Deceased February 3, 2016

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In Memory

Bill “Bud” Tucker died Feb. 3 of cancer. A memorial service was held on March 26 at the Old First Dutch Reformed Church in Brooklyn where he was a longtime parishioner and Scout leader. The minister spoke of his volunteer work with the homeless and Little League. A teammate described his softball comeback in his early 70's during a remission—reluctantly moved to first base, but still a dead pull hitter. A neighbor spoke of his fanatical managing of Christmas caroling each year. In this spirit we at the service then sang all four verses of “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen!” Lifelong friends told about his youth in Mountain Lakes, N.J., and his early inclinations to observe and report, and his work during the Freedom Summer of 1964—also of his independent voice at the 21st reunion of those workers. A columnist from the NY Times characterized his books and journalism as being always at least three years ahead on public issues, like the downside of environmentalism, the upside of nuclear power and the potential for Governors Island; also how rent control benefits the rich. His three sons—Kevan, Fritz and Dylan—spoke of his parenting style: he liked to throw them up high—frighteningly, even dangerously high—but he always caught them. Their mother, Sarah Greene, told of how—soon after she met him—he pointed out a comet on a camping trip. His companions pooh-poohed the observation because no comet had been yet announced in the newspapers—a good symbol of Bud as a public intellectual. She also spoke of his unique individualism bordering on eccentricity—how he slept on occasion in Prospect Park until the police threatened to take away his tent. Sarah and Bill’s second wife, Stephanie, hosted a reception for all 150 mourners afterwards.

Bill Vesterman ’64

50th Reunion

At the 25th reunion, I wrote about having my play, "Founding Fathers," performed in Jacksonville, Florida at the Bicentennial of the Writing of the Constitution in 1987, only to miss the chance of having a TV station make a video recording to distribute to schools. At the time I said, "I'll be ready for the 250th anniversary in 2037. I'll only be 96 year old. I can't wait!"

64 Bud Tucker
Well, actually it didn't take quite that long. A group called Friends of the Constitution performed the play in Rome, Georgia on Constitution Day last September 17th and they're trying to put together a production to take to Atlanta. I also had an Off-Off Broadway production of my play, "Freedom Summer," at the Brecht Forum in Greenwich Village during Black History Month in 2012. This is the 50th anniversary of Freedom Summer (it was the summer of our graduation) and right now we're trying to arrange a performance at the 50th Reunion celebration in Jackson, Mississippi at the end of June. (I'm also hoping to have a video of the Brecht performance shown at our reunion.)

All these things are happening pretty late in life, but I guess I'm settling for being a late bloomer. For some strange reason, the last year has been the first time in my life that I've felt fairly comfortable in making a living. Somehow with the maturing of the Internet I have been able to string together a bunch of part-time jobs into the freelance career I always envisioned. I have also completed a book I worked on for 25 years, Marriage and Civilization, which was published in February by Regnery. It's an anthropological, sociological, historical look at the development of the human family and how it has related to the growth of civilizations. I also have another family-related book I think may be even more significant but I have to find a publisher. Then there's a novel I want to finish-well, two, actually. Anyway, I'm hoping my 70's will be a productive decade.

64 Bud Tucker
There have been rough spots along the line, of course. In 2007 my 28-year marriage broke up, which was a great disappointment to me. But I rebounded, marrying Stephanie Gutmann, another writer, in 2009. Living in Brooklyn I had developed asthma after 9/11, so we moved up to Rockland County, an obscure suburb on the west side of the Hudson where I started my newspaper career in 1971. Last year, through an extraordinary stroke of luck, we were able to purchase Jasper Johns' old rural hideaway, a converted barn with sliding garage doors for studio walls that is our pride and joy. We are very, very happy together. I still treasure my years at Amherst (one of those novels is about them). In ways I think my entire career has played out of my experience with that term paper we wrote for freshman physics-don't ignore seemingly inconsequential details, keep asking questions even though they may not seem to be leading anywhere, get to the bottom of things. Everything in the world hasn't been discovered yet and if it has, it's probably been forgotten. The boot camp atmosphere of our freshman year was to my mind the best conceivable way to start college and I pity those contemporary students who never encounter a core curriculum.

But then of course we were an exceptional group. In my last post as class secretary in the Alumni News, I wrote about finding our old graduation program and leafing through the back pages to read the titles of the honors' theses people had written. It was staggering. Just like in those first few days walking around Morrow Hall in fall of 1960, once again I stood in awe of my classmates.