecticut: Actuarial Exams

Posted on January 14, 2021 by Mike

Studying and taking. Continue reading →

The official title of my job at the Hartford was “actuarial student”. I had two responsibilities—helping with the actuarial work assigned by my bosses and studying for the actuarial exams sponsored by the Society of Actuaries (SOA). It is more complicated now, but in 1972-74 there were ten exams (called “parts”). To become a Fellow of the SOA one needed to all ten. Passing the first five granted one the title of Associate.

I can hardly believe than an associate (ASA) would have the temerity to sell advice to other test-takers.

For actuaries advancement at insurance companies depended much more on success on the exams than on performance at the workplace. Becoming a Fellow was a big deal. At least one person at the Hartford immediately after passing the tenth exam got a vanity plate for his car with his initials and “FSA”. Some people hired tutors for difficult tests. It could easily be worth the expense; at the time surveys ranked actuaries as the highest-paid occupation in the United States. For decades the number of actuaries increased by over 6 percent per year, and in the seventies demand still exceeded supply.

The actuarial exams were held twice a year—in May and November. The first four were offered both times. Some of the other six were offered in May; the rest were scheduled for November.

Everyone who has taken them agrees that the exams are very challenging. A few people have taken more than one at a time, but most thought that one was enough. Less than 50 percent of the people pass each test. Many people, myself included, dropped out along the way. The ones taking the higher level exams were by no means a random sample; they had shown the ability and determination to outdo some really smart people again and again.

The Hartford, as well as most other insurance companies, granted actuarial students time during work to study for exams. I think that we got thirty hours for each exam period. Most people took the hours in increments of an hour or two at a time. I always studied in the morning. I came in early and then used an hour and a half of study time. My recollection is that to maintain this privilege one needed to pass at least one exam per year.

The study room on the twenty-first floor was between the elevators and an exterior wall. It consisted of a conference table and, if memory serves, six or eight chairs. For the most part everyone took advantage of the time to study silently and diligently. Occasionally, of course, someone (usually Tom Corcoran) would doze off. We just let them sleep unless the snoring got too loud.

I remember two unusual occurrences. The first involved Pat Adams, an exceptional student who never made any noise in the study room. [This is a good story, but it would be better if I could somehow act it out.] One morning Pat clearly needed to sneeze. She inhaled sharply and then let the breath out. She inhaled sharply again and then emitted something much closer to “Pfft” than “Ahchoo” (or, in my case, a Category 5 blast of AHCHOOOOOO repeated up to eight times).

Upon hearing Pat’s timid sneeze I felt compelled to break the monastic silence of the study room in order to declare that hers was the most pitiful sneeze that I had ever witnessed.

The other occasion of note occurred when Mike Swiecicki and Damon Panels became embroiled in an argument over who was on third base in the ninth inning of a baseball game from a decade or so earlier. It was the kind of dispute that could be solved with Google in less than a minute, but, of course, that was not possible in the seventies. Mike and Damon went on and on, each adding details from his own recollection to try to persuade the other to cede the point. I don’t remember if either of them was ever proven right. It is important to not that no one reported them for breaking the vow of silence because everyone judged that the strictures of l’omertà applied.

UConn offered evening classes at its Hartford campus for the first four exams. I took two of these classes, and I seem to remember that the Hartford paid the tuition.

Marking C for every question is a bad strategy.

Over the years I took the first six exams. All the questions on the first five tests were multiple choice. The multiple choice questions were very carefully designed so that all of the answers seemed reasonable. To discourage guessing, a percentage of wrong answers was subtracted from the number of right answers.

Each exam was scored on a scale from 0 through 10. The minimum passing score was 6 on each test. Here is a description of my experience with each exam:

Part 1: The topic was “general mathematics”. Most of the questions involve algebra and/or calculus. I took the exam in my sophomore year at U-M. I did not study at all. My score was a 6. I thought that I had done much better than that. I probably guessed too much.

Sue Comparetto took this exam several times, but she did not pass. Of course, she also did not have the benefit of study time or free classes.

I took a chance when I was young and answered only the probability questions. It worked out better for me than it did for Og Oggilby.

Part 2: The topics were probability and statistics. The first time that I took it was in November of 1969 right after I had taken classes at U-M in both subjects from Cecil Nesbitt. I was too busy with debate and other extracurricular activities to study. More details can be read here. I was not worried about passing, but I should have been. I only received a 4.

I took the test again in May of 1970 in Ann Arbor. Once again I did not study even for a minute, this time out of ennui and disillusionment with the world in general. I was especially shaky about statistics. As the tests were being distributed, I decided to skip all statistics questions except the ones that I was absolutely certain of. In actuality, I answered every probability question and no statistics questions at all. I assumed that I had flunked, but I somehow squeaked through with a 6.

Part 3: The topics were finite differences (about which I remember absolutely nothing) and compound interest. I took this exam in November of 1972 in Hartford. During the previous few months I had attended classes in these subjects at UConn/Hartford. The subject matter seemed rather simple, and I used all of my study time, but I still only managed a 6.

Jordan's textbook was our bible. — Jordan’s textbook was our bible.

Part 4: The topics was life contingencies. I took the test in May of 1973. Many actuaries considered this the most difficult exam. Once again I attended the classes in Hartford. This time I supplemented my study time with some additional time, but the weather was starting to get very nice in late April and May. By then I also had something of a social life. I counted myself lucky to score a six.

Part 5: There were four exceptionally boring topics: 1) demography (the study of individuals moving in and out of groups over time); 2) principles underlying the construction of mortality and other tables; 3) elements of graduation of mortality tables and other series; 4) sources and characteristics of the principal mortality and disability tables. If the choice had been mine, I would never have considered studying any of these topics. I hated every second that I spent in all four areas.

I took this test in the fall of 1973, a very bad period for me. There were no classes. I studied as hard as I could at the Hartford, and I tried to make myself study at home. However, there were many distractions, and by then I had pretty much decided that I wanted to abandon the world of insurance and return to U-M if possible to coach debate. At the end of the exam, I was pretty certain that I had failed, and I was right. I got a 4.

Part 6: There were three topics: 1) actuarial aspects of life insurance accounting; 2) valuation of liabilities; 3) investment of life insurance funds. I took this test in the spring of 1974. By then I had already been offered the coaching job at U-M, and I accepted it. I planned to leave the Hartford forever in August.

I really wanted to pass this test. I knew that I would never use any of the knowledge that I was cramming into my skull, but I did not want people to think that I was quitting because I could not pass the exams. As it happened, however, my social life had improved by that point. That factor, my excitement about the adventure that awaited me in the fall, and the fact that the accounting aspect was insufferably boring made it difficult for me to keep my nose to the grindstone.

The first part of the exam was short answer/essay. I felt pretty good at the break about my performance. However, I did not feel at all good about the multiple choice questions in the afternoon. I was therefore not surprised when I received another 4.

The investment part of this exam was ludicrous. The Society still used a horribly dated textbook that recommended that companies concentrate their investments in downtown real estate properties occupied by department stores like F.W. Woolworth and S.S. Kresge. A few typewritten pages were provided to students to replace these comical suggestions.

After I left the Hartford area, the thing that I missed the least was studying for and taking the tests. The math was not as difficult as what I encountered at Michigan, but at least half or the material was, for me, horribly boring.

1972 April-June: Transition to Connecticut

Posted on January 9, 2021 by Mike

SEAD to Ann Arbor to Kansas City to East Hartford. Continue reading →

It could have been worse.

Although my last official day of active duty¹ in the army was Monday, April 10, 1972, I had most of the last week off for out-processing—visits to the dentist and doctor, filling out forms, etc. The only thing that I remember vividly about April 10 was that there was still snow on the ground at Seneca Army Depot (SEAD), which made it ninety-two snow-covered days in a row since the day that I arrived.

My plan was to stop in Ann Arbor on my way back home. I missed U-M much more than I missed KC. By this time I had lost touch with all my high school friends, but I had exchanged letters with Bill Davey, who was finishing his first year at Law School. Some of the guys from Allen Rumsey House, notably Frank Bell, were probably still there, too. My plans were not very specific. I would stay in Ann Arbor until I ran out of money or stopped enjoying it.

I still wear this occasionally.

I remember nothing about the trip to Ann Arbor. I probably took the reverse of the route that I had taken in January to get to the Rochester Airport. Then I flew to Detroit Metro, and I must have caught a bus to Ann Arbor. I would not have paid for a taxi, and Bill did not have a car. I think that I must have been wearing my uniform, but I don’t remember whether it was fatigues or “class A’s”. All my meager possessions were in my duffel bag. I am pretty sure that I did not bring a suitcase to SEAD. They let me keep all my Army clothes, including my field jacket, which I still have.

I must have walked from the bus stop to Bill Davey’s apartment. I slept on a couch or the floor there for the time that I was in town.

What did I do during the day? Well, mostly I walked around the campus and the surrounding area. I visited Allen Rumsey House, where I talked to Frank Bell and a few other guys. I walked down to the I-M building to see that AR’s record score for 1969-70 posted on the wall. I might have dropped by the Frieze Building to say hello to Dr. Colburn. I also have a vague recollection of attending some sort of hockey game with guys from AR. It wasn’t a varsity game. Maybe it was an intramural contest.

It is still at least two miles from the U-M campus to a McDonald’s.

McDonald’s was the only place that I could fill my belly for $1, but there were none near the campus. I remember walking to the one on the west side of town at least twice. The no-nonsense hamburgers were twenty-five cents; I ate four of them on each visit.

The old B-School building has been replaced by a much more modern complex.

I spent one afternoon at the placement office of U-M’s Business School. Someone there provided me with a list of actuarial contacts at quite a few large insurance companies.

After a few days in Ann Arbor I began to feel like an outsider. I decided to fly home and figure out my future in the comfortable environs there.

At home in Prairie Village I composed and typed letters to thirteen insurance companies. I explained my situation—just out of the Army with two actuarial exams. All thirteen responded. Ten companies said that they were not interested. Three in Hartford—Hartford Life, Aetna, and Travelers—wanted me to come in for an interview. They agreed to split the cost of my airfare and hotel expense. They put me up at the Hilton, which was within easy walking distance of all three.

This is the old Hilton on Asylum Avenue. In 2021 there is a parking lot on the site.

I flew out by myself and took a taxi from Bradley to the Hilton. I do not remember too much about the interviews. I definitely talked with Jan Pollnow (a guy) at the Hartford. I remember that the atmosphere at the Hartford seemed much more open and relaxed. It reminded me of BMA. Even the buildings were similar towers.

At both the Aetna and Travelers there seemed to be rows and rows of clerks with mechanical calculators, real numbers factories. The Hartford had plenty of clerks also, but they seemed better placed, and there was more open area.

I think it was the Aetna that made me take the Actuarial Aptitude Test, which had two parts, verbal and math. I got all the questions right. The guy who escorted me around told me that I was the first person who ever did that. He said that plenty of applicants scored 100 percent on the math part, but no one else had ever gotten all the verbal questions right.

I received identical offers from all three companies at a starting salary of $13,000 per year, which seemed to me like a truly enormous amount of money. I had never made as much as $300 per month in the Army, and I did manage to save part of that. Another way to look at it was that my first year’s salary was much larger than the total amount of out-of-state tuition for four years at a top-rate university. Things were different in those days.

I accepted the offer from the Hartford and started making plans for my move to the Hartford area. The first order of business was to buy a car. My Army friend Al Williams had purchased a small Toyota in Albuquerque. I rode in it several times, and it seemed like a cheap, practical, and reliable car. My dad, who served in the Pacific in World War II, had a very low opinion of anything Japanese. He advised me to buy an American car, but there were none as cheap as Toyotas and Datsuns. Furthermore, most people who had not been strafed by the Japanese thirty years earlier thought that the Japanese cars were at least as good as what came out of Detroit in the seventies.

However, more and more I looked at Datsuns and Toyotas, and I decided on a Datsun 1200 hatchback. I would be able to fold down the back seats and cart an enormous amount of my stuff from KC to Hartford. I picked a bright green one, which I called Greenie. I never had a problem finding that car in a parking lot.

I tried to negotiated by myself by playing one dealer against another, but I am pretty sure that they had an agreement. They certainly were not desperate for the sale. At any rate, I did get to witness the Fargo scene in which the salesman pleaded my case with the sales manager. I think that he threw in an AM-FM radio and floor mats rather than reduce the price, which was around $2,000. My dad co-signed the loan.

No “girlie stuff” on either greenie.

The car was totally devoid of “girlie stuff”²: power steering, brakes, or windows, automatic transmission, etc. It did not have a manual choke, but I learned how to set the one on the motor. It was a nice car on the inside, but it was awful on snow and ice, had too little power too carry a big load over the hills of Pennsylvania, and, in its twilight years was very difficult to start in the winter. Still, I loved it. It was mine.

I did not leave for Hartford immediately. I bummed about for a little bit, and then my sister got mononucleosis, and I had to help my mother out. Jan Pollnow called to ask when I would be coming to work. I set a date in June. It may have even been July.

I loaded pretty much everything that I owned into Greenie, said goodbye to my family, and set off on a route similar to that of the big family vacation of my youth. Thank goodness for the Interstate Highway System that made my drive a lot easier than my dad’s. I left very early in the morning, but I did not try to make it all the way to Hartford. I never exceeded the speed limit.

My recollection is that I stayed overnight in Hazleton, PA, but I don’t see how I could have driven that far by myself in one day. I can easily see myself leaving at the crack of dawn, but I would lose one hour by traveling east, and I definitely remember that I did not speed. To tell the truth, Greenie was uncomfortable at any speed over 60. Furthermore, I would not trust myself to drive very far after dark. Maybe I stopped at motels for two nights, once in some less memorable place in Indiana and once in Hazleton.

I had no credit card. I paid cash for everything. That, of course, was not unusual in the seventies.

The Shoreham was torn down and replaced by an office building decades ago.

I made a reservation for a couple of nights at the Shoreham Hotel, which at the time was located between the Hartford and the Aetna. I spent the evenings looking for an apartment. I used the want ads to locate two furnished apartments. I went to see both of them. One was very close to the Hartford. I was not crazy about the neighborhood. Instead I put down a deposit on one in East Hartford that actually had two addresses, 45 Olmstead and 23 Spring St. It looked like a motel that had been converted into apartments. It had a swimming pool in the back.
This is a satellite view in 2021 of the area that in 1972 was occupied by the apartment complex, which I think was called “The California Apartments” or something similar. The apartment building and the pool are completely gone, but the parking lot on the right is the one that was formerly used by residents of the apartment. I resided there until August or September of 1973.

The KFC is still on Burnside Avenue, but it has been spruced up.

I unloaded all my stuff from Greenie. I had to walk upstairs, but in those days that was nothing to me. I had not brought anything that I could not carry by myself. I opened a bank account at Connecticut Bank and Trust (CBT—the bank that listens—and deposited the money that was in my KC account. Then I went shopping at the JM Fields department store on Silver Lane. I bought everything that I could think of that I would need—pots, pans, linen, pillows, towels, dishes, silverware, a cookbook, and all kinds of soaps and cleaning materials.

On the way back to the apartment I stopped by Kentucky Fried Chicken (not yet KFC) for supper. I am pretty sure that I ordered the eight-piece dinner (extra crispy), which in those days was two meals for me, and a large Coke.³ It was not as good as my mom’s chicken, but it was still tasty.

I knew almost no one at all in New England, but I had been in the same situation in 1966 at U-M. It felt good to be on my own, and I was primed for a new adventure.

1. Draftees were required to spend two years on active duty, two in the active reserve, and two in inactive reserve. When the active duty period for draftees was reduced in 1972, the active reserve period was concomitantly increased. So, I was in the active reserve until October 5, 1974. Since the Army had made it clear that it did not want the draftees, there was not much danger of being called up to active duty during that period. However, for three summers rather than two I was subject to being called to go to “summer camp” for two weeks of training.

2. I purloined this phrase from Rosemary Boxer on the British television show Rosemary and Thyme. She was disparaging the later Range Rover models for the inclusion of such frills.

3. Diet Coke was not introduced until 1982. The only low-calorie cola drink that the Colonel offered in the seventies was Tab, which had that horrible after-taste.

1966-1970 U-M: Lingo and Abbreviations

Posted on September 25, 2020 by Mike

Abbreviations & idiomatic terms. Continue reading →

1A: First affirmative speaker. Add C for constructive or R for rebuttal.

2A: Second affirmative speaker. Add C for constructive or R for rebuttal.

1N: First negative speaker. Add C for constructive or R for rebuttal.

2N: Second negative speaker. Add C for constructive or R for rebuttal.

AR: Allen Rumsey House.

Chihote (hee HO tay): A device consisting of surgical tubing and a kneepad for propelling water balloons great distances.

Co-ed: 1) n. female student. 2) adj. containing both male and female students. In this period no house was co-ed, but some dorms (e.g., South Quad) were.

Constructive: Ten-minute speech.

Drop: In debate, to miss or neglect an argument made by the other team.

Flowing: Taking notes (including planned responses to an opponent’s arguments) in a debate. The sheet(s) of paper is called a flow or flow sheet.

House: Smallest unit of dorms at Michigan. Quads had 6-10 houses.

IM: Intramural sports. At Michigan the competition was separated between frat houses and dorms.

MISL: Michigan Intercollegiate Speech League—all colleges in Michigan

NDT: National Debate Tournament held in March every year.

RA: Resident Adviser: one per floor in a dorm.

RD: Resident Director: one per house in a dorm.

Rebuttal: Five-minute speech for advancing, refuting, and summarizing arguments. No new arguments are allowed in the rebuttals.

Resolution: The topic being debated. The same resolution is debated all year. The ones for 1966-1970 were:
1966-1967 RESOLVED: “That the United States should substantially reduce its foreign policy commitments.”
1967-1968 RESOLVED: “That the federal government should guarantee a minimum annual cash income to all citizens.”
1968-1969 RESOLVED: “That executive control of United States foreign policy should be significantly curtailed.”
1969-1970 RESOLVED: “That the federal government should grant annually a specific percentage of its income tax revenue to the state governments.”

Spread: To present an inordinately large number of arguments, sometimes with the intention of dropping some later. If the opponent does not mention an argument, it can be claimed as valid by the team that made it. Spreading can be done by talking fast or using economy of language. The best debaters do both.

SQ: South Quad.

Topicality: The issue in a debate as to whether the affirmative’s plan is a legitimate interpretation of the debate resolution.

U-M: University of Michigan

WQ: West Quad.

1966 Summer Between High School & College

Posted on September 12, 2020 by Mike

Transition. Continue reading →

In June of 1996 my dad and I made our first and only road trip together. The primary purpose was to help me decide between the University of Iowa and the University of Michigan.

Our first stop was in Detroit, where my dad introduced me to Howard Finsilver¹, a sales agent for my dad’s employer, BMA, and his son, Sandy, who was my age and planned to attend U-M in the fall. I spent some time with Sandy and a group of his friends from (I think) Mumford High. At least one of them was also going to U-M. Then (as now) most good students in the state hoped to attend U-M. In some parts of the country many top students disparage state schools, but not in Michigan. Sandy and all of his friends were quite impressed that I had been admitted as an out-of-state student.

We shot some pool in the basement of the house of one of the friends. Someone then drove Sandy and me around Detroit to show me some of its highlights. I don’t remember details, but I doubt that the Chamber of Commerce would have agreed with the sites that they chose.

The diag and the bell tower at U-M. — The view from the steps of U-M’s graduate library: the diag and the bell tower.

On the next day dad and I drove the thirty-seven miles to Ann Arbor to talk with a professor from the math department. I don’t remember the specifics of the conversation, but I absolutely fell in love with the town, the campus, the entire atmosphere. And that was before I ever set foot in the football stadium. Just about everyone who visits the town in the spring or summer has this reaction.

On the way to Iowa, we stopped somewhere in Indiana to play some golf. I don’t think that either of us enjoyed the round much.

The last hundred or so miles before we got to Iowa City we saw almost nothing but corn on either side of the road. The professor we talked to at the university made a pretty good case, but I had already decided that I wanted to attend the University of Michigan.

My dad was fairly often involved in providing entertainment for some of the company’s salesmen and regional sales managers when they came to the home office in KC. In the middle of July one of the salesmen had brought two of his sons with him on such a visit. One was close to my age and the other, who also worked as a BMA salesman, was in his twenties. I think that their last name was Roberson. BMA bought three primo tickets for me and the two sons for the Starlight Theater, an outdoor venue in Swope Park that showed musicals in the summer. The show was Bye-Bye Birdie, and it starred the rock group Gary Lewis² and the Playboys. This occurred at the height of the group’s popularity. The group had one big hit, “This Diamond Ring”, and a number of other songs that did well on the charts.

I am sure that the newspaper’s caption was useful to those who thought that J.L. was a government figure. If the wife bent forward just a little or wore her hair down, I would be in this photo.

Gary Lewis’s father was the comic actor, Jerry Lewis. On Monday, July 11, Jerry and his wife and entourage were in KC for their son’s opening night. Believe it or not we were in the fifth row right in the middle. Jerry Lewis was seated in the fourth row between his wife, who did not utter a word all night, and another woman who must have been an agent or something. Jerry Lewis himself sat a few inches from my right knee.

As soon as Jerry Lewis arrived, he consulted privately with another staff member who was seated on the other side of Lewis’s wife. The staffer left for a few minutes and then returned with a large paper cup that was quite different from the kind available at the concession stand. Lewis sipped from it until intermission. Before the play started a few young people came up to ask for his autograph. No dice. The staffer who brought the drink did not let them get close to the star.

During the first few minutes of the performance J.L. tried to record the sound. He had great difficulty operating the recording device. The results of his efforts were a snake’s nest of tape around his feet and a torrent of blue language, the likes of which I would not hear again until I took part in basic training at Fort Polk in 1970. He abandoned the recording project somewhere before intermission.

At intermission J.L. and the staffer exited through a door that was not accessible to the public. They returned just before the play resumed. J.L. was fidgety and generally disruptive throughout the rest of the show. He downed another large paper cup of the mystery beverage during the second half. The Robersons told me that they could smell alcohol.

The play itself was OK. The rest of the actors were fine. I am not a big fan of musical comedy, but I had really liked the story when I saw the movie with Ann-Margret³. Gary Lewis was not believable as a teen dreamboat, and his rendition of “One Last Kiss” was almost laughable, IMHO. The group then played “This Diamond Ring”. They might have also played one or two other songs. There was no screaming from teenage girls in the audience.

I enjoyed Cinderfella, mostly because I was captivated by Anna Maria Alberghetti

At the end the Robersons asked the staff lady politely for autographs, but Jerry Lewis wanted only to get out of the theater immediately. He was in a very bad mood.

My opinion of Jerry Lewis did not change much. I thought that he was a self-centered obnoxious jerk both before and after this occasion. He pretty much ruined the event for everyone within fifteen feet of him.

I don’t remember what I did for the rest of the summer other than mow lawns and play golf. I don’t recall a job.

In late August my parents drove me and some of my belongings to Ann Arbor. Jamie probably came with us. I don’t remember much about the trip except my eagerness to get on with the next phase of my life. Of course, I was also a little nervous.

The University had notified me that I had been assigned to 315 Allen Rumsey⁴ House in West Quad. We drove there and met the third-floor RA, Jim Krogsrud, whom everyone called Gritty. Because classes did not begin until the following week, almost no one had moved in yet. Nearly all incoming freshmen had attended the week-long orientation period during the summer. I was allowed to stay in room 315 while I attended the orientation.

Gritty explained that all the rooms were doubles, but three people had been assigned temporarily to room 315. He said that he was sure that this would be promptly resolved. The family helped me carry my stuff up to the room. Then I said good-bye to them, and they drove off into the sunset.

Gritty asked me a few questions, one of which was whether I played bridge. He was very happy to hear that I did. He and Andy, the house’s RD, liked to play, and they were looking for opponents. He also explained how the laundry and other aspects of life in the dorm worked.

They must have served meals in the West Quad dining room for the few of us who were there that week. I don’t remember having to find restaurants or walk to another dorm.

After breakfast on the day after my parents left I met with my orientation group. Our group leader was a guy. I don’t remember his name. The members of our group were all enrolled in the college of Literature, Science, and the Arts. One of the first orders of business was taking language placement tests. LS&A had a two-year language requirement. I was preparing myself mentally for the Latin test when the group leader told me that he had received a note stating that I did not need to take the test. He said that he had never heard of such a thing. He advised me to take the test anyway.

I showed up for the Latin test. It consisted of a multiple choice grammar test and a sight translation of some lines from Vergil. It seemed pretty easy to me; I was the first person to leave the test room.

I later learned that my 790 on the SAT’s Latin achievement test was the reason why I did not need to take the test. However, I did not get any academic credits for skipping the four semesters of introductory Latin. I did, however get three credits for Advanced Placement English and eight for AP math.

A few days later I got to consult with my academic advisor, who was, of all things, a biology professor. I only met with him for a few minutes once per semester; I don’t recall his name. He told me that I should have been invited to the honors program. He made a few phone calls, after which he told me that I was now in it. He then penciled in a schedule of four classes for me:

Math 195. There were three math sequences, two for honors and one for others. 195 was the first class for the higher ranking of the two introductory honors math sequences.
Great Books, an honors class in the English department.
Chemistry 103, the introductory class for students who did not take chemistry in high school.
Russian 101, which would meet a requirement for math majors—two semesters of Russian or German.
Two semesters of phys ed were also required for freshmen. I picked the course in golf for the first semester.

However, when I got to the actual registration, I discovered that all sections of Great Books were closed. So, I added a 300-level Latin class that focused on Cicero’s orations. It was only a two-hour class, but I already had eleven credits under my belt from the AP tests.

I felt pretty good about this schedule. The subject that worried me the most was chemistry. I figured that I would need to work harder than I did in high school, but that was not really saying much.

While at registration I came across a girl distributing flyers for the U-M debate program. On Tuesday, the day before classes began, the team was holding an open house for anyone who was interested in debate. Based on my lackluster high school career, I had little expectation of debating at U-M, but I took the flyer anyway.

I was on my own in Ann Arbor. I knew almost no one. Only a handful of guys⁵ had moved into Allen Rumsey House yet. The only other person on the third floor of AR was Gritty. I probably should have made an effort to meet people in my orientation group—in all likelihood most were from other states with no friends in Ann Arbor. It never occurred to me. That’s the way I am.

I spent a great deal of time in my room that first week playing one-at-a-time, once-through-the-deck Klondike solitaire. I recorded all of my scores. I also read quite a bit. I had an AM-FM radio, but no other electronics.

In 1966 all freshman students were required to live in dorms. The residence halls were called “houses.” The men’s houses were in three groups. The houses in East Quad and West Quad had only males. South Quad had men’s houses and women’s houses. The remainder of the houses for girls were on the northeast side of central campus in the area known as “The Hill”.

Having been constructed in the thirties, Allen Rumsey House (#1 in the above photo) was the oldest dorm on campus. Little had been done to modernize it in the ensuing decades. With approximately one hundred guys, it was also the smallest house.

On the east side was a corridor between AR and the International House (#3). Wenley House (2), which was almost as old as AR, shared a wall on the west. South Quad was to the south, on the other side of East Madison St. On the north side was a courtyard. Two doors on the other side of led to the central section of West Quad, which contained the cafeteria and a lounge area. A third door led to the bowling alley (#4) and a shortcut to the Michigan Union (#5) and the rest of the central campus, the site of all my classes.

I quickly found the lounge on the first floor of Allen Rumsey House. It had comfortable chairs, a trophy case, a rug, and a piano. The house subscribed to the Michigan Daily, the Ann Arbor News, and a few magazines, including, I later learned, Playboy.

Downstairs was a game room with a small pool table, a ping pong table, and a free juke box! A section of this room and a separate room had televisions and chairs. Both TVs were 19″ black and whites. Next to the small TV room was a study hall that AR shared with Wenley House.

I eventually got up the nerve to shoot pool with another lonely guy named Dan Schuman. He had no hair anywhere on his body, and he was very cynical. We got along great. We played eight-ball. Although he was a better shot than I was, he was unaccustomed to an opponent who always left the cue ball pinned to a rail. The games were long and, for him, frustrating. I usually won.

Used books for every class could be purchased at the two big bookstores, Ulrich’s and Follett’s. Ulrich’s was on South University; Follett’s was on State St. I bought the textbooks for Russian, Math, and Chemistry at one of them. The Latin class had no textbook.

I think that classes started on the Wednesday after Labor Day, September 7. By Tuesday I knew that my roommates in 315 were Ed Agnew from Bloomfield, MI, and Paul Stoner from Adrian. Across the hall in 314 was Dave Zuk. His assigned roommate did not show up. So, Gritty had us draw straws or something to decide who would move across the hall. Paul was selected.

This was good news and bad news. I did not like Ed very much, but I did like his stereo. His taste in music did not accord with mine or anyone else’s that I have ever met. He loved “big band” music, and his all-time favorite recording was the soundtrack from Victory at Sea. However, he did let me use his stereo when he was not around, which, I soon discovered, was essentially every afternoon and evening.

I did not bring any of my records, but 1966 was an exceptional year for popular music. I spent most of my savings on albums. That is to say, I bought three or four records.

I didn't have any, but this is what they looked like. — I didn’t have any, but this is what razor blades looked like in the sixties.

Our room was on the north (courtyard) side. I claimed the bed on the west side, leaving the one on the east side for Ed. Two big windows on the north side were fronted by a large double desk with two chairs. The east wall was an external wall, but there were no windows. We each had a dresser. Maybe we shared a closet. There was a sink with a mirror over it on my side. There was also a slot over the sink for disposal of dull razor blades. I have never seen anything like it anywhere else. I wonder how many blades were inside the wall. I used an electric razor in college. Each room had a plain wall phone. I don’t remember whether they allowed us to make calls on it or not. To get mail you had to walk to the center part of West Quad next to the cafeteria.

I always just walked up State St. to the Frieze Bldg. I don't know why google maps advises avoiding it. — I always just walked up State St. to the Frieze Bldg. I don’t know why google maps advises avoiding it.

I attended the debate meeting in a room on the second floor of the Frieze Building, the headquarters of the speech department. About twenty people attended. We got to meet Dr. Bill Colburn and a couple of grad student coaches, including Jeff Sampson, who debated at Northwestern, a national power. Evidently there was no individual events program.

All of the new people filled out a form outlining our experience and interests, and then we watched a debate between two of the varsity teams. I thought that they were both horrible, and I was shocked to learn that they were U-M’s best teams.

I was paired with a fellow from Portland, ME, named Bob Hirshon. They told us that the topic was “Resolved that the United States should substantially reduce its foreign policy commitments.” Bill and Jeff privately made it clear that they were excited that Bob and I were interested in debate, and they wanted us to represent U-M at the Michigan Intercollegiate Speech League (MISL) novice tournament in October. We would be debating only on the negative. I was second negative.

I was shocked to be on the receiving end of all of this attention. I was uncertain whether I would be able to handle it, but I agreed to try. So did Bob.

1. Howard Finsilver died in 2005.

2. According to Wikipedia Gary Lewis was a better drummer than a singer. His voice was overdubbed on the recordings of his hits. I was surprised to learn that he was drafted the following January and served in Vietnam and Korea. After his hitch in the army he stayed on the fringes of show business with new incarnations of his band. In 2020 he was still performing at age 74.

3. Just to be clear, Ann-Margret appeared in the movie; she wasn’t my date.

4. Ann Arbor is named after Ann Allen and Ann Rumsey, early settlers of the town.

5. In 1966 there were no coed dorms at U-M. In fact, female students were not even allowed to enter Allen Rumsey House except under special circumstances.

Wavablog

Memoirs, bridge, popes, travel, and other stuff

Tag Archives: University of Michigan

1972-1974 Connecticut: Sports

1972-1974 Connecticut: Actuarial Exams

1972 April-June: Transition to Connecticut

1966-1970 U-M: Lingo and Abbreviations

1966 Summer Between High School & College