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When I was a boy, we spent our summers at my Grandmother's remote home on a small lake in northern Wisconsin. Like the thick woods that surrounded us, the summers on Lake Owen seemed endless.
Gram had a wonderful old creaky boat house that had two slips for power boats. In the smaller slip, there was an aqua-blue, fiberglass water-ski boat with an all-white steering wheel. It had a powerful 130-horsepower Evinrude outboard engine. We called it simply the "Blue Boat" and we used it almost every day of summer. It was modern and it was reliable.
In the larger slip there was an old Chris Craft. It was huge. It was made of honey-colored mahogany and had dark-red, cracked leather seats. The engine was in the middle of the boat under a big wooden box. The only thing remotely modern about that boat was the windshield; two small pieces of glass suspended by tiny chrome fittings.
We didn't take the Chris Craft out very often, so when we did, it was always an adventure. It seemed that one out of every three times we used it, the engine would break down. But my father always managed to begin each trip with great optimism. I remember one particular trip in the Chris Craft when I was seven years old. It was special because it was just my dad and me... and because I got to sit in the passenger seat, up in the front
We untied her and slid open the large boat house door. The engine made the most remarkable sound; a guttural rumble in the water below combined with a snappy grind above. It was so loud. We backed out of the boat house through a fog of gasoline exhaust and emerged into the bright sunlight.
My father pointed the boat to the south and we cruised along the shoreline at slow speed for about a minute. Then, finally, he said, "hold on, Jeff," and he eased the throttle all the way open. I craned my neck to see over the bow of the boat, but it was hopeless. So I looked back at the wake behind us. The waves made by the Chris Craft were enormous, like whitecaps in the ocean. As the boat planed out and the speed increased, I looked forward again and my hair flew back off my forehead. Wow! Nothing was better than this. After taking it all in, I looked over at my father and he was watching me with a big smile.
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And then it happened. The engine sputtered... and puffed... and died. We came to a gradual smooth stop and, except for the sound of our wake rolling onto the shoreline behind us, the peace of the lake had been instantly restored.
My father frowned; disappointed that our moment had been ruined. He looked at all the instruments and then turned the ignition off. He glanced back toward the engine box, then at me and raised his eyebrows. "Hmmmm," he said. He turned the key. The engine made a noise but it didn't start. He tried again. Nothing. "Okay," he said, resigned to our fate, "let's get the paddle out."
We weren't far from shore -- or far from home for that matter; a half a mile at most. Dad paddled us to shore. He took off his shoes, rolled up his pant legs and jumped into the shallow water, pulling the bow of the boat under the overhanging tree branches. "Wait here," he said, putting his shoes back on. "I'll get the Blue Boat and we'll tow her back to the boat house." He climbed up the hill into the woods and then yelled back for me to get the tow rope out from under the back seat.
Now this was an adventure! I was in charge of the Chris Craft. I scurried to the back and pulled up the cushions on the back bench. There were two hearty old ropes for tying the boat up to a dock, but there was no tow rope. I looked under the other seats but nothing was there. So I grabbed hold of the short ropes and stretched them out. They were each only about eight feet long. Too short; I would have to tie them together.
My father had shown me how to tie knots in the past, but I never paid much attention. I put two ends of the ropes together, made a loop and ran the ends through the loop. I pulled on each rope, but the knot rolled over awkwardly. This wasn't going to hold.
Suddenly, I was nervous. I'd been given a lot of responsibility and was desperate to prove that I was grown up; that I could handle it. I could tie lots of similar loop knots and it would probably hold, but I was sure that when my father saw it, he would declare it "a mess" and retie it properly. I fretted for a moment, but finally remembered that Dad had once shown me a way to tie two ropes together, where you tie two knots and then pull on both the ropes so the knots lock together. He said it was like the grip you used when you pulled someone up onto the back of a pick-up truck -- you grab their wrist and they grab yours.
And so I tried it. It took a couple of attempts, but eventually I pulled the two knots together and they seemed really secure. They even looked symmetrical.
I was standing in the shallow shoreline water holding the bow of the Chris Craft with my 16-foot rope attached and ready to go when my father arrived. "Where's the tow rope?" he shouted over the sound of the Blue Boat's engine. "It's not in there," I yelled back. I half expected him to look for it himself, but he didn't. "Okay, hold on a second." He pulled the Blue Boat close and I tossed him the other end of my rope. He never inspected the knot I had tied.
Soon we were on our way. I took hold of the Chris Craft's steering wheel and did my best to keep the boat straight as my father slowly pulled us back to the boat house with that trusty Blue Boat.
I'm not sure I ever took my eyes off that knot; fearful that it would come apart and that my father would frown when he had to circle back to retie it properly.
But we made it. The knot made it. And after we got the Chris Craft back in its slip and closed the boat house door, my father inspected the knot under a cobweb-covered bare light-bulb. "Nice job, Jeff," he said. "That's a perfect blood knot you tied there."
It didn't matter what else happened for the rest of that August, my summer had been made.
So why am I telling you this story?
Well, you see, 26 years ago, as the new school-year began at Deerfield, I was a member of the Senior class... and my father was President of the Board of Trustees. And, we had a new Headmaster. Mr. Pynchon had left at the end of my Junior year and Mr. Kaufman had just arrived. What I recall is that the whole school was abuzz with excitement, but also with anxiety... about how things might change under new leadership.
And I remember feeling a sense of responsibility, as a Senior, during a very important time in Deerfield's history. Just like the faculty and the staff, the students had an important role to play in protecting the continuity of the Academy and insuring the success of our new Head. We were not just witnesses to this transition; we were a part of it.
And so we all participated. We encouraged Mr. Kaufman to come to our athletic games and theater productions. We introduced ourselves every time we passed him on the sidewalk, so that he could learn our names. We made sure he knew what we loved about the school, and also the areas where we thought improvements could be made. Some of us even told Mr. Kaufman that the school should be co-educational again.
He listened to us. And in time, he charted a future course for the Deerfield Academy of 1980.
And the same was true in 1994 when Mr. Widmer arrived. And so it shall be true again in 2006 as Mrs. Curtis takes over.
And that's what made me think of that story about the Chris Craft and the Blue Boat. Today, and throughout this school year, we will all be tying a knot; a knot between the old and the new; a knot between the Widmer years and the Curtis years; a knot that will allow us to keep a firm hold on the foundation of our past, while giving us the strength and confidence to explore our future.
All of us must participate; not just students, faculty and staff, but the trustees, the alumni, the parents, the residents of the Town of Deerfield and Mrs. Curtis' family, friends and colleagues. For if we do, the knot we tie will be as strong and true as a perfect blood knot.
Deerfield is fortunate to have Margarita Curtis as our new leader. She brings a unique combination of skills, experiences and personal qualities to her new position. She has boundless energy but a peaceful and caring disposition. She is wildly intelligent, but a superb listener. Most importantly, she believes deeply in Deerfield's traditions of kindness, courage, humility and achievement.
With our help, under her leadership, Deerfield's future is not only secure, it is truly limitless.
And so, Dr. Margarita O'Byrne Curtis, with the power vested in me by the Board of Trustees and with the collective pride, trust and confidence of this community, I do hereby formally induct you as the 55th Head of School of Deerfield Academy.
Let the Church Bells Ring!!!
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