Questionable College Choice

Remarkable Godparents

In the summer of 1947, on the heels of World War II, the Edgar family was  assigned to the Far East.  As a result, our parents decided to have us children christened. The process entailed selecting  a pair of godparents for each child. The intent was that in the event of a parental tragedy, all four children would be provided for by well-matched and willing godparents. The solemn event took place in Christ Church, our family’s historic church in Alexandria, VA. We four children found the christening process exciting as each of us understood we were to be matched up with a pair of likeable, back-up parents. Indeed, as all the godparents were close family friends, they were known to us children as well.

It wasn’t long before I came to realize I had been blessed with extraordinary godparents: Noah Chisholm Barnhart, Jr. (“Chis”) and his inimitable wife, Shirley Clark Barnhart.  Mom and Shirley had been childhood friends in Plainfield, NJ.  Both had attended Vassar College and each had reciprocated as maids of honor in their respective weddings. Sadly, the Barnharts had never been blessed with children of their own. Nevertheless, as active surrogate parents, both would play important roles in my life.  Together we three shared a unusual, life-long and rich relationship

Each time our family was assigned overseas, e.g. China, Egypt, Brazil and France, Shirley and Chis wasted little time reconnecting with me. During my formative, and sometimes needy moments, they virtually stepped into my life as co-parents. Their home became mine as needed. Occasionally, we would meet in New York to have dinner and sometimes see a Broadway play, a concert, or even an opera. For instance, in the early 1950s, we saw James Michener’s South Pacific, the Broadway play by Rodgers and Hammerstein starring Mary Martin and Ezio Pinza. It was a memorable evening. 

Even years later in 1961 when I first began working on Wall Street, from time to time Chis would have me join him for lunch at Schrafft’s not far from his J. P. Stevens’ office in midtown Manhattan. He was Secretary of the family company. On occasion, he and I would even visit Rogers Peet & Co. where Chis would buy me a handsome tie or have me fitted for a suit. 

Over the years I received superb advice and wise counsel from Shirley and Chis. In 1953, my parents were posted to Egypt. While a junior at Severn School in MD, I was already looking for a political appointment thereby permitting me to take the Naval Academy entrance exams. Quite by surprise, one day Chis called to ask whether I would like to meet his cousin, Robert T. Stevens, then U.S. Secretary of the Army in the Eisenhower administration.  I was taken aback yet excited by his suggestion. In the absence of my parents, Chis had decided to step forward  helping me with my looming Naval Academy challenge. 

As I write this memoir, I have become even more appreciative of Chis’ and Shirley’s invaluable contribution to my life.  Because of their grace, love, perspective and their influence on me over the years, I can only conclude that because of their input during much of my life, I became a better man. 

Chis & Shirley Barnhart

Unusual Introduction

Somewhere along the line, I learned that Chis had arranged for two tickets for us to the 1953 Army-Navy football classic to be played at Philadelphia’s Municipal Stadium. The huge stadium seated more than 100,000 fans. Just getting a seat to the Army-Navy game was a big deal.  I spent the previous night at my godparents’ South Plainfield, NJ home. 

Chis had called me at school a few days before I trained northward to South Plainfield. He suggested I wear “appropriate dress” for the game. That meant a three-piece, dark suit and plain-toed, black shoes. The word “appropriate” signified a white, button-down shirt with regimental tie. And by the way, he went on to say, don’t forget your long overcoat, plain colored scarf, pig-skin gloves -- and a fedora. Chis’ message came across loud and clear. For some reason, that particular Saturday game  sounded important.

Friday I left school for the Barnharts. Early the following morning, Chis and I boarded a train to Philadelphia.  Something was brewing.  As a Navy fanatic, I was thrilled to be attending one of America’s most sought after sporting events. Tickets for an Army-Navy football game were always difficult to come by. Also, that year the Navy Midshipmen football team’s quarterback, eventually to be named All-American quarterback, George Welch.

In those years, trains offloaded the thousands of fans directly alongside Philadelphia’s stadium. Our train pulled into the stadium’s railyard well in advance of kick-off. Outside were masses of Army and Navy enthusiasts. Uniformed cadets  already were parading smartly to their military bands on the playing field. The din was ear piercing.

Without hesitation, Chis guided both of us through the throngs outside as we joined them funneling into the stadium. Elbowing our way towards the Army stands, I realized that we were gravitating towards the fifty-yard line. Soon I could discern that the twenty-fifth row at the 50-yard line provided the very best views of any stadium event. Chis and I continued to shuffle our way along the rows towards mid-field. While searching for our seats, suddenly in front of us I recognized a distinguished looking man. It was Robert T. Stevens, a well-dressed gentleman, Chis’ cousin and a friend of Dad’s whom I had met only once or twice years earlier. He, along with a sizeable staff, already had settled into the stadium’s best seats bundled in blankets with several spread across their laps. 

An Early Dream

Before proceeding further, one has to revisit my early childhood just prior to the closing years of World War II.  I was about six or seven years old.

During two summers our family rented vacation cottages for several weeks each year.  One was located directly on Dewey Beach and the second just off Bethany Beach, DE.  During the war, looking north and south, the contiguous beaches seemed endless. Likewise, there were relatively few vacationers strolling the beaches.

Recalling the first few days of each summer, without exception each family member would concentrate on acquiring a quick tan. Back then, there were no suntan lotions to speak of, much less SPF protection. To acquire a quick suntan one simply had to slather on Johnson’s Baby Oil in huge amounts. Iodine provided the desired coloring effect. Within a day or so, everyone would suffer severe burns on their fronts and backs, from top to bottom. During this process, sunburn blisters were not uncommon. By the end of our vacations, all of us had achieved lovely tans. Typically, spending the first few days in the sun produced awfully painful and sleepless nights. Much later in our lives, some of us would have to pay dearly as a result of the savage method of acquiring beautiful suntans in the mid-1940s.  

One day while practicing casting in the shallow surf, I befriended a Naval Academy cadet who, quite by chance, was visiting his parents not far from our cottage. My most vivid memory of our several encounters was the last time we spoke just before he returned to the Academy.  Dressed in a starched, spotless white uniform, he was magnificent. Keenly aware of his departure, I recall vividly bombarding him with questions about the Academy.  I was dazzled by everything he said and represented, including his love of flying.  Before leaving, he presented me with a photo of himself in full uniform. Then, he was gone. By day’s end I had decided on a career. I knew that someday, I too would attend the Academy to become a naval air officer. 

School Transfer

Looking forward to late spring of 1954, approaching the end of my 10th grade year at St. George’s School in Rhode Island, I had managed to convince my parents that I should transfer to Severn School in Maryland. Severn was a superb preparatory school for those seeking entry into the U.S. military academies. The school’s primary focus was the Naval Academy at Annapolis, MD.  Its strong suits included English, mathematics and sciences -- along with a top-rated lacrosse program.

Transferring to Severn was intended to represent my first step of embarking on a promising, naval career. Of course, as a junior at Severn, I knew I would have to obtain a political “principal appointment” to the Academy.  Once, an appointment in hand, I would be allowed to take the requisite entrance and physical examinations. Of course, I was confident I could pass both. 

Appointment Search

As a career diplomat appointed by the President, my father realized he was in no position to approach either Congressmen or Senators for political favors (he never voted during his entire Foreign Service career). He turned to his good friend and my godfather, Chis, to review all of the Naval Academy alternatives open to me. Chis came up with an idea. Would Chis be willing to approach his cousin, Robert Stevens, former chairman of J. P. Stevens & Co., then the largest textile company in America. In early 1953, Mr. Stevens had been appointed Secretary of the Army by President Eisenhower. Perhaps, somehow, I could be introduced to the Secretary in some formal way. After all, each cabinet member was able to distribute military academy appointments annually. 

As stated earlier, Chis was able to encourage Secretary Stevens to invite both of us as his guests to the Army-Navy football game classic. On our arrival at Philadelphia’s Municipal Stadium, Chis and I found ourselves in the Secretary’s entourage. We ended up sitting on either side of the Secretary throughout the second half. At halftime -- showing no favoritism to either Army or Navy -- Secretary Stevens and his retinue paraded from one side of the field to the other. During the lull at halftime, Secretary Stevens made a special effort to speak with me. I thanked him for the fabulous tickets and the opportunity to meet him. Then, he countered by inquiring about Mom and Dad. Following the niceties, he asked why I was so keen on the Naval Academy rather than West Point. My response was succinct and to the point. I wanted to fly and, as the Army no longer had an official air force, I had become keen on Navy Air. In the growing commotion surrounding our group, conversation with the Secretary became somewhat limited. I did recall, however, that Navy lost the game. But, with that defeat came a victory. I had been able to gain important exposure to the Secretary of the Army. 

Lightning Strikes

In the mid-1950s, the “Cold War” was in its early stages. The Korean War had just ended, though the Berlin Wall had not yet been built. Those were ugly times as massive political witch-hunts for Communists within America were surfacing. The reputations and careers of many well known actors, scientists, educators, authors, government employees, and untold innocents were ruined.

In the fall of 1953, the U.S. Senate’s Subcommittee On Investigations unexpectedly challenged the U. S. Army Signal Corps. The following year, Senator Joseph McCarthy’s hearings subpoenaed Secretary Stevens. McCarthy charged the Army with a lack of loyalty, the existence of Communist sympathizers within, and preferential treatment extended to personnel in its organization. Those months proved difficult for the U. S. Army -- and Mr. Stevens.

Naval Academy exams were fast approaching. Then, out of the blue, Chis called to inform me of the bad news. The McCarthy hearings were taking a heavy toll on Secretary Stevens. His grilling by the Congressional subcommittee resulted in his decision not to award any academy appointments for 1955. I could see my future crashing. The only option remaining open to me was to select a college. I wasted little time sharing the bad news with my parents, now living in Egypt, via Western Union telegraph which was the least expensive and fastest way to communicate internationally at the time.

Graduation & College Decisions

At seventeen, I graduated from Severn, ranked in the top third of my class. All but two of us in my senior class would attend military academies. Many of those accepted were sons of career military officers. As such, all were entitled to automatic Presidential appointments. Those with passing grades and a physical  gained entry to the academy of their choice.

The absence of my parents from my graduation made for a gloomy day. Instead, my grandmother (“Gran-C”) was relegated to stand in as a parental proxy for the otherwise uneventful celebration. Actually, Graduation Day at Severn was horrible.

It was a devastating time for me to consider college options. Late in my senior year with the help of my Severn advisor, I had been accepted to six colleges: University of Maryland, Princeton (as an alumnus, my godfather had even encouraged his alma mater to consider my application late in the acceptance process), Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, Stanford, University of Virginia, and Colorado School of Mines. All had excellent reputations in various fields of engineering. 

During my time at Severn, for some unknown reason, I had become interested in the oil industry. That interest had been magnified after my experiences in Egypt during the summer of 1954. And now that my first choice - the Naval Academy - was no longer an option, I was now leaning strongly in favor of Colorado School of Mines due to its focus on petroleum engineering. I shared my thoughts on this with my parents.

They were aware of my mathematical and English strengths. With this knowledge, they spared little time sharing their opinions with me. To them, a New England college, ideally an Ivy League school, was to be preferred. Though Dad agreed I was to be the final arbiter of my college choice, he nonetheless voiced strong objection to “Mines.” In fact, it became quite apparent later that summer that he had clear intentions of influencing my college choice.

Dad suggested I join the family in Egypt for the summer before making any college decision. I had been to Egypt the summer before. By going this summer, I wasn’t sure whether I was looking for my parents’ advice or for their blessings on my eventual college selection. A difficult choice was in the making.

College Choice Debacle

That summer there were extended discussions between my parents and me during the remaining days in Alexandria. It became clear that my choice of college was to be Colorado School of Mines, not Stanford. My final decision proved a great disappointment to Dad. His closing summary reiterated his earlier arguments favoring Ivy College education. In sharp contrast to “western” colleges, he argued I would find “eastern” college classmates to be 1) more broadly and worldly educated, 2) remain and become strong, life-long friends and, 3) more attuned to my background and way of life. By then Dad had shifted from his basic argument favoring liberal arts to an engineering curriculum. It was a difficult crossroad for my parents and me.

At that stage of my life, judgement calls involving friendships and classmates were not imperative. In my more formative years I had developed only a few close friends. Once posted overseas, rarely did our family live at one location for more than nine months. Good friends were hard to come by.

In retrospect my 1955 college choice was probably a poor one. Rather, my father’s well thought out rationale in support of an Ivy College undoubtedly, in the long-run, would have been far more beneficial to me. Indeed, years later I  admitted to my parents, quite candidly, of my failure at not having selected an Ivy College back in 1955. 

Postscript

Even while in my freshman year at Colorado School of Mines, I continued to search for a Naval Academy appointment. Likewise, I suppose both Chis and Dad also continued with my quest. 

At some point during that year, I unexpectedly received a letter from the office of Richard M. Nixon, then Vice President of the United States. I was dumbfounded. The formal letter stated that I was to receive a “first alternate” appointment to the U. S. Naval Academy. For the first time I would be allowed to take the Academy’s entrance examinations and physicals. 

Clearly the Vice President had given this “principal” appointment to his first choice. However, the “first alternate” designation placed me second-in-line in the event the “principal” designee were to fail. I recall my written exams scored in the low 90s. Alas, Mr. Nixon’s first choice candidate must have scored at least 65, sufficiently high to be accepted into the Academy. In some way, I was both excited and relieved by this long, drawn out process. Political appointment aside, I had proved to myself I was able to measure up to the Academy’s high standards. Finally, my multi-year saga had come to an end.