My brother, George (SKS ’60), spent five years on the Hillside. When he
came home on vacations, his stories about harvesting potatoes, cleaning his
room, sweeping the lake, and the “job system” seemed far-fetched—but he
loved the school. I followed him the fall after he graduated, and in 1964
received the same handwritten diploma from Headmaster L. Wynne Wister.
Both of us were on scholarships, though we didn’t know it at the time.
Everyone had a job, waited tables, and competed on the athletic fields.
Classes were small, and the Masters knew us as well as our classmates did.
When my father lost his job during my 5th form year, my parents reassured
me I could continue at SKS—unaware that our scholarships quietly made
this possible. Years later my mother confided that Mr. Wister had written
each year when our aid was renewed, reminding my parents that, when able,
our family had a responsibility to give back.
For years my mother would recall Mr. Wister’s terms, often enough that I
felt guilty about being what I thought was a freeloader. His expectation of
reciprocity was, of course, reasonable.
In the years leading up to the Centennial, my Class of 1964 began monthly
Zoom calls, reminiscing about our adolescent years and ultimately deciding
to compile an anthology of memories. That process inspired me to finally
repay my debt to the school that prepared me so well—for college, for the
Marines, and for a career in finance. A burden has been lifted from my
shoulders, and my parents would be proud.
Reflecting on our nine combined years at SKS, I am pleased to give back,
even if I cannot hope to return as much as I received.
