When I was a lad of 63, I wrote in my book A Place Called Princeton this prediction: “Yes, you can have a life after Princeton, but never one without Princeton.” Having passed my 92nd birthday, I feel free to boast about my foresight. On that birthday — June 6, 2013 — I was resigned to another quiet day alone when the phone rang. I picked it up to hear “Happy Birthday, Sam! It’s Bill — Bill Bingham ...” For years Bill had been calling every living classmate on his birthday. He left me with a warm feeling and thoughts about the Princeton relationship.
A number of my classmates are still in good enough shape to get to Princeton for Reunions and mid-year events. I salute them with a phrase I picked up Down Under: “Good on you, mates!” That they take advantage of these opportunities supports my thesis: Princeton can play a bigger role in its graduates’ lives in their 90s than at any other time.
We need Princeton, but does Princeton need us? I risk the embarrassment of pride with a firmly affirmative answer. To see so many of us back and participating in Reunions and other occasions has to be proof positive to members of later classes, undergraduates, and even prospective students that graduation will be more like a beginning than an end to their relationship with Old Nassau.
Now back to that birthday call: Afterward I discovered that my bank balance was large enough to allow a first, modest contribution to Annual Giving. It gave me the feeling of having become at last a more typical Princeton alumnus. More importantly, it confirmed my prediction that there really isn’t any life without Princeton.
Note: The following is an expanded version of a letter published in the Nov. 13, 2013, issue.
When I was a lad of 63, I wrote in my book A Place Called Princeton this prediction: “Yes, you can have a life after Princeton, but never one without Princeton.” Having passed my 92nd birthday, I feel free to boast about my foresight. Indeed, it was a happening on that birthday – June 6, 2013 – that inspired this writing.
As must be true for many of the other surviving members of the Class of ’42, I had lost Dorrie, my date for senior prom in 1941 and my spouse for 67 years, the year before. Of all the social friends we made during more than 60 years’ residence in Darien, Conn., only one was alive, but she was in an assisted-living facility in a condition unknown to me. One of my daughters lived in Manhattan and the other in Vienna, Austria. Both were fully employed and major breadwinners in their families. Well in advance, they acknowledged my approaching birthday with gifts and emails, but they would necessarily be otherwise engaged on the day itself.
I was resigned to getting through another quiet day alone when the phone rang about noon. I picked it up to hear a male voice saying without an introduction, “Happy birthday, Sam! It’s Bill – Bill Bingham …” Why, of course! How could I have forgotten? For years Bill had taken upon himself, or perhaps even created, the job of calling every living classmate on his birthday. He left me with a warm feeling and a lot of long, long thoughts about the Princeton relationship.
I had evidence of Princeton’s everlasting grip on its sons and now its daughters as well in the experience of my brother, Bryson ’35, who lived through six years of Princeton in his 90s. Having attended Princeton during Depression years, Bryson qualified for a scholarship. When he finally achieved gainful employment as a lawyer, he decided to repay the scholarship and then some in the form of modest contributions to Annual Giving. He was so scrupulous in doing so that when, sometime during his 90s he experienced a “senior moment” and forgot to send his check, he got a phone call from none other than the president herself out of concern not for the money, but for Bryson’s health.
Not blessed with my brother’s reliable form of income, I decided to try repaying my debt to Princeton by using whatever writing and editing skills I possessed to carry out Princeton-related projects. In addition to publishing my book, I was able to report on a number of these projects in the pages of the Princeton Alumni Weekly over the years. The biggest job of that nature that I took on was organizing publication of Fifty Years Later, the Class of ’42’s salute to that anniversary. The greatest reward for doing that was getting to know and work with classmates like Don Stroetzel, Army Hunter, Herb Bailey, and many, many others who helped make a success of that venture. But it brought one surprise that deserves more than a mention here because it is appropriate to this writing.
The surprise was a package from Paul Busse, a classmate with whom I had never exchanged a word either in or after college. Voted the class’s “best all-around athlete,” he had a secure place in the very highest social stratum where he naturally found his friends and associates. I tore open the package to uncover an extraordinarily thoughtful gift — a bound volume of all of my PAW On the Campus columns for the fall of 1941 and early months of 1942 before I completed my academic work and made an early departure to take a job in what would become the Office of Strategic Services. That would lead to nearly three years service in the CBI theater, most of it in uniform from private to lieutenant.
I note that a number of my classmates are still in good enough physical shape to get down to Princeton for Reunions and mid-year events and even sign on for trips abroad. I salute them with a phrase I picked up down under: “Good on you, mates!” I can easily imagine how much Princeton means to them in our 90s. Where and how else would they be likely to find the inspiration, aid, and companionship for their ventures? That they take advantage of these opportunities is supportive of the thesis of this piece: Princeton can play a bigger role in its graduates’ lives in their 90s than at any other time since graduation.
We need Princeton, but does Princeton need us? I am going to risk the embarrassment of pride with a firmly affirmative answer. To see so many of us back and participating in events at Reunions and other important occasions on the Princeton calendar has to be proof positive to members of later classes, undergraduates, and even prospective students that graduation, important as it is, will be more like a beginning than an end to their relationship with Old Nassau. Getting that feeling in their bones early on is what motivates so many graduates to keep coming back and trying to repay, financially or otherwise, the University’s gifts to them.
Now back to the results of that Princetonian birthday call in my own case. I Googled up my bank account and discovered that my diminished activities resulted in a balance large enough to allow a first, modest contribution to Annual Giving. It wouldn’t enrich Princeton, but it might improve the standing of our shrunken class’s record in relation to Annual Giving. It gave me the feeling of having become at last a more typical Princeton alumnus, and I have to confess to liking that feeling. More importantly, it confirmed my prediction that there really isn’t any life without Princeton.
Addendum: Virtually on the day that I thought I had finished this piece, there arrived in my mailbox a communication from a classmate that makes me realize I was taking a much-too-limited view of the length and depth of Princeton’s penetration into the lives of its graduates. It does not end at death’s door, as one might suppose. Very appropriately in view of our ages, this communication outlined a program that would allow us to provide “future” support for Princeton while enjoying savings on income and estate taxes for the time we have left above ground. It makes a lot of sense. I, for one, would rather support Princeton than the government, and I do like the idea of doing so long after I’m gone.
That being the case, I hereby amend my opening statement to say that there is no life — and there need be no afterlife — without Princeton.
Sam Schreiner ’42 has pursued a writing career that began with his On The Campus column in PAW in 1941 and has resulted in a dozen books and countless articles and stories in major publications including Parade, Reader’s Digest and The New York Times.