Madeira Today Fall 2007

MadeiraToday

FALL 2007

Contents

ABOUT THE COVERThe Madeira School Store

2 Headline

4 Madeira Identity Issue

6 Identity, A Global Perspective

9 Martin Ferrell

11 Mighty Madeira Men

12 My Life in Schools

16 Catalina Keilhaver

17 Third Culture Kid

18 Class Act: Brooke Russell Astor ’19

20 Odds & Ends

page 4 page 18

Madeira TodayFall 2007, Number 174

Published by The Madeira School

8328 Georgetown Pike

McLean, Virginia 22102-1200

Megan Deardourff, Editor

Photography: Megan Deardourff,

Cade Miller, Lloyd Woolf

Board of Directors 2007-08

Elizabeth Hadden Alexander ’46 (P’71, ’75)

Richard J. Andreano, Jr. (P’06, ’08)

Benton Burroughs, Jr. (P’03)

Sarah Pettit Daignault ’66

Kimberly Williamson Darden ’75

CeCe Davenport ’89

Katharine Beal Davis ’64

Arthur T. Dean (P’08, ’11)

Frances von Stade Downing ’74

Alice Ayres Edmonds ’91

Elisabeth Griffith, Ph.D., Headmistress

Robert K. Harriman (P’07)

Laura Walton Hirschfeld ’84

Terry Huffington ’72 (P’07)

Priscilla Payne Hurd ’38 (P’68),

Director Emerita

Jane Lawson-Bell ’76

C. Reed Montague ’82

Nancy Miller Montgomery ’60

Misti Mukherjee ’84

Hilary O’Donnell (P’08)

Lori E. Parker ’82

Clark Ragsdale (P’07)

Mary Cosby Rinehart ’57

Nancy Rosebush (P’98, ’00)

Jennifer Evers Shakeshaft ’91

Betsy Licht Turner ’77

Thomas Vandeveer (P’07)

Linda Clark Waterman ’58

Daniel Wellington (P’02)

Perry Carpenter Wheelock ’69 (P’98, ’01)

Madeira Today is published for alumnae,

parents and friends of the School. Please

send any letters to the editor to feedback@

madeira.org

2 M A d E I R A T O d Ay

econd child, tomboy, Midwesterner, student leader, swimmer, exchange student, Wellesley woman, law school dropout,

protest marcher, Ph.D., feminist, author, trophy wife, stepmother, history professor, mom, grandmother, domestic diva, gardener,

headmistress, Red Sox fan, widow, mother of the bride: those are phrases that describe and define me.

Beverly Daniel Tatum, Ph.D., president of Spelman College and author of Why Are

All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria? and, more recently, Can We Talk About

Race? uses such descriptions as part of an identity exercise. When she was a dean at Mount

Holyoke, she asked students to choose only five adjectives to define themselves. Her

students might respond, “athlete, geek, drama queen, rapper, and short.” What she also

found was that in identifying themselves, every respondent except white males added

the significant descriptions that define them as different from the dominant group.

For example, “Asian, female, lesbian, Buddhist, economist” or “female, Jewish, Southern, single mom, poet.” President Franklin

Delano Roosevelt, a white male, identified himself simply as “a gentleman, a Christian, and a Democrat.”

Defining oneself is part of Madeira’s “hidden curriculum.” It is one of the developmental tasks of adolescents. According to

psychologist Jean Piaget, girls and boys between the ages of thirteen and eighteen create independent identities to separate from

their parents, define their own value systems, and establish independent friendships. Some people accomplish this by high school

graduation. Some people take longer to achieve these goals, which accounts for recent news stories about delayed adolescence

among some twenty-somethings.

S

MADEIRA TODAY

H e a d l i n et e r m o f i d e n t i t y

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In addition to learning to think critically, write clearly,

debate cogently, conduct research, analyze data, solve

problems, and speak fluently in more than one language,

as well as completing their graduation requirements within

each academic discipline, Madeira girls need to define

their identities and to grow up. Choosing identity as our

annual theme allowed us to be even more thoughtful about

conversations we were already having informally. Choosing

identity also met a goal of the

Diversity Council, that we make

sure every girl feels psychologically

safe enough here to share essential

elements of herself, that when she

unpacks her metaphorical backpack,

she can unwrap important parts of

herself.

To get us started in sharing our

personal stories and defining our

identities this year, we invited a

storyteller to be our first All School

Meeting speaker. Sandi Hannibal, a

professional storyteller and librarian

at The Norwood School (and

former sixteen-year Milton Academy

administrator) mesmerized the

whole school from center stage. She

told stories of her own adolescence,

growing up as an African American girl in the District of

Columbia in the 1950s, and asked us, in small groups, to

tell our own stories. Among the prompts were these: What

words describe you? Who is important in your life? What

do you remember about first grade? What was your first day

at Madeira like? What is the origin of your name? Choose

an object to tell your story—a picture, a toy, a CD, a family

treasure. Describe yourself in terms of ethnicity, geography,

race, class, language, gender, religion, family, or birth order.

Remember when …

By providing advisors with prompts, she launched a season

of “cultural biographies.” In sundry small groups—with our

advisee groups, during meals, in meetings, whenever two

or more Madeira people are together, we will share our life

stories. We will be enjoying these connections all year. The

outcome so far has been an increased appreciation among

campus colleagues for what individuals do and an increased

empathy among girls for classmates.

One of the reasons I think this

exercise resonates with each of us

is because by telling stories we not

only define ourselves, but we can

also generate our own creation

myths. Newsweek editor, author,

and Madeira Centennial speaker

Anna Quindlen wrote about this

process in the life of Katharine

Meyer Graham ’34 (Newsweek,

7.30.01). When asked how she

evolved from an insecure, too-tall

girl into a muckraking journalist,

and then from discounted

bride and desolate widow into

Pulitzer-winning publisher of The

Washington Post, Mrs. Graham

replied, referring to her generation,

“We did it like a cake, layer by

layer.” Describing this change in Mrs. Graham from “good girl

to great woman,” Quindlen describes a series of defeats and

triumphs. In telling Graham’s story, Quindlen demonstrates

that accomplishments and self doubt are not mutually

exclusive. A shy girl can become head of school. A mom can

become a magnate. A first lady can become a senator.

It is possible to rewrite your life, but you need to begin by

crafting an identity, sharing it, and imagining its future. n

Second child, tomboy, Midwesterner,

student leader, swimmer, exchange

student, Wellesley woman, law

school dropout, protest marcher,

Ph.D., feminist, author, thophy

wife, stepmother, history professor,

mom, grandmother, gardener,

headmistress, Red Sox fan, widow,

mother of the bride: those are

phrases that describe and define me.

identity

MA

DE

IR

A

I S S U E

identity


All ninth graders at Madeira take public speaking as part of

their Co-Curriculum program. One of the assignments is

to think about identity, who they are and where they come

from, and present a one minute “cultural biography.” Many

girls chronicle their ancestry, some definite themselves by

where they have traveled, while others chose one location,

person, or symbol that defines how they think of themselves.

The approaches are as diverse and thoughtful as the girls

themselves.

AnA OlsOn ’10ICE CREAM: two simple words. Separate they are delicious in

their own ways. Together, they evoke images of hot summer

days, the chilly gust of AC from an open store door, and sticky

fingers and chins. I believe that ice cream has the power to

unite the world. It can be found almost everywhere: Italy,

Saudi Arabia, and the East Wing of the National Gallery of

Art, to name a few places. It goes by many names—ice cream,

frozen yogurt, sherbet, sorbet, and gelato—but they all mean

the same thing: cold, sugary goodness in a cup or a cone with

your choice of toppings. In my own travels, I have never had

difficulty locating an ice cream store. I have also learned that

not all ice cream is created equal. In Turkey, for example, they

put a special kind of tree sap in it to prevent it from melting

too quickly in the sizzling summer sun.

Ice cream is the friend of moody teenage girls, the soft,

smooth treat given after tonsillectomies, and the dessert of

choice for couples everywhere.

I ask you to imagine a world in which the enemies in a war

were forced to share a bowl of ice cream each morning. And

imagine the universal cramp relief if premenstrual girls in the

United States shared the secret of Ben and Jerry’s with the rest

of the world. In fact, as far as I’m concerned, ice cream can

replace most medicines (the only side effect is brain freeze).

To that effect, I once saw a Simpsons episode in which Homer

concocted homemade Prozac, dipped his finger in it, and

announced, “Needs more ice cream”.

Homer was on the right track. A scoop (or three) of ice cream

can make anyone feel better. I’m sure there’s a scientific

reason, but I’d much rather just think of it as having divine

healing powers. I feel I can say with confidence that ice cream

connects the children (and adults) of the world with its cold,

creamy bliss. I believe in rocky road, Cherry Garcia, raspberry,

lemon, bittersweet chocolate, vanilla, and my personal

favorite, mint chocolate chip. In this I believe.

GrAce AdAms ’10What enables the diversity of my family is a concept feared

by young children but strongly desired by some teenagers,

a concept enforced by our parents: divorce. My mother and

father, my grandparents on both sides of my family tree,

and even their parents all divorced. But why? What could be

so traumatic to cause so many in a family to split? I guess

another way to phrase this could be what differences haunt

my family’s culture and heritage?

When my mother reflects on her relationship with my father,

she answers my question. We are social opposites, and at

some point in history one culture held dominion over the

other. My father’s surname is Adams, very English, yes? My

father’s father was not too distantly related to the Adams

presidents, a few of our founding fathers who stood fast to

the English way. My grandfather lived in New England nearly

all of his life, which began with being sent to boarding school

when he was only seven, and his mother, Dorothy, would

send extra bills so the school would keep him there over

summer vacation as well, separating him entirely from his

parents’ messy world.

The first woman my grandfather married came from the

other end of our own divorced nation, the Confederacy that

i d e n t i t ya g l o b a l p e r s p e c t i v e

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nearly declared itself its very own nation, the deep South. The

McGowins are of Scottish decent, a once oppressed “country”

whose oppressor is none other than the United Kingdom. The

McGowins were accustomed to splitting from their children

when they were at a young age, just like the Adams family.

If those families seemed just a bit different, take a moment

to consider my mother’s family. My mother never regretted

divorcing my father a single second. The Conlons are of

Irish descent, along with some poor Polish and Hungarian

blood. Her family came to New Jersey with little money, every

generation remaining working class. Nearly every generation

also raised themselves. My grandfather was in the Navy, never

home, and my grandmother rarely looked at her children.

This type of abuse sparked creativity among my mother

and her brothers, who all went off to college and became

extremely creative individuals with strong backbones. There

was no money to inherit when someone died, just more debt

to be paid. The Conlons are reliable, hard-working people,

and the Adams and McGowin families are rich and dependent

on the previously successful members.

There is a ring that still exists in the Adams family. It is an

engagement ring first given to Dorothy Adams by Pierpont

Adams. With each couple, shortly after the ring

is received, a divorce happens. My great-

grandparents, then my grandparents, and

then my own parents all divorced. My

father tried to avoid this by giving

my mother the ring for their tenth

anniversary, but of course they split

in their eleventh year. Wish me luck

in the marriage I seek, and hope it

doesn’t fail.

HAnnAH KIm ’10Hi, everyone! Before I tell you my name, I

want to briefly tell you about my background.

I was born as the eldest child of my family. My

Dad decided to name me Hannah, ‘Han-nah’ in Korean

pronunciation, wanting me to become an international lady.

As he wished, Hannah Kim is standing here in the USA to

have a broader view of life with many different people.

My dream is to be a person who can make many people in

the world happy without making any victims. I want to be

a person who can even communicate with aliens as a small

particle of the universe. As the universe was expanded from

the Big Bang, I wish to be a person who can be a part of the

expansion of the universe’s communication.

I live in a blue planet called the Earth, the third planet of the

solar system. At about 37.5 degrees of the Earth’s latitude,

there sits my lovely country, Korea. She is classified as a part

of Asia. There, in the tiger-shaped peninsula, I have spent

most of my life surrounded by people with similar eye color

and hair color. To tell the truth, people who have different

appearance from me were almost a fantasy world, a story of

a kingdom far, far away to me. I should admit that it is quite

a development for me to be even standing here with people

from many different cultures.

From here, I want to grow as someone who aims for

something that is unlimited, a virtue we call love, that can fill

all the empty parts of the world. I once heard that Mozart’s

music had a structure similar to that of DNA. If it is human

instinct to resemble a part of nature, I want to be a person

who can expand the virtue of love to the world as

the universe started from a small particle.

As a small particle of a universe, I wish

for a big bang that would make the

world much happier.


JennA PUGrAnT ’10The story of my family name has been passed down from

generation to generation in our family.

It starts way back in the

late 1800s, when the

violent anti-Semitic

pogrom movements

were occurring in

Russia. My great-great-

grandfather, who was

in the heart of these

riots, decided to immigrate

to the United States to find refuge from the horror. It was a

bold move on his part considering that he spoke no English,

had no contacts, and had very little money to establish a

living here.

When he reached Ellis Island and got off his ship, he was met

by an officer who was taking the names of the immigrants

entering the U.S. When the officer asked him, “What is your

name,” my great-great-grandfather, who spoke no English

and had no means of understanding him, thought that he

had asked, “Why did you come?” My grandfather answered

“Pogrom.” The officer wrote down the name “Pugrant” and

that was the name he kept and passed down through the

generations of my family.

I’ve come to find that people often have a hard time

pronouncing my family’s last name, but I’m not bothered by

it because I know the story behind it and I am proud of where

it came from.

mIA YOUnG ’10At 10:25 a.m. on

Tuesday, January 5,

1993, at Washington

Hospital Center in

NE Washington, D.C,

weighing 5 lbs., 12 oz.

and 14 1/2 inches long, Mia Renee

Young was born. Before I am a girl I am first and foremost

black. “Energetic and moody” described me as a baby and still

describes me to this day. I was born to Veronica Lynn Young

and Phineas Antonio Young. My lovely mother Veronica

is the daughter of Wilbur and Carolyn Lockard, who are

native Washingtonians. Carolyn Virginia Lockard’s mother

is Florine Jones, and her father is James Jones, who are also

native Washingtonians. Wilbur Lockard’s mother was Eloise

Lockard from SE Washington, D.C. Wilbur’s father George

Lockard was from Orangeburg, South Carolina. Phineas

is the son of Catherine and James Young, who are both

native Washingtonians. Catherine Hamilton Young is from

Dix Street, Washington, D.C. James Floyd Young Jr. is from

Buchanan Street NE, Washington, DC.

All of the people that I just mentioned had a major part in the

development of my life. My parents have always been there

to give me their love, support, and comfort. My grandparents

have given me their wisdom and their kindness. Where am

I from? I am from Phineas and Veronica Young. I am from

Wilbur and Carolyn Lockard. I am from Catherine and

James Young. I am from Eloise and George Lockard. I am

from 908 Eastern Avenue. I am from First Baptist Church of

Glenarden with Pastor John K. Jenkins Sr. I am from Naylor

Road Elementary School. I am from Nannie Helen Burroughs

Elementary School. I am from KIPP DC: KEY Academy. I

am from the Madeira School. I am from many things. That’s

where I’m from. n

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Books are one of the great joys of my life. And two books,

in particular, have played a prominent role in my life and

thinking. These two books are Dostoevsky’s The Brothers

Karamazov and Goethe’s Faust. I have returned to these two

books often because what has interested me is a certain

dialogue that exists between the two. On the one hand, in

Faust, we are given Goethe’s position on the human search

for truth and its relationship to salvation. For Goethe, the

search itself is enough to earn salvation, even a search devoid

of faith in God. The

search itself is the

holy act that earns

Faust salvation, and

a Christian salvation

at that. Never mind

Faust’s selling of his

soul to the Devil.

Never mind Faust’s

order at the end to

burn the home of

Baucis and Philemon

(and them with it) as

the final obstruction of his grand view and plan. The search

for knowledge and truth, according to Goethe, makes Faust

worthy. Faust is literally plucked from the jaws of Hell as the

angels and his former love, Gretchen, intercede on his behalf.

On the other hand is Dostoevsky, who rejects emphatically

the worthiness of Faust. For Dostoevsky, the sine qua non of

any search must be its groundedness in faith, and particularly

faith in God. In his creation of the middle Karamazov, Ivan,

Dostoevsky has created an explicit response to Goethe and

the Faustian search. It is precisely the faithlessness of Ivan’s

hyper-intellectual search for truth that ultimately leads him

to insanity and not salvation. Accordingly, at the height of

this madness, Ivan is visited in an hallucination by none

other than Goethe’s Mephistopheles, now threadbare, out

of fashion in his dress, clearly fallen on hard times. In the

Brothers Karamazov, it is not the faithless searcher Ivan, but

his younger, faith-ful brother Alyosha whom Dostoevsky has

created as the embodiment of Goodness. Alyosha, a searcher

in his own right, is far from perfect. He, too, is tainted by the

Karamazov (human) curse. Alyosha, however, is led to truth

by his goodness and the faithfulness of his search.

M a r t i n F e r r e l lBooks are one of the

great joys of my life. And

two books, in particular,

have played a prominent

role in my life and

thinking. These two books

are dostoevsky’s The

Brothers Karamazov and

Goethe’s Faust.

M a d e i r a H i st o ry t e a c H e r , c a M p u s r e s i d e n t, fat H e r , r u n n e r , s c H o la r

1 0 M A d E I R A T O d Ay

These competing worldviews interest me personally and

professionally. Certainly as a teacher of history to adolescents

I am interested in the search—mine and theirs—and

its nature. Why, we ask, are we engaged in this project

of education? On a more mundane level, why do they

dutifully come to my class every day, more or less on time

and with more or less the correct materials, and submit

to my regulations for the smooth running of class? And if

their initial answers to this question are

themselves mundane, then

how can we infuse such a ritual with

more meaning? There must be a search, regardless of what

form it takes. My primary interest in working with adolescents

is in working out what form our respective searches might

take. Without any search, we simply have individuals and

societies pursuing at breakneck speed the acquisition of

material goods with little or no regard for humans or

humanity.

One of my principal beliefs about education is that the

teacher must lead his students to, but not provide for them,

the questions and answers, let alone define for them what

their particular worldview or search should look like. I teach

World and European History to high school students, so

a good deal of what we do involves skill acquisition and

development. Sometimes this process can be rather didactic

in nature. But when we approach the stuff of History, the

Big Ideas, we do it through seminars that are grounded

in meaningful texts. The deepest learning and the careful

consideration of ideas rarely occur during one of my

scintillating lectures. Most of the real learning occurs when

students are asked to work out the great ideas themselves, to

articulate their position on these ideas in response to those

of their peers, and when they are asked to do this based on

their work with a common text. All of these components

are essential. First, informed participation

is necessary. Opinions with no basis in

anything are usually rejected as groundless.

And even if this is lamentably not always

the case in our society, as a teacher, I want

them to believe that being informed is

the prerequisite for being taken seriously.

Second, they need to believe in their

own power to grapple with the Big Ideas

of Humanity. This empowerment can

not occur in a classroom in which every

activity is didactically controlled by me,

the Teacher. Third, it is essential to these

seminars that students be able to engage

in civil discussion. This obviously requires

civility on their part, but it also requires them to be articulate.

Personally, I am interested in these questions. And more

profound than my calling to teaching, even, has been my

calling as a parent. This position in my life has both enriched

and been enriched by my reading of these texts. Parenting,

after all, is an enormous act of faith. What implications do

my relationship with, and my relationship to, my daughter

have for the search? Loving and teaching, being loved and

being taught by a child would certainly seem to rail against

the faithless search. How does one cultivate, for instance, the

essential faculty of wonder within a child without being open

to wonder oneself? Believing that the search is worthy and

using at least part of my life to continue the search is, for me,

how I cultivate wonder in my life. n

One of my principal

beliefs about education

is that the teacher must

lead his students to, but

not provide for them, the

questions and answers,

let alone define for them

what their particular

worldview or search

should look like.

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May6,2007

DearDr.Griffith,

Foryourconsideration,I’dliketoproposetwonomineesfortheVirginiaPeddleCommunityServiceAward.Theseindividualsaretruesuperheroes,capedcrusadersofTheMadeiraSchoolcampus.Begrudgingly,they’vetradedthemoretypicalheroiccostumesofflowingcapes,spandextights,andmysterymasksforlessassumingbluechinosandshirts,

butregardlessoftheirgarb,IrecognizeMortyTubridyandZackHaneyofthebuildingsandgroundscrewasexcellent

candidatesfortheVirginiaPeddleCommunityServiceAward.

MightyMorphingMortyhasworkedatMadeirasince1969.Transformingfromstableladtobuildingsandgroundsman,MortyhasservedtheMadeiracommunityfor38years.EmigratingfromIreland,MortyfirstfoundworkonahorsefarminRestonbutquicklyfoundhiswaytoMadeira.Workinginthestablesfortenyearsbeforejoiningthebuildingsandgroundsstaff,Mortyhasproventobealoyalanddedicatedemployee.Astrongandsilenttype,Mortytackleseverytaskwithquietdeterminationandwithouthesitation.

Ofcourseeverysuperheromusthaveasidekick,andMightyMorphingMortywouldfaceevengreaterdailyperilwithoutZeroSlackZack.Withhiszestysmileandzanyhumor,Zackcharmshiswaypastallthatstandsinhisway.ZackjoinedtheMadeiracommunityin2001andquicklybecamefamiliarwithallpartsof

campusandthesundrymachineryusedtomaintainit.Steadfastandproficient,Zack’sleadershiponthebuildingsandgroundsstaffhelpedmakeJanetandJunior

Baughman’sretirementsfromMadeiraseamless.Unflappable,Zackwillinglyacceptsanyandallchallenges.

Together,MortyandZackareapowerfulpair.MowingandliningplayingfieldswithlightningspeedsothathockeyballsontheMadeirafieldsflyfasterandstraighter

thanonanyotherfieldintheISL.Shovelingandplowingsnowasthefirstflakeshittheground,makingMadeira’sroadwaysandparkinglotspassableevenwhenFairfax

Countyroadsarenot.TrimmingandclippingcontinuouslyuntilMadeira’smeticulouslymanicuredgroundsaretheenvyofeverymemberoftheGreatFallsGardenClub.Stalwart

andresilient,MortyandZackneverrestuntiltheirjobiscomplete.

AllmembersoftheMadeiraFacilitiesServicestaffaresuperhumanintheirownway,butMortyandZackhavedistinguishedthemselvesabovetherest.BuildingsandGroundswork

ishardlabor,tiresome,andperformedinallweatherextremes.YetMortyandZackdoanoutstandingjob,oftenwithoutthanksorrecognition.EverymemberoftheMadeiracommunitycanresteasyknowingthatthecareofourcampusisinthecapablehandsofsuchheroes.

Respectfully,SusanWentzel

Mighty Madeira MenLast spring, Sue Wentzel, Madeira’s Director of Riding, nominated extraordinary members of the Madeira facilities team, Morty Tubridy and Zach Haney, for the annual Peddle Community Service Award. When she gave them the award at closing Convocation, Dr. Griffith read Ms. Wentzel’s letter, though no one in the Madeira community was surprised by Zach and Morty’s super contributions.

M


“My life in schools.” To some this phrase could mean their

identity as a student, to others their professional identity as

teacher or administrator. This phrase is much more defining

for me. My identity, both personal and professional, has been

shaped by my life in schools, more specifically my life in

independent schools, schools as diverse as the children who

attend them, yet united by one common shared value—the

fact that as independent schools they have the freedom always

to do what is in the best interest of children.

I am the product of two independent school educators,

neither of whom attended independent schools themselves.

My childhood memories are full of vivid scenes that include

people and events on boarding school campuses. My

adolescence was defined by my experience as a student in a

variety of independent schools. Friendships I developed with

peers and with adults were shaped and made richer because

they were taking place in an independent school. As an adult,

my career and professional skills have been nurtured and

expanded by my work in an independent school and the

people and experiences I have encountered.

Earliest memories: six years old

Mercersburg Academy, South Central Pennsylvania the 1970s

Father: chaplain, teacher, football, basketball, track coach

Mother: English teacher, ESOL teacher

As a family we ate all our meals in the dining hall—formal

sit-down lunches and dinners. My younger brother and I and

my parents sat at the head of the table, with seven or eight

students down the sides of the rectangle, whom at the time I

saw as adults rather than the teenagers they were.

My first introduction to people who did not look like me

and came from faraway places were two of my mother’s male

ESL students: Momadu from Gambia and Shamshir from

Bangladesh, who frequented our house for extra help.

My friends, who were other faculty children, and I played

school in my mother’s classroom, did skits on the stage of the

theater, and spent Friday nights in the gym, with a free swim

followed by hide and seek (in the whole building), jumping

from the indoor track onto piles of wrestling mats. We gave

pretend speeches from the pulpit in the chapel and climbed

the “thousands” of steps up into the tower to ring the chapel

bells. The safety, independence and creative play that campus

allowed shaped me in very definite ways.

Flash forward to 1979, when my father was named the

headmaster of North Country School, a small, junior,

boarding school located five miles outside of Lake Placid,

New York. It was a community that valued and was defined

by a commitment to environmentalism, organic food,

sustainability, animals, and teachers who played the role of

parents to the 87 fourth through eighth graders who lived

at the school. We lived in houses as opposed to dorms. In

seventh and eighth grade I did not live in the same house as

my parents. I wanted to be like the other kids at the school,

and there were no other faculty or staff children. We grew our

own food, had no processed sugar (except Saturday night ice

My life in schools...M E R E d y T H C O L E , A S S I S T A N T H E A d O F S C H O O L[ ]

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cream). We did barn chores, and I learned how to milk a goat,

shovel manure, split wood, harvest and plant, make maple

syrup and…pluck a chicken…!

I was introduced to pushing myself physically. I climbed

mountains, went on winter camping trips, learned to down-

hill and cross-country ski, ride a horse, and ice skate. I was

introduced to that special breed of teacher, the one who is

there for students 24/7—it took that kind of teacher to get me

through algebra. I have vivid and fond memories of sitting at

the kitchen table of my house (dorm) with my house father

who was also my algebra teacher, and finally those equations

clicked. Saturday night activities provided me with an

introduction to old movies, North By Northwest and Rebecca,

and a sing-along with Pete Seeger (the real Pete Seeger!).

Looking back, I remember the eighth grade play (a norm in

independent middle schools) and the confidence it provided

me—I thought I could sing and act! As an eighth grader I was

introduced to the role of student leadership, a position that

both interested and inspired me.

In tenth grade I reluctantly found myself at a small Quaker

boarding school somewhere in the fields of Ohio. I had not

wanted to move. I did not care for the location, and the only

thing that came close to friends were my father, mother, and

younger brother. I was told I had to live in the dorm, as all 90

students lived in dorms. Finally, I had no clue what Quaker

meant or was. I was at Olney Friends School for only a year,

but the lessons learned were deep and life long. Despite

initially finding 30 minutes of daily silence, 60 minutes on

Sundays, a challenge (I counted lots of shoes), I grew to

appreciate silence, very personal and individual expressions of

spirituality, and the calmness of mind and clarity of thinking

that the silence of a group provided. My English teacher took

me and my writing seriously, and I developed an appreciation

for editing and re-writing (something my mother had tried to

instill for years). I also established a student-adult friendship

that would ultimately be the source of my introduction not

only to Madeira, but to my husband.

Flash forward to eleventh grade. I am a new junior at a girls’

boarding school in Middleburg, Virginia. I did finally learn

where Barnesville, Ohio, was on the map, and that its biggest

claim to fame was that it annually produced the country’s

largest pumpkin. I was at that point a very self-conscious

sixteen-year-old who did not come from a line of boarding

school graduates. My father, the change agent headmaster,

went head first into OUR

new school making

changes and enraging

the senior class in such

a way that I had to give

great thought to how I

was going to establish

my own identity. This

was the first time

I recall taking a

stand and aligning

myself with

what I believed

was the right

thing to do, as

opposed to the

popular or more

socially acceptable thing to do. It was in this

environment that I began to think of myself as a confident

and competent decision maker.

It was not until I was at a girls’ school that I felt as though

I was my authentic self in the classroom. I had never

considered myself a very strong student. As the daughter of

teachers, I have no recollection of ever discussing grades or

my parents’ academic expectations for me. I replaced my

self-conscious “what do the boys think of me” thoughts with

thoughts about the actual subject matter. I had a few teachers

whose own passion and interest in their subject area got me

so excited that to this day I still remember class discussions

about the differences between the trench warfare of WWI

and the introduction of Panzer tanks in WWII. My history

teacher, Mr. English, shared his passion in a way no college

My life in schools...]

Meredyth, age 5


professor ever did

with me. Mrs.

Hemmingway,

the daughter

of an ordained

minister, taught

me more about

Christianity

through the study

of art history than

I had learned to

date in any other forum. I still count the

A+ I received on my art history final exam

my senior year as one of my formative

confidence builders!

It was in this girls’ school that student

government became a reality for me. I

decided to run for senior class president. I

lost to a more popular girl who ultimately,

due to a discipline incident, lost her

position, and I became president by default.

While only at Foxcroft for two years, I attribute my confidence

and the acknowledgement of the power of confidence to my

time and experiences there, in an all girls environment.

While the houses my family lived in throughout my

childhood were as interesting and unique as the schools that

owned them, they were not houses that were ours. When

I was twelve, my parents did buy a house that was ours, a

summer place on the shores of Lake Champlain in upstate

New York. My summers were filled with independence,

summer jobs, and family friends. This small enclave of

Adirondack camps attracted a great number of other

vacationing independent school teachers and administrators.

From an early age family friends were encouraging me to be

a teacher. They observed my interest in children, babysitting

initially and overseeing a summer youth program.

I have always wanted to work in a school.

I knew I was effective with children and

found the work fulfilling. I appreciated

the rich fabric of a school community.

While to many the fuzzy boundaries

between home and work, time and

space are completely unnerving, it is

my only reality.

The spring of 1989 found me

searching for jobs at independent schools.

Interestingly, the education courses I took in

college did not convince me to immediately

pursue a graduate degree in education.

Rather, I was ready to jump into a school.

As luck would have it I found my way to

Madeira. I began as the admissions associate

in July of 1989.

It was at this juncture that my education as

a school leader began. While I have never

enrolled in a traditional graduate school

program, my eighteen years at Madeira have provided me

with rich and valuable training. I am the recipient of a

rather unorthodox advanced degree in independent school

leadership. I can easily provide a transcript complete with

course descriptions, textbooks, and a list of professors. The

entry I would provide in my program summary would include

the remarkable impact “my professors” and their work had

and continue to have on me.

I have been a campus resident for the past nine years. I

have held a variety of titles with constantly expanding

responsibility. Not a day goes by that I do not learn

something or discover that I need to learn something. I love

being engaged in work that requires and values lifelong

learning. I advise, I teach, I manage, I inspire, I problem-solve

and I trouble-shoot. I must be consistent and steady, yet

flexible and agile.

I have always wanted

to work in a school. I

knew I was effective

with children and found

the work fulfilling. I

appreciated the rich

fabric of a school

community.

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A typical day might include the following, but will never be

like the one before:

8:00 meeting with director of security

8:45 review of a T-shirt design for the class of ’08

9:30 National Coalition of Girls Schools conference call

10:10 All School Meeting

10:35 C period ESOL class

11:30 lunch—a table of faculty and staff

12:30 admissions panel

1:30 meeting with marketing team

4:00 phone call from my children telling me they are home

4:05 advisee conference

4:30 cheering on the field hockey team

6:00 board buildings and grounds meeting

7:00 dorm duty overnight

Independent school is my family’s “business.” My brother

works at an independent school. My children are writing

the first chapter of their lives, which has many similarities to

my own as they have the gift and luxury of growing up on

a campus so rich in natural beauty, superior facilities, and

amazing people.

If my eighteen years of learning at Madeira were turned into a

transcript, the courses I took and passed might include:

• Adolescent Girls: Ages 13-17

• Urban Planning: A Small Town on 400 Acres or Less

• Assessment as it Relates to a Student’s Future Education

• Database Management: Debacle or Delight

• 21st Century Girls: What You Need to Know

• Demographics and Education

• Marketing an Independent School

• Financial Aid 101

• School Governance

• How to Ask for a Million Dollars

• Budgeting and Fiscal Oversight

• Wastewater Management and Your School’s Future

• Introduction to Endowment Management

• Media Management in Schools

• Communicating to Parents

• Securing a Campus: Police State or Walden Pond?

• Picking Paint, Plants, and Pillows: Interior Design in

Schools

• Leadership and Organizational Management

Required texts: Daniel Pink, A Whole New Mind; Jim Collins,

Good to Great; Mary Pipher, Reviving Ophelia; many books

by Ned Hallowell; Daniel Goleman, Emotional Intelligence;

Howard Gardiner, Frames of Mind; Wendy Mogel, Blessings of A

Skinned Knee; Harvard Business Review; Wired Magazine n

Photo on opposite page Logan and Clay Cole. Photo above Meredyth and family


Catalina Keilhauer – Day in the Life of the of the World Languages Department Chair

Time to make the doughnuts (in the words of that ’80s Dunkin’ Donuts commercial, which you might be too young to remember)—or the cake, as is usually the case. I get up, quickly whip up

a cake mix for advisee period, get the family up, pack lunches, and kiss them all goodbye.

A period Spanish IV: Review homework and discuss the importance of tapas and the neighborhood bars in Spanish culture. What did you say? 320,000 in Spain? Yeap, one for every 134 citizens! ¡Increíble!

C period French II: Finish review of the transportation unit. Did you know trains in France are so reliable you could cook an egg perfectly according to their schedules (or so the SNCF, the French Amtrak equivalent, claims in its ads).

Advisee periodYum, cake, can I have another piece? We share the high and low points of the week. Finish the cake and stay out of trouble this weekend! The dean of students, Ms. Szala, is mild compared to what I’ll do to you if you don’t!

d periodChinese: What tone was that? Did I mispronounce my name again and it sounds like the name of the communist party? Not again.

e period Lunch: What do you want me to do for the Beeches block party? Bake a cake? I can do that. I get back to my office, return a parent’s call, and meet a student for conference.

G period Advanced French: Finish the verb blank. Oh come on, this verb is not that hard! C’est facile! (Each verb blank has all tenses and moods for a specific verb. Students in this class are quizzed on one verb per day—it takes five minutes). Finish introductory chapter on the 400-year relationship between France and the U.S., and don’t forget to see the key to the Bastille hanging on the first floor of Mt. Vernon, given by Lafayette to the first George W.

F periodSpanish I: After the usual ¡Hola! ¿Cómo estás? I teach my class and I’m slightly annoyed. All of the girls have not yet registered for the course’s supersite and consequently have not done all of the lab exercises.

ConFerenCe period Three girls stop by to ask for information on the spring break trip to France. One fills it out and the other two take it home. I order some books and microphones for the department and finish an iMovie for next week’s assembly. The titles take forever to put in!

4:15 p.m. Time to pick up my children at the bus.

5:00 - 6:00 p.m.Dinner at the dining hall. Maya (my three–year-old) spills her milk, Keil (my six-year- old) refuses to eat. One student stops by to ask for the homework, several others to say hi and take my children away to play.

eveninG Walk, help my kids with homework, give baths, put them to bed, and prepare classes for next week. As my 18-hour bra is on its 17th hour and 59th minute, I realize I had better go to bed if I want to have yet another productive day tomorrow.

Imagine being six years old and having your parents sit you, your brothers, and your sister down to say, “Your father and I wanted to let you know that we’re moving to Nigeria.” One might think that there might be a sense of panic, uncertainty, and sadness about this statement, but instead we were curious and excited about our new adventure. Perhaps it was because we knew that Nigeria was our father’s homeland, and it just made sense to live there for a while after having spent the first years of our lives in our mother’s country. Perhaps I didn’t panic because leading up to our trip I had dreams of what it would be like in Nigeria, and in my young mind it looked just like the United States—brick homes with clean, manicured lawns, the smell of fresh-cut grass, and access to similar culinary treats. Needless to say, I was completely wrong, and there was almost nothing the same about Nigeria and Washington, D.C.

Stepping off the plane into this foreign land was the beginning of my life as a third- culture kid (aka Foreign Service brat). Things weren’t as clean, smells were a bit off the beaten path, and the brick houses with clean, manicured lawns were nowhere to be found. Basically, everything was different, and I soon came to learn that different didn’t mean bad. This life that my siblings and I lived during those years in Nigeria, Haiti, and Niger was filled with adventure, adaptation, and appreciation.

When you live in a foreign country, every day is not an adventure, it is just your life. However, from time to time we were lucky enough to accompany our mother on trips for work, and to this day we still enjoy taking trips down memory lane. For my mother, being a Foreign Service officer is a fulfilling and gratifying job. For her children, it changed our lives. We met interesting people along the way; from chiefs to artisans to political figures. Our trips led us into various countrysides that were all quite beautiful in their own way and sometimes a bit difficult to get to. It is hard to describe what each country was like unless you’ve lived there, but trust me when I say that there are many things about the these countries in which I lived that make them beautiful—the people, the landscape, the adventures, the values, and the life.

I’ve never tried to summarize what it was like to grow up overseas. So why try now? What I will say is that living abroad was one of the best educational experiences I had. It taught me how to be okay being different. I went to a school where kids were from every corner of the map, and unless you were native to the country, you were a minority. Most of us just didn’t belong and loved it. Lessons on the playground went beyond four square and wall ball (both great games). We taught each other about belly dancing, Egusi soup, the pillars of Islam, the Creole language, and so much more. I also learned about coups, letter bombs, murder in the streets, and trying to find common ground amid political unrest.

Of course, life was more than just trying to stay safe. Spending a few years without American television would horrify kids today, but we just learned how to entertain ourselves. Don’t get me wrong, we lived in the capital cities, not in huts. We had running water, electricity, and access to

most foods through the commissary and the marketplace (if you want to really see a country, go to the marketplace and bargain). However, the local TV shows and American cartoons we did get only went so far. So riding our bikes, learning to roller skate, playing soccer in the empty bean-shaped pool, and exploring the “jungle” behind our house became commonplace activities.

Something else came out of my simple third-world existence, the joy of letter writing. Today, it’s a lost art, but back in the day when email and Facebook had not yet been born, letter writing was the main way to keep the connection to my friends in the States going. Letters allowed me to paint a picture of my life and bring my friends along on my journey. Writing kept me in the habit of expressing myself and helped me stay in touch each time I moved. Interestingly enough, Facebook has allowed me to reconnect with many of my international classmates with whom I had lost touch. Possible reunions are currently being discussed.

After moving around for seven years and being completely outside my comfort zone, there was something nice about returning to the States for high school and for an extended period of time. My life as an adapting outsider in a foreign land became my new comfort zone. I enjoyed that life, but was also intrigued by the phenomenon of people who had had the same best friend since they were two years old or had lived in the same state their entire lives, like my husband. My husband Wyatt and I couldn’t be more different in our upbringing. I had never lived anywhere long enough, and he had lived in Connecticut too long. I’m a risk taker, a social butterfly, and believe that I can go and live anywhere. He’s a creature of habit and likes existing in smaller circles. Somewhere along the way we met in the middle. I’ve put down some roots, and he’s taken a few more risks.

Who I am is mainly attributed to the time I spent overseas. I didn’t have to fit into some socially constructed box. I became an avid correspondent (just ask my friends, they just can’t shake me). I love people and love hearing their stories. All the ways that I am a third-culture kid is reflected in my passions, my taste, my personality, and my friends. There is a special connection between people who went to school together in another country and among all of us third-culture kids. When I meet someone who lived overseas or is a Foreign Service brat like myself, I have an instant understanding of some of the life they might have led. Most of my international school friends were outsiders to the countries we briefly inhabited, and that bonded us for life. This bond meant that even once you moved, you just never knew when your paths might cross again. For instance, I started my first day at Madeira with a classmate I hadn’t seen since our elementary school days in Nigeria. Small world. n

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Third CulTure Kid by PaTriCia anyaso sasser ’95 , ma jor gif Ts offiCer

Jenny Howell Lynch ‘94, Patricia Anyaso Sasser, Aranya Tomseth ‘94


Brooke Russell Astor, philanthropist, social activist, and socialite, was a Madeira girl. Smart, engaging, widely read and committed

to social welfare issues, she died on August 13, 2007, at age 105. She was Madeira’s oldest living alumna. Mrs. Astor would have

graduated in 1919 had her mother not precipitously withdrawn her.

Brooke’s mother was a social climber, a Southerner married to a Marine officer who would become United States Marine Corps

Commandant in 1934. She was worried about her daughter’s growing intellectual curiosity and admiration for her headmistress

and alarmed that her daughter was turning into a “bluestocking,” a bookish, unfashionable, and possibly unmarriageable girl.

Before Madeira, Roberta Brooke Russell had lived in China, attending the British Embassy School and speaking Chinese. In

Washington, she was escorted every morning to Miss Madeira’s School near Dupont Circle from her home near the Mayflower

Hotel by her French maid. She had been outfitted for Madeira by Parisian dressmakers. But once she fell under Miss Madeira’s

aegis, Brooke aped her headmistress’s style, lengthening her skirts and adopting rubber-soled shoes. She edited and illustrated the

literary magazine and told her mother she wanted to go to college and study Greek. Mrs. Russell responded by withdrawing her

daughter and arranging an early marriage.

The Washington star reported that sixteen-year-old Brooke Russell married J. Dryden Kuser, a recent Princeton graduate, at St.

John’s on Lafayette Square, with seventeen bridesmaids attired in apple green and picture hats. Her husband turned out to be a

rakehell, drunken, abusive, and unfaithful. That miserable marriage produced Mrs. Astor’s only child, who was adopted by her

second husband and renamed Anthony Marshall. She would recall her second marriage to Charles Marshall, a stockbroker, as

idyllic. She worked for Town & Country and House & Garden magazines and traveled in New York’s “smart set” with Cole Porter,

Kitty Carlisle Hart, authors, actors and designers. She later annointed Annette Reid de la Renta as her successor on boards and as a

hostess.

Her second husband died in her arms on Thanksgiving Day 1952. Within a year, a friend had seated her next to Vincent Astor,

whose father, John Jacob Astor IV, had gone down with the Titanic in 1912. Her dinner partner divorced his wife, married Brooke,

and left her a very wealthy widow in 1960, entirely in charge of the Astor Foundation.

Over the next 40 years, she gave it all away, contributing $196 million to hundreds of causes (but not Madeira). Since the money

was made in New York, beginning with John Jacob Astor’s investment in the fur trade in the 1820s (in partnership with Elizabeth

Cady Stanton’s father), she wanted to give it back to New York interests. Recipients ranged from the New York Public Library and

the Metropolitan Museum of Art to the Coalition for the Homeless and the Animal Medical Center. As a philanthropist, Mrs.

Astor never gave to a project she had not visited in person.

Class aCt: Brooke Russell Astor ’19

B y E l i s A B E t h G R i f f i t h , h E A d m i s t R E s s

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I know all this not only from news reports and Mrs. Astor’s

two memoirs, patchwork Child: early memories (Random

House, 1962) and Footprints (Doubleday, 1980) but also

because I interviewed her for our Centennial Oral History

Project. Meeting Mrs. Astor was a highlight of my Madeira

tenure. It was also intriguing to me as a biographer. Mrs. Astor

was a “primary source,” the only person I knew who had

known Miss Madeira from the years before World War I.

In November 1997, then Board member and journalist Kitty

Ferguson Roberts ’70 and I were ushered into Mrs. Astor’s Park

Avenue sixteenth-floor aerie. We waited for her in the Chinese

red-lacquered library with chintz-covered sofas and the Childe

Hassam painting “Flags on Fifth Avenue” over the fireplace,

a room you might have seen in magazine photographs.

There were so many antique Chinese bronzes of animals

on every surface that we had difficulty positioning the

tape recorder.

Mrs. Astor arrived promptly. She was dressed in a

chic tweed suit, high heels, and a brown velvet hat,

accessorized by pearls, a yellow diamond brooch,

gloves, and her handbag. She was pretty, vivacious,

petite. She was on her way to lunch but eager to talk

about her school.

As soon as she was seated, she declared, “I adored,

I worshipped Miss Madeira. I thought she was the

most wonderful person, and she really was. But

mother said, ‘If she’s going to be like Miss Madeira,

she’s going to wear old shoes and have her skirts

not fit her.’ I wanted to stay and … take Greek

and ... more Latin. I ran a little book club. I ran

a little magazine. I cried and cried when I left

Madeira. I loved Miss Madeira.” Like generations

of Madeira girls, Mrs. Astor could still quote

Chaucer and remembered visiting Mount

Vernon.

Sitting literally at Mrs. Astor’s feet, on her

leopard-print hassock, I was completely

charmed by her intelligence, warmth, and

humor. For a woman who never earned a high school

diploma, she was among the best educated, most engaging

women I had ever met. Even at age 95, she remained a

legendary flirt, charming to men and women, still New York’s

It Girl.

When she celebrated her centennial birthday on March 30,

2002, David Rockefeller gathered one hundred friends for a

dinner dance. The centerpieces were cakes shaped like hats.

Mrs. Astor arrived in couture and jewels and danced all night.

In recent years she was less well. We had invited her to be

the marshal of our Centennial Celebration parade, but she

declined. She remained beautiful and gracious. Her mother

never needed to worry about her Madeira daughter’s future. n

Class aCt:

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ODDS & ENDSCome see what’s happening at Madeira this summer – www.maderia.org/summer

Camp GreenwaySession 1 6/23/08 – 7/3/08Session 2 7/7/08 – 7/18/08Session 3 7/21/08 – 8/1/08

NEW! This year your rising Kindergartner can come to Greenway too!

LittLe SnaiLSSession 1 6/9/08 – 6/13/08

ridinG workShopSession 1 6/23/08 – 6/27/08Session 2 6/30/08 – 7/04/08Session 3 7/7/08 – 7/11/08Session 4 7/14/08 – 7/18/08

GirLS Getaway!6/13/08 – 6/15/08

NEW! A special weekend for girls and their moms!

GirLS ride!6/17/08 – 6/21/08

GirLS FirSt!Session 1 7/6/08 – 7/18/08Session 2 7/20/08 – 8/1/08

Registration for Girls First! begins in November. For all other programs registration begins in January. See our website for details!

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Sd I V E R S I T y S U R V E yIn late fall, Madeira will undertake a community-wide assessment of the School’s progress

in meeting its mission to expand and support diversity initiatives. The Community diversity

Assessment (CdA) consists of an online survey that each member of the Madeira community—

faculty, students, staff, Board members, and parents—will be asked to complete. The CdA will

also include interviews with individuals and focus groups in order to give all members of the

community the chance to convey their thoughts on diversity at Madeira.

sChool sToreWe are pleased to introduce the recently re-

named madeira school store. The expansion

and relocation of the school store in 2005 to the

student center dining Hall was made possible

through a generous gift from a member of the

class of 1944. With a great new space, newly

expanded assortment to include snacks, drinks

and more fashion apparel, a new name was in

order. This fall the store held a naming contest

in which students were encouraged to submit

their ideas for a name for the store. A panel

of Faculty and staff narrowed down the eighty

submissions to five. The winning entry, lucy &

co. was then picked as the winner.

don’t forget to visit lucy & co. the to pick up

that special holiday gift! The store is open

monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday from

11:00am – 4:00pm. can’t get here in person?

make sure to visit our newly redesigned

webpage with an expanded online assortment at

www.madeira.org/schoolstore. Use this $5 off

coupon when you visit in person or online.

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NoN-ProfitU.S.PoStage

Paidthe Madeira School

Madeira TodayThe Madeira School 8328 Georgetown Pike McLean, Virginia 22102-1200Phone: 703.556.8221 or 800.893.2419 Fax: 703.893.1532

Madeira Today Fall 2007

Documents

Transcript of Madeira Today Fall 2007