50th Reunion

Fifty years? Seriously?

Has it really been 50+ years since I held the highest and most Spoon), talkin' blues (George's Gourds), jazz ballads (Yes, I Kno I Said It), spirituals (me of all people! Where the Sweet Water prestigious office attainable as an Amherst undergrad- Social Chairman at Beta? Has it really been 50+ years since the staging of the famous Lord of the Flies house party, complete with a roasted pig that we pulled apart with our bare hands? Or the Moon Launch party with the 2-story rocket ship framing the front door of the house and a deadly punchbowl concoction labeled "Lunar Lacquer" helping to set the tone? Can it be really 50+ years since Lenny, dressed in cap and gown, gave his earth· shaking (literally) lecture on "Antarctic Weaponry" in which a small cannon was discharged while nestled inside a refrigerator down in the Beta bar and the house needed to be evacuated for a little while until the Freon gas could be dispelled?

I write this, overwhelmed with longing for days past, but at the same time grateful that, with the passage of the years, I seem to be well settled into a routine that has me far less at risk of bodily injury and, yes, jail. But, oh, the memories.

Follow me around awhile in 2014 and you'll soon get a little bored, I'm afraid. You'll look for that untamed, restless rebel of yore and you'll find instead a grandfather of four who dutifully upholds his role as "the toy with no rules". Let me give you a glimpse.

So I'm sitting in my chair with a book, minding my own business. My granddaughter, Ailsa (a Gaelic name; her father's from Northern Ireland), seven years old, has tiptoed up behind me and is putting something soft and a little weighty on my: 
"Ailsa, what are you putting on my head?" I inquire. Dramatically, she comes around to face me and says, "I am not Ailsa, I am a fairy named Rose." She reaches and takes from off my head a neatly folded fabric remnant she found in a closet upstairs. "This is what I wear," she explains, and gently repositioning the item atop my head states in her superior way, "You are my laundry basket!"

Being a laundry basket is what passes for excitement these days. And I must say I'm good at it. But there is another important thing I do that also keeps me "in the game" and helps keep my mind busy. My hobby is writing songs.
I
'm a bit all over the place as a songwriter. I've written happy songs (Penny Flipped for Me), sad songs, (The Day When We Flows), love-gone-wrong songs (You Put a Spell on Me), and 50 forth.
I even wrote a college fight song; here it is:

LORD JEFFERY, NEVER DIE!
We're the ladies and gents
From the College on the Hill­ Inveterately polite;
We know not to trip you or to gouge your eyes, We might bark, but seldom bite!
But pray don't think us soft; Look what waves aloft! Those are our colors
The purple and the white, And forever may they fly;
For the glory of our Amherst
We will fight, fight, fight; LORD JEFFERY, NEVER DIE!


But as I said, it's a hobby. I'd love it if it also produced a bit of supplementary income, but I have no due how to make that happen.

So there's your sketch of what I'm about these days. I would say that on balance I'm hauling around my 71+ years in pretty good shape. In huge measure I thank my wife Carolyn for that.My son Will and daughter Emily as well, grateful they do not look on me with long-suffering eye rolls. I'm pretty confident that tomorrow morning I'll get my ass out of bed one more mutter to myself, "I miss that dog..". , and be a ready laundry basket to whomever may need me next.

I hope all my classmates from so unbelievably damn long are doing as well.

Thanks for reading.

George

George H. White

Deceased October 24, 2015

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50th Reunion Book Entry

In Memory

George White '64 died Oct. 24, 2015, in Portland, Maine, at age 73 of complications from a heart attack. He is survived by his wonderful wife of 50 years, Carolyn; his son, Will; his daughter, Emily; and grandchildren: Eleanor, Ailsa, Thomas, and Henry. A memorial service will be held in Freeport, Maine, in May of 2016. Burial will be private.

George spent his career in marketing and advertising, and was the creative director at Creamer Trowbridge in Providence before opening his own firm, G. H.White, Inc.

George suffered a massive heart attack as he was driving in a parking lot near their cottage in Maine. He survived, spending 8 days in a coma, and recuperated enough to have a stent put in a few days later. Ultimately, the great fight he put up was not enough, his condition deteriorated, and George passed away.

Those who knew George will chuckle at his first response upon waking from his 8-day coma. He asked about the condition of his van. When told that his van was totaled, George said, "Good. Now I can get a yellow Mustang, 'cause it is 'My Time.'" Later, he asked the nurse for a martini in his IV. His sense of humor never failed.  (His sense of humor might be compared to Steve Martin's with the animation, the laugh, and the off-the-wall subjects.)

We will always remember his laugh, which  accompanied his stories, his jokes, and his pranks. That laugh is best described as a staccato, nasal gasp; a sound that will bring a smile to all his friends 'til the sun will climb the heavens no more.

The other lasting image is the animation George would show when he was excited. His hands, arms and even his feet would flail around, almost out of control. In fact, when he did regain consciousness after his coma, the first thing his visitors noticed were his hands and feet moving excitedly under his hospital sheets as he spoke to them.

Remembrances have been shared by his friends at Amherst:

George the Amherst Man: A cheerleader for the football team—"Harass them, harass them. Make them relinquish the ball."  Later, president of his class, and a tireless promoter of the "Fairest College."

George the "Lyricist": Writing bawdy verses with Ed Harris to the old standards like "Walking My Baby Back Home," "Don't Get Around Much Anymore," "These Foolish Things," and "The Twelve Days of Christmas," (a Beta Classic).

George the Pugilist: Coming to the defense of Smitty Lanning when a bouncer at a club in California got physical with Smitty after rejecting his (fake) ID. George squared off with this burly guy and sparred with him until the bouncer lost interest. Jorge was Smitty's lifelong hero after that. George also jumped into the fray when a drunk driver t-boned John Beacco, who was driving his mother's convertible. George, a passenger with John, leaped out of the car, grabbed the drunk, and had him by the throat until Beacco interceded.

George the Class Wit: George was chosen by Bill Pite to create the class questionnaire, then compile the results and summarize them at the 50th Reunion final dinner. George reminded the class that 50 years prior, he had held the most prestigious elected post on campus—social chairman at Beta.

George the Prankster: Repositioning Officer Bill Jolly's police car, with the help of Fitz, when they found it running outside Converse Library.

George the Curator of the Beta Lecture Series: Preserving the legacy of such subjects as "Comparative Anatomy—a 1950 Ford and the Human body," demonstrated with a sledgehammer by Prof. Tim Colvin; and "Antarctic Weaponry," with Prof. Lenny Manning, which culminated in a cannon being fired off, inside a refrigerator, necessitating an evacuation of the fraternity house.

One of the proudest moments in his life occurred this past April when his grandfather, "Doc" White, a superb pitcher for the Chicago White Sox over 100 years ago, was inducted posthumously into the Washington, D.C., Athletic Hall of Fame. George represented his family in accepting the award, and, in doing so, rubbed elbows with Maury Wills, John Thompson, and Gary Williams, among others. When George was presented with the Hall-of-Fame plaque, his face was shown on the Jumbotron scoreboard, a sight that will live in infamy.

"Jorge" White was thinking outside the box before any of the rest of us knew that there was a box. His obituary in the Providence Journal noted that, "George was a man of extraordinary talents and a razor sharp intellect, his sophisticated and nuanced creativity allowed him to see the humor in just about anything." His classmates at Amherst, especially his Beta brothers, were the beneficiaries of his wonderful, sometimes off-the-wall, sense of humor.

Len's wife, Linda, a very close friend of Carolyn and George, might have said it best, "No matter how sad or depressed you were, George could always cheer you up. It took about two minutes with George before you were laughing again."

If God is missing a yellow Mustang, we know who "repositioned" it.

Here's to you, George. Your light will never go out.
 
George "Homer" Morenus '64
 
Contributors:
John Beacco '64
Denny Devere '64
Richard Fitzgerald '64
Ed Harris '64
Smitty Lanning '64
Len Manning '64
Bill Pite '64
Rich Sarvis '64