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From the elevated platform of the No. 1 train's last stop at 242nd Street, you can just about see the lush 18-acre campus of the Horace Mann School. The walk from the station is short, but it traverses worlds. Leaving the cluttered din of Broadway, you enter the leafy splendor of Fieldston, an enclave of mansions and flowering trees that feels more like a wealthy Westchester suburb than the Bronx. Head up the steep hill, turn left, then walk a bit farther, past the headmaster's house. From the stone wall that runs along Tibbett Avenue, you can see practically the whole school: Pforzheimer Hall, Mullady Hall, the auditorium, the gymnasium and, right in the center, the manicured green expanse of the baseball field, home of the Lions, pride of the school.
It was this field that drew me to Horace Mann 33 years ago, pulling me out of Junior High School 141 in the Bronx, with its gray-green walls and metal-caged windows. At 141, my friends' résumés read like a crime blotter: Jimmy stole a pizza truck and dropped out after ninth grade; Eggy was done with 141 after he smashed the principal's glasses with a right hook; Ish liked to pelt the Mister Softee truck with rocks; Bend-Over Bob OD'd and lived; Frankie was not so lucky. My future would have tracked swiftly in the same direction but for one factor: baseball. By 14, I had a sweet swing, with the arm, hands and game smarts to match.
That's what brought me to the attention of R. Inslee Clark Jr., then headmaster of Horace Mann, a private school so elite that most students at 141 had never even heard of it. Inky Clark, a tireless scout of baseball talent, started showing up at my games, and he was not someone you could easily miss. He was a big guy with a powerful handshake, bright blue eyes and a booming voice. In his loud pink cardigans and madras pants, he always looked as if he came straight off the Kennedy compound or the bow of a yacht. He drove a bright orange Cadillac convertible, its rear bumper covered with Yankees stickers.
Clark was a legendary reformer. As dean of undergraduate admissions at Yale in the 1960s, he broke that institution's habit of simply accepting students from fancy boarding schools, whatever their academic standing; instead, he started scouring the country for the most talented, highest-achieving students from any school and any background. "You will laugh," William F. Buckley Jr. wrote in 1967, "but it is true that a Mexican-American from El Paso High with identical scores on the achievement test and identically ardent recommendations from the headmaster, has a better chance of being admitted to Yale than Jonathan Edwards the Sixteenth from Saint Paul's School." As more minorities started appearing in the freshman classes, the university's alumni and trustees did not laugh. But the rest of the Ivy League followed Clark's bold lead, forever altering the history of the American meritocracy.
He brought that same crusading spirit to Horace Mann, where he welcomed girls to what had long been a proudly all-boys school. And he used his passion for baseball, the sport he coached, as a Trojan horse to bring promising students from rough schools to a campus otherwise reserved for the city's most privileged children.
Clark could work a room like a politician, zeroing in on whomever he was speaking to, making him feel like he was the most interesting person in the world. He started calling me "the Mouse," as my friends at 141 did, and he suggested I might find a home at Horace Mann. Touched, as was everyone who met him, by his tremendous personal charisma, I took it as a thrilling compliment. My parents saw the bigger picture: the opportunities that a Horace Mann education could bring, the ways it could change a kid's life.
So in September 1979, I stood in the glassed-in breezeway through which students entered campus, wearing the pink Lacoste shirt my brother had somewhat optimistically insisted would help me fit in. All around me, the natives swarmed past — to the classrooms, to the science labs, to the brilliant futures they had been born to assume.
I was an outsider, but I was one of Inky's boys and, as I quickly learned, that counted for a lot. I gathered with my new teachers and classmates in the auditorium and proudly sang Horace Mann's alma mater: "Great is the truth and it prevails; mighty the youth the morrow hails./Lives come and go; stars cease to glow; but great is the truth and it prevails."
Shortly after my arrival, a new friend walked me around the school, pointing out teachers to avoid.
"What do you mean? Like, they're hard graders?"
"No. Perverts. Stay away from them. Trust me."
I heard about some teachers who supposedly had a habit of groping female students and others who had their eyes on the boys. I heard that Mark Wright, an assistant football coach, had recently left the school under mysterious circumstances. I was warned to avoid Stan Kops, the burly, bearded history teacher known widely as "the Bear," who had some unusual pedagogical methods. Even Clark came in for some snickering: he had no family of his own, and he had a noticeably closer-than-average relationship to the Bear, another confirmed bachelor.
It was juicy gossip, of course, but not all that different from what already swirls around the minds of sex-obsessed high-school students. Certainly it wasn't that different from what swirled around the hallways of typically homophobic high schools at the time, when anyone who was a bit different was suspected of being gay and any teacher who was gay was suspected of being a pedophile.
I didn't pay much attention. I was more focused on the important teenage business of losing my Bronx accent and my virginity. Over the next few years I studied Spanish and calculus and took Clark's class, urban studies; I went to parties in my classmates' lavish apartments, drank their liquor and snorted their cocaine. And I played baseball. Junior year, the Lions went 22-1.
When I was a senior, a family emergency took my mother abroad for several weeks, and my siblings and I were left to take care of ourselves. Clark invited me and my 12-year-old brother out for dinner, along with my friend Eric. On the designated night, we walked up the steps to the headmaster's house, where Inky greeted us at the door. Photos of Horace Mann athletes lined the walls of the foyer, as they did the walls of his office. In the living room, by the fire, sat Stan Kops — the Bear — nursing a cocktail.
"Can I offer you boys a drink?" Inky called out from behind the bar. This certainly didn't happen every day, but the suggestion didn't sound so jarring in 1982, when the state drinking age was just being changed from 18 to 19. Like any self-respecting 17-year-olds, Eric and I said sure, as we all kidded my little brother about being left out of the fun. Gin and tonics were poured, consumed and refilled. Talk loosened up. Still, something about sharing fireside cocktails with Stan Kops was making me uncomfortable. I pointedly asked when we were going to dinner.
Boys in one vehicle, teachers in another, we swerved to the Riverdale Steak House. As Eric climbed out from behind the wheel of his blue van, he muttered a line that we still repeat to this day: "I'm not taking any shit from the Bear." Then we stumbled into the restaurant, where we consumed steaks and many more gin and tonics.
At the end of dinner, Eric and I uttered some prearranged exit line, thanked our hosts, grabbed my brother and drove off drunk into the night, leaving the two grown men to pay the bill and finish out the evening as they might.
"Do you remember Mr. Wright, the football coach?"
Ten years after graduation, four Horace Mann friends and I decided to go on a camping trip. We had been close in high school but later scattered across the country. And we all sensed that the next 10 years — careers, marriages, families — would pull us even farther apart. So we tied our sleeping bags to our backpacks and headed up to the Sierra Nevada for a week of hiking and bonding.
One night after a particularly grueling hike, we sat around the campfire, eating some burned vegetarian meal and enjoying that pleasing quiet that falls between exhaustion and sleep.
Then one friend cleared his throat. (Like many people in this article, my friend asked me not to use his full name, because of the sensitivity of the subject matter and the fact that these events took place when he was a minor. I'll call him by his middle name, Andrew.) "Guys, I have to tell you something that happened to me when we were at H.M. Do you remember Mr. Wright, the football coach?" Our metal utensils ceased clanking.
Speaking calmly and staring into the flames, he told us that when he was in eighth grade, Wright sexually assaulted him. "And not just me," he added. "There were others." First Wright befriended him, he said. Then he molested him. Then he pretended nothing happened.
No one knew what to say, at least at first. But then slowly, the rest of us started telling stories, too. One of the guys talked about a teacher who took him on a field trip, and then invited him into his bed in the hotel room they were sharing. (My friend fled, walking in the rain for hours until the coast seemed clear.) Another told a story about a teacher who got him drunk and naked; that time, no one fled. We talked about the steakhouse dinner, which was a far cry from abuse, but an example of how easy it can be for boundaries to blur and how hard it can be, in the moment, for students to get their bearings. Finally, we all went to sleep.
Then we went home, and another 20 years slid by.
When the Penn State scandal came out last year, I kept getting tangled in the questions everyone else was getting tangled in: How does an institutional culture arise to condone, or at least ignore, something that, individually, every member knows is wrong? Andrew's story came back to me in a rush. The questions of Penn State, I realized, are the questions of Horace Mann and perhaps every place that has been haunted by a similar history.
I called Andrew. He was thinking about Horace Mann, too — about his own experiences and those of his classmates. And about Mark Wright.
In many ways, Wright was the ultimate Horace Mann success story. People who knew him remember him as tall and extroverted, with an easy smile and a huge laugh. He graduated in 1972, a time when African-American students like him were a rarity, then went to Princeton, where he majored in art and archaeology and played right tackle for the football team. A glowing article about him in The Daily Princetonian described him as "a Picasso in cleats," and speculated on whether he could have gone pro or would get a Ph.D. "I think Mark lives life to the fullest," the head of his department told the paper, noting that he "exudes enthusiasm and versatility." After college, he came back to Horace Mann to teach art and to coach football.
"I first had him as an art teacher," Andrew told me, in the steadied voice of someone who had worked through the story in therapy. "He was a great guy. Funny, gregarious, everyone loved him. He had this aura of success around him, and I was so happy that someone like him would take an interest in a skinny underclassman like me. I felt special.
"One night he called my house and asked my parents if he could take me to the museum," Andrew continued. "My parents were so excited that a teacher would take such an interest in me." And this being Horace Mann, he added, "it didn't hurt that he had also gone to Princeton." Still, Andrew didn't feel comfortable hanging out with a teacher on the weekend, so he turned down the invitation. A little later Wright had another idea: he asked to draw a portrait of Andrew.
"It was the night of the eighth-grade dance," he told me, "and instead of going to the gym, I went to meet him in his art studio on the fourth floor of Tillinghast. He locked the door and told me to undress." As he got to this part of the story, Andrew's pace slowed and his voice lowered.
"He told me to bring a bathing suit, but when I got there he said not to bother putting it on. I was really uncomfortable but did it anyway since he was across the room. I remember exactly what he said: that he needed to see the connection between my legs. The next thing I knew, he had my penis in his hand. I was so scared. He was a pretty intimidating guy. He began performing fellatio and masturbating," Andrew said, now breathing with effort.
"I left the room and walked to where the dance was. I saw all these kids doing normal eighth-grade things. I tried being present at that party, but I was horrified." Afterward, Andrew said, "it was really hard being at Horace Mann, knowing that if I ran into him, he would get up really close to me and say stuff like: 'What's wrong, little buddy? You're not still mad about that time, are you?' "
This was 1978, a different era in terms of public awareness about sexual predators. Today children are taught from a young age that unwelcome touches are not O.K., not their fault and should be reported immediately. But at 13, Andrew hadn't heard any of those lectures. He didn't tell his other teachers or his parents. He felt too ashamed to talk about what happened. "What I did do in the immediate aftermath," he said, "was contribute to the rumors going around that Mark Wright was a child molester, which were pretty rampant at that time. I'd join conversations about it and say that I'd heard he was into boys, etc. But these conversations were always very frustrating, because he had a lot of defenders who would say that people said this about him because they were jealous that he was such a stud."
Eventually two friends told Andrew that Wright assaulted them, too. "People just talked about it," he said. That's how he heard about the physical exams that Wright gave athletes in the gym building. When Andrew's coach told him he had to see Wright for a physical, he was wary but didn't see any way out of it. So he opened the door to a small, windowless room and walked in. "There was no pretense of medical examination when I got there," he said. "He just tried to start molesting me again, and I told him I'd tell someone if he continued, and he stopped and told me to leave."
G., another kid from my class, who asked me to use only his initial, remembered the same setting — windowless training room, only one door. "I was 14 and recovering from a football injury," he said, in an almost jocular tone, "when Wright used the purported physical exam to try to engage me in a sexual encounter by touching my penis. Although nothing further happened, I was speechless, and I never said anything to anyone. I never looked at myself as a victim, but. . . ." Suddenly his voice cracked. "In hindsight, I just wish I had said something to someone. Maybe then it wouldn't have happened to other kids."
We were only kids ourselves, I said, inadequately.
"I don't think he looked me in the face when he was doing what he did," he said later, "and I certainly didn't look him in the face either."
Later that year, one of Wright's examination subjects, a football player, spoke up. "I reported that Coach Wright was performing limited but inappropriate physicals on team players," the former student told me, "and that I was concerned that he was going to do so on others. The contact was very limited, to about 30 seconds. It was a 'private-parts inspection.' "
When students and faculty returned to campus after the 1978-79 winter break, some told me, Wright was gone. One teacher remembers being told he resigned; others say they got no explanation, as do the students I spoke to.
Wright's victims might have appreciated the invitation to talk about their experiences — if not with school officials, then with counselors or psychotherapists. Students in general might have welcomed an explanation, however limited, of why a teacher that so many looked up to simply disappeared from their lives. And the entire school might have benefited from a more open discussion of student-teacher boundaries, of the danger of abuse and the right to resist it, of how to report it and how the school would respond. But several faculty members of that era said that, to their knowledge, the school said nothing — not to the students, not to their families and not to the police.
Administrators at Horace Mann rarely speak to the press. Over the last six months, I contacted the current headmaster, Tom Kelly, on many occasions, by letter and phone, to ask about Mark Wright as well as the other teachers that I learned about in the course of my research for this article. I also wrote individually to 22 members of the board of trustees, imploring them to hear the stories that former students had told me and to speak on the school's behalf about better policies that might now be in place. I received an initial reply from Kekst and Company, a corporate public-relations firm, and later a statement from the school that said in part: "As an educational institution, we are deeply concerned if allegations of abuse of children are raised, regardless of when or where they may have occurred." It continued: "The current administration is not in a position to comment on the events involving former and, in some cases, now-deceased, faculty members that are said to have occurred years before we assumed leadership of the school. It should be noted that Horace Mann School has terminated teachers based on its determination of inappropriate conduct, including but not limited to certain of the individuals named in your article."
As for questions about Wright or the other teachers I heard about in the course of my reporting, the school issued a blanket statement, saying: "The article contains allegations dating back, in some instances, 30 years, long before the current administration took office, which makes it difficult to accurately respond to the factual allegations therein. In addition, on June 13, 1984, there was a fire in the attic of the business office that destroyed some records."
"Mr. Kops would occasionally cancel class in favor of something called 'frolic.' "
Stocky and socially awkward, Stanley Kops was a far cry from the popular Mark Wright. He was a bit weird, actually. But so were lots of other teachers. Horace Mann tolerated and in some cases even prized eccentricity in its faculty.
Kops — like Wright, an alumnus of the school as well as an employee — used to walk through the aisles of his classroom lecturing about some king or army, then pause at a student's desk to drive home a point. As students noticed, and openly discussed, the objects of these in-class tutorials tended to be handsome, self-confident male athletes. Kops didn't just quiz them; he gave their shoulders a massage. If that didn't coax forth the answer he was looking for, he bent one of their arms behind their backs and pulled — gently, at first, then a lot less so. The inquiry might move on to a headlock.
"I remember this one kid misbehaved," said Rob Boynton, who was a year ahead of me in high school and is now a journalist and a professor. "And his punishment was to take his shirt off and stand by the window. It was freezing outside. Must have been February. All this in full view of the class."
Another former student, who asked not to be named because his child currently attends the school, said: "Mr. Kops would occasionally cancel class in favor of something called 'frolic.' Basically, he would allow kids to run amok in the classroom and kind of joined in the action. I was new in seventh grade and remember thinking that this was a different kind of school where a teacher was physically 'handling' me. I can remember him being kind of red and breathless after particularly vigorous frolicking."
Kops also coached the junior-varsity swim team; it was in that context that I came into contact with his long, creepy touches, which always accompanied pointers about stroke or form. His postpractice entry into the communal shower would clear the steamy room in a hurry. And then there was his ambiguous relationship to Clark, a subject almost perfectly engineered to capture the imagination of students.
Despite all these distractions, many of his students — boys and girls, athletes and not — were as devoted to him as he was to them. He made students feel that he cared deeply about their education and their well-being. In return, a pretty sophisticated student body chose to view his behavior as merely odd when, in many other contexts, it would have been deemed outrageous or even threatening.
That all changed in the fall of 1983 at the John Dorr Nature Laboratory, a rugged expanse of fields, streams and woods in Washington, Conn., that serves as Horace Mann's outdoor-education center. At various points during their education, the school's students go to Dorr for a few days to explore nature and bond with one another under the oversight of Dorr's resident faculty and, sometimes, visiting teachers as well.
Kops accompanied one of the seventh-grade orientation trips that year and slept, as visiting faculty often did, in a cabin with the students. At some point in the night, one of the boys, whom I'll call by his middle name, Seth, woke up.
"I was on the top bunk," he recalled, in a matter-of-fact tone. "Middle of the night, my sleeping bag fell to the floor. I climbed down to get it, and as I bent over to pick it up, Kops came up from behind me and pressed up against me. It was pitch black. He then helped me to pick up the sleeping bag even though I didn't need any help." They were fully clothed, he said, and he didn't feel assaulted, just uncomfortable. "I probably wouldn't have said anything except for what happened the next morning."
After breakfast, Seth told me, as the group assembled for activities, Kops took him aside behind a building, grabbed his own crotch and asked, "What were you doing last night?" Seth says he was in shock. "I freaked," he said. "I started screaming: 'You're calling me a homo? You're the homo. You're the homo!' " Listening to Seth, I wondered if that was really what Kops was getting at — perhaps he was making a crude masturbation joke? But more to the point, I wondered if, from Kops's peculiar perspective, that bizarre encounter with a 12-year-old looked all that different from twisting students' arms or making them partly undress in full view of his class.
Seth said he was unsure of what happened next, but according to the story that circulated around campus, he took off running, screaming something about Kops. Seth says his father, an active parent in the Horace Mann community, demanded the school take immediate action, which it did. Kops resigned.
Michael Lacopo, who was the headmaster at the time (Clark had been promoted to president), is now retired and living in Colorado. When I reached him, he told me that he could not discuss any case by name but that he presided over only one such allegation. Speaking in clipped sentences, he gave me a very limited report. "The act was never consummated, but it was an issue of concern, and it became clear it was time for him to move on. And he didn't deny it. And the kid's parents were satisfied," he said. "Everyone knew where I stood on the matter."
Horace Mann says faculty members received a letter about Kops's resignation, but Lacopo made no announcement to his students, their parents or the student body in general.
Kops called some of his favorite students at home and asked them to meet him at school the next day for an announcement. One was Kate Aurthur, who took his ancient-history course the previous year. When they assembled, she said, he told them he was leaving. "He didn't say why he was leaving, and I didn't know why yet," she said. Regardless, the news came as a shock. "It was very emotional. He always had a red face and a soft voice, but he got redder than usual and choked up."
The next time students heard anything about Stan Kops, it was at the end of the next school year, and the news was far more shocking: he had committed suicide. The rumors ran quickly through the Horace Mann student body. Some said that he shot himself in a car, with a Bible nearby. Others said he shot himself on a baseball field as some sort of coded message to Clark. The school still said nothing.
Mr. Somary "was a hero to me, but he was also a monster."
Years before Kops's death, before Wright's firing, before Clark's arrival at Horace Mann, and for many years after, too, Johannes Somary, the head of the arts-and-music department, was a legend on campus. With his wild hair and faraway gaze, a jacket and tie over his pot belly, Somary seemed almost a caricature of a brilliant maestro. The son of a famous Austrian-Swiss banker, he enjoyed a prominent international reputation, having guest-conducted numerous orchestras, including the Royal Philharmonic of London and the Vienna Philharmonic. The walls of Pforzheimer Hall at Horace Mann were lined with posters from his concerts.
In class, he was strict, shouting in heavily accented English or slamming the piano lid if a rehearsal was not to his liking. Students took the glee club, and him, very seriously. They accompanied him as he strutted across campus, with an old-fashioned briefcase filled with musical scores and batons. They gathered in his office, where, they say, he was more relaxed and funny, and where they could spend their free periods discussing music, doing homework, even sitting on his lap.
"He had a formidable arsenal for impressing students," said E. B., a flushed, avuncular man who attended Horace Mann in the 1970s. "He was fabulously wealthy, had priceless art on his wall, drove a shiny green Jaguar and was a world-famous conductor." E. B. agreed to tell me his story (though he asked that I identify him only by his initials) at an Italian restaurant outside Lincoln Center. As he spoke, he seemed both nervous and eager, his eyes darting around the room. "He was a hero to me," he said. "But he was also a monster."
Somary started out by befriending him, then allowing him to call him Hannes, then hiring him for little jobs like baby-sitting in the Riverdale home where he lived with his wife and three children. It was there on a fall night in 1973, when E. B. was 16, he says, that Somary sat next to him on a couch, unzipped the boy's pants and started handling his penis. "I wasn't scared, just stunned," E. B. said. "The primary emotion was revulsion. I told him to stop, and he did." But a couple of weeks later, Somary abused him again. "I was such a good victim," he told me as the meal in front of him grew cold. "Shy, trusting, unsophisticated." He shook his head slowly.
M., another man now in his mid-50s, had a similar experience. He was so anxious about my revealing his identity that he initially said he would speak only through an intermediary. ("M" is a letter in his middle name — the closest he would come to letting me identify him in print.) But sometime near midnight this past January, he called me directly and launched into a rapid-fire account of how Somary, "a manipulator par excellence," groomed him for victimization. And how, one night, Somary suggested they take a drive. Somary parked in a lot near the club where the two had spent many hours playing tennis together. "He then pulled me close to his chest," M. said. "I'm thinking: This is weird. Uncomfortable. Then he starts kissing my lips. I'm thinking, Oh, my God, this can't be happening. I didn't know what to do. I was just a child. I didn't have the ego strength to say no. I was shocked, uncomfortable, but I let it persist. He unzipped my pants and started to masturbate me."
Somary took him on glee-club trips and then on solo trips to Europe, M. said: "We stayed at the best hotels, I met with the great classical musicians of the time and ate at the finest restaurants. I was expected to have sex with him and did even though it repulsed me every time. It was all very confusing. At one point I told my parents I no longer wanted to sleep in the same room with him on the European trips." When Somary found out, he "drove to my house and sat in my living room like a jilted lover, begging me to stay in the same room with him," M. said. "Right in front of my father." M.'s mother, who confirmed his story, said she and her husband didn't understand the nature of their son's discomfort. They thought he was just being a teenager, preferring the company of his peers. He couldn't bring himself to tell his parents the truth.
The arrangement continued for three years — even into M.'s time at college, he said. "I don't know why I let it go on for so long," M. said. "I've been asking myself that for decades."
E. B., too, is still struggling to make sense of what happened to him. He started a blog called "Johannes Somary, Pedophile," which he hoped would become a gathering place for fellow victims. (E.B. said one other victim reached out to him after coming across the blog.) At the urging of his therapist, he wrote a letter to Somary explaining the scars his abuse left. He received no reply. When he also wrote to Somary's wife, he said, he received a cease-and-desist letter from her lawyer. I wrote to her also, and to Somary's children, in hopes of discussing these allegations, but none of them replied.
Two decades after E. B.'s experiences with Somary, a student named Benjamin Balter, a member of the class of 1994, made a similar allegation.
In the summer of 1993, as Ben was preparing for his senior year at Horace Mann, he accompanied the glee club on a European trip. When he came back, his family says, they could tell something had changed. "He was always really, really smart," Charles Balter said of his brother. "He was a really nice guy, but he was always a bit socially awkward. One of those kids who could perform at the highest levels of math and science but couldn't do the basic things like tie his shoes." After the trip, Charles said, "he was withdrawn, angry and secretive."
The Balter family was in turmoil on a number of fronts at the time — Charles was recovering from a swimming accident (in which Ben had saved his life), their parents' marriage had just ended and Ben was in the midst of coming out of the closet — so though they noticed Ben's unhappiness, it did not occur to them that abuse could be the cause. That fall, Ben took private music lessons from Somary at St. Jean Baptiste, a church in Manhattan. Ben's mother — who works at Horace Mann and who asked that I not print her name — says she asked Somary if she could observe a lesson. Impossible, he told her.
It was soon thereafter that Ben's father found him hidden in a crawl space, passed out after swallowing pills. He was admitted to Nyack Hospital, where he was placed on suicide watch.
The day after he was released, Ben sent a letter to Phil Foote, then Horace Mann's headmaster, accusing Somary of "grossly inappropriate sexual advances." The letter said in part: "The purpose of a school such as Horace Mann is to provide a safe and comfortable learning environment. This goal is clearly made impossible by the inappropriate actions of teachers such as Mr. Somary. It is unfair to me and to other students to have such teachers in our midst, for they compromise not only the goals of the Horace Mann school but also the integrity of education in general."
Ben's mother says she confronted Somary, the man she knew as her son's teacher as well as her own colleague. "Ben kissed me first," she says he told her. When she demanded, "How dare you put your tongue down my son's mouth!" his reply, she says, was, "That's how we Swiss kiss."
Foote's tenure as headmaster lasted only three years, and since that time he suffered a stroke, but speaking recently in his home on the Upper East Side, he was able to recall both the letter and the surrounding events. "Somary came into my office with the mother and strenuously denied everything," Foote said. "His vehemence made a lot of people put off doing anything about it." Later, Foote said: "All the administration and trustees got together and decided they wouldn't do anything about it. People came out of the woodwork protecting Somary." (I have contacted 10 trustees from that era. Most declined to speak to me at all; only one, Michael Hess, agreed to speak with me on the record, but he said he had no specific recollection of the incident.)
Ben's mother says a lawyer affiliated with the school warned her that unless she had evidence of the abuse on tape, there was nothing she could do. "It was Ben's word against Somary's," she says she was told.
Whatever the legal standards might have been for firing or even prosecuting Somary, nothing was stopping the school from at least talking to Ben about his experiences. But according to his mother, no school official ever did. Exhausted by a divorce process, with one son in the hospital and another only recently released, and with no evidence of the kind the lawyer mentioned, Ben's mother dropped her protest.
As for Ben, he finished up his senior year and went to Brown. But he didn't seem to find solace there, nor in his postcollege life, in which he muddled through a series of jobs and relationships, struggling with depression and finding it hard to commit to anything. Charles said that through it all, Ben continued to bring up the abuse he had suffered. "There was definitely a before- and after-Somary quality to his life," Charles said. In 2009, while living on Shelter Island, off the eastern end of Long Island, he made another suicide attempt, with antidepressants and alcohol. This time he succeeded.
"I have been running from this thing most of my life."
I spoke with nearly 100 people for this article, including 60 former students and 15 former or current faculty members. Some of them implored me not to pursue the subject, insisting that no good could come of opening old wounds. Others said that Horace Mann today is a very different place than it was back then — eagerly responsive to the concerns of students and parents. Some said they were unaware of these rumors. Some said nothing had happened to them but that they had heard similar stories from classmates. Many said they were surprised it took this long for these stories to come out.
The former students who chose to share their stories with me are all men, but if their classmates are to be believed, the situation was far more complex. People who haven't set foot in the school in 30 years still rattle off the names of male teachers who were said to be sleeping with their female students. A couple of female faculty members were said to be sleeping with male students. Once I started asking around, these stories continued to bubble up — from friends I thought I knew well and from other schools, public and private, each with their own elaborate histories of which teachers you ought to steer clear of, which students seemed too old for their years. In just the past couple of years, among just the tiny fraternity of elite New York City private schools, two allegations made the news. A male math teacher at Riverdale Country School pleaded not guilty to charges that he had oral sex with a 16-year-old female student. And Poly Prep was named as a defendant in a lawsuit in which 10 former students and two day-campers say the school covered up for a football coach who was molesting boys. In New York City public schools, during the first three months of 2012, reports of sexual misconduct involving school employees were up 35 percent compared with the same period last year.
I have several friends who confided in me, back in high school, about their own sexual encounters with teachers, but who are now unwilling to talk about it. I can't say I blame them. Victims rarely speak out, said Paul Mones, a lawyer who represents people who have been sexually abused by authority figures. "The whole goal of the grooming process is to wrap the child close," he told me. "The affection and trust is to make the kid complicit in the act. Make them feel like it was their fault, so it won't even occur to them to talk." Even if they do, New York State's statute of limitations, which says people who were victimized as minors cannot take civil action against an abuser after they turn 23, makes it unlikely that they would find justice.
Thirty or even 40 years later, many students who have talked about surviving their teachers' abuse say they still live in its shadow. "I spent decades feeling unlovable," said E. B., the creator of the anti-Somary Web site. "I drank and drugged for many years, because I just couldn't face all the anger it brought up."
Andrew, my friend from the camping trip, said: "You spend a lot of your life feeling like an outsider — it shatters you. These people who were supposed to be the good guys were actually the bad guys, and nobody would talk about it."
M., the one who says Somary abused him for years, also feels the effects. "I have had so many issues that I think I can trace back to this," he said, including drug abuse and broken marriages. "I have been running from this thing most of my life."
Stories like theirs point to why sexual abuse by teachers — or religious leaders or relatives, for that matter — is so especially damaging. As Mones said: "It's counterintuitive, but sexual abuse emotionally binds the child closer to the person who has harmed him, setting him up for a life plagued by suspicion and confusion, because he will never be sure who he can really trust. And in my experience, this is by far the worst consequence of sexual abuse." That's one reason, he said, why those few victims who ever speak out at all tend to do so only after the abuser is dead or dying: telling the truth while the other person is still strong enough to deny it, or to blame the accuser, is just too terrifying.
At Horace Mann, students who spoke up at the time and saw quick action from the school seem to have suffered few, if any, ill effects. "I was not traumatized by the experience in the least," Seth, the student at the center of the John Dorr Nature Lab confrontation with Stan Kops, told me. "In fact, I was just relaying the story to a friend the other day at lunch. I think the school acted swiftly and appropriately."
The football player who blew the whistle on Mark Wright's "private-part inspections" also says he was not traumatized. Though the administration did not inform him of its action, Wright was gone almost immediately, and the student says he was satisfied with the outcome. "No one knew why he was gone, but as far as I am concerned, the administration wasted no time in addressing the situation," he said. "I have the deepest respect for how it was handled. Unbelievably glad about how they handled it."
For whatever reason, the allegations against Johannes Somary were handled quite differently. At some point after the incident with Ben, faculty members said, Somary was told he could no longer travel unchaperoned with students. But he continued to teach. Several teachers past and present say they noticed his unusually close relationships with certain students. "In the late '60s, early '70s, people started talking about his inappropriate behavior," one of his former colleagues said. "One student a year was anointed," another said. A third former teacher, who taught at Horace Mann during the last years before Somary's retirement, said he was shocked at the time that Somary was still allowed to teach.
These teachers saw enough to make them wonder and even to worry. Yet when the school chose not to act, none of them shouted from the rooftop for help. They came to work the next day, as they had the day before. Teachers had strong incentives not to speak: their jobs were on the line, as was the reputation of an institution in which they had invested some degree of their identities. Even today, witnesses with no current ties to the school have reasons not to speak. Those with school-age children worry about damaging their children's chances at Horace Mann or other elite New York schools. Others point to Horace Mann's influence, real or perceived, and what it could do to their careers or social standings.
Perhaps the teachers who wondered about Somary thought they didn't have enough information. Perhaps they just dearly hoped their hunches were wrong. At least one wishes now that he had acted differently.
"In some ways," said the teacher who worked at Horace Mann during Somary's last years at the school, "I guess I'm culpable."
After Horace Mann, Mark Wright lived for a while in Washington, D.C., and worked at TIAA-CREF, the financial-services organization. Then the trail grows faint. His Horace Mann classmates didn't keep up with him after college, and of the dozens of Princeton classmates contacted for this article, none had any information to share. Wright died in 2004 while living in a bay-side condo in the South Beach section of Miami Beach. The cause was never announced.
When Stan Kops left Horace Mann, he landed at Rutgers Prep, a private school in Somerset, N.J., where he taught history while taking classes at New Brunswick Theological Seminary. A former Rutgers Prep official, who was involved in Kops's hiring but who did not have permission to comment on it, said the school always checked applicants' references. "No one from Horace Mann said anything that indicated Stan would be anything other than a safe bet at Rutgers," that official said. "Rutgers had no idea about any potential allegations of sexual impropriety against Stan at H.M. If they had, they never would have hired him."
Kops finished the year without incident, the Rutgers Prep official said, but "he had strange teaching habits and taught in ways more in keeping with a more homogeneous school like Horace Mann." His contract was not renewed.
Shortly after the school year ended at Rutgers Prep, Kops drove across the Raritan River to Piscataway and shot himself — not standing on a baseball diamond, as the more imaginative gossip had claimed, but sitting in his car, the police told the school administrator. A close relative of Kops's, speaking on behalf of his family, said they had no comment for this article. Today his name appears on the honor roll of the Tillinghast Society, which recognizes alumni who made provisions for Horace Mann in their wills.
As for Somary, he taught at the school without interruption, until his retirement, at 67, in 2002.
Phil Foote, the former head of school, told me that he didn't know why Ben Balter's mother "gave up so easily" in her quest to see Somary fired. "I always wondered why she didn't pursue it," he told me. "Maybe she just got defeated." Sitting in his living room recently, I asked him why he himself didn't try to remove Somary, or at least to investigate the charges more thoroughly. Why didn't he go to the police? "The structure of H.M. was not easy," he said. "There were groups and groups within groups. It was a time with different values and different systems. You didn't have the access you do now. It was hubris. H.M. was sure it was above everybody else. Nobody wanted anything to change."
I asked if he knew what became of Ben. He said no, then paused to study my face. "He committed suicide?" he guessed, before I could say it. He turned away and, staring into the middle distance, said, "Oh, my Lord."
Ben's letter was addressed to Foote. But his mother said that she also spoke to Eileen Mullady, the head of school who immediately followed him, to make sure she knew about her son's letter. I reached out to Mullady, as well as the former Horace Mann administrators Larry Weiss and Ellen Moceri; none responded to my questions. Neither did the board of trustees, the body responsible for those school officials. One longtime former member told me: "No one will talk to you. They are all lawyering up."
Tom Kelly, the current headmaster, didn't start his job until after Somary's retirement. Three years after Ben's suicide, after I asked the school for comment about it, Ben's mother says Kelly showed her the letter her son wrote. It was the first time she had ever seen it. She wished she had done more for him, she told me.
Somary died in February 2011, from complications related to a stroke. "Now this wonderful, wonderful man is trying to shape up the heavenly chorus, and God bless him," says a Class of 1957 obituary on a Yale alumni Web site. "They will sing everything his way."
E. B. phoned Kelly to implore him not to sponsor any memorial service. Kelly told him none was planned. But shortly thereafter, the school's director of alumni relations sent an e-mail inviting certain alumni to the Johannes Somary Memorial Concert at the Basilica of St. Patrick's Old Cathedral. According to the school, Somary's widow, a retired Horace Mann teacher, and his children, who were all alumni, "asked to communicate with their former students and classmates, and they were granted limited access to the database of alumni." E. B., whose e-mail address was not included in that mailing, called to demand an explanation and was told that the school did not endorse the concert.
A few days later, E. B. says he wrote a letter to Archbishop Timothy Dolan explaining the situation and asking him "as the spiritual head of the Archdiocese of New York to rescind permission that has been given by the organizers of this concert to use this sacred space." The church did not respond, he says, but the location for the concert was changed to the Great Hall in Cooper Union.
Despite all that transpired, M., the student whose encounters with Somary stretched over several years, went to his former teacher's funeral. "I don't know why I went," he said. "Still, today, after the drinking and the heroin and the therapy and the battered relationships, I just can't bring myself to fully hate the man who gave me so much."
"Great is the truth, and it prevails."
I have similarly conflicted feelings about Horace Mann. It was in many ways an amazing place filled with inspiring teachers and smart, funny students, with a sense of enthusiasm and possibility. Despite all I've since learned about it, I still look back on my years there with affection and gratitude, as do so many former students, even some who shared their harrowing stories with me. But that gratitude is part of what makes these stories so painful. We were at such a vulnerable moment in our lives — just beginning to make the transition from childhood into early adulthood, struggling to come to terms with the responsibilities of sexuality and trying to decide what we were willing to stand up for. We needed strong and consistent role models. In many cases we got them. But in too many other cases, we got models of how to abuse authority, how to manipulate trust, how to keep silent, how to fix your eyes forward.
The statement that the school sent me via the public-relations firm seems to suggest that the system worked as well as it could have. After all, Mark Wright's and Stan Kops's tenures at Horace Mann were brought to an end. The school provided no explanation for why the accusations in those cases were treated so differently than those against Johannes Somary. But all three of these stories have something in common: they seem like artifacts of a previous era, a time before the explosion of electronic communication and before the scandals in the Catholic Church, the Boy Scouts and Penn State. Today, if faculty members disappeared from campus under suspicious circumstances or if rumors were swirling about predatory teachers, students would be texting about it in real time. Outraged parents would be organizing into networks and distributing action plans. And schools would dispatch counselors to help everyone through their pain. According to the school's statement, "Horace Mann School today has in place clearly articulated and enforced rules, regulations, policies, procedures and expectations concerning appropriate behavior within the community — including whistle-blower protections to ensure that any member of the school community can freely report alleged violations."
Clearly Horace Mann's policies have evolved far beyond what they were in Mark Wright's day. National awareness of the issue has evolved, too, but we still have a long way to go. With its prestigious reputation and its network of influential alumni, Horace Mann could take a leadership position, educating other schools on how to talk about these dangers with their students and their faculty. But first it will have to acknowledge the kinds of experiences former students shared with me for this article.
A little while ago, I took my children to see the school. We sat eating ice cream on the same left-field wall I used to sit on 30 years earlier. The place has changed so much since I was a student; a wave of prerecession fortune left snazzy new facilities in every corner. But at the center of it all is still that same green diamond of manicured grass that a member of the Yankees grounds crew once helped maintain. The smell of spring's thawing mud reminded me that baseball season was just around the corner. A razor-thin kid shagged flies, and my thoughts drifted back to Inky.
Horace Mann has referred to Inky Clark as "a man of true valor." I remember him that way, too. Years after I graduated, I learned he even reached into his own pocket to pad out my scholarship to Horace Mann, then he did it again for my college, when Eric discreetly warned him that my family might fall short.
Inky was in so many ways a hero, a man who felt the urgent obligation of history and rose to answer its call. But he was also a man who shied away from the most urgent obligation of all. He pried open the doors of insular institutions, making an elite education — and all the benefits it confers — available to students who would never otherwise have had a shot. But then he stood at the helm of one such institution while teachers allegedly betrayed their students in the most damaging ways.
If Horace Mann's current anti-abuse policies had been enforced back in Clark's day, Mark Wright's first physical examination might have been his last. But it seems that Clark handled Wright's and Kops's cases discreetly, without offering an explanation to the Horace Mann community or initiating a schoolwide discussion about the surrounding issues. A discussion like that might have encouraged E. B. or M. to speak up, decades before Ben Balter had his own painful experiences with Somary.
Clark left Horace Mann in 1991, having led the school for two decades. He died eight years later of a heart attack while recovering from a fall. He was 64. The baseball diamond that first drew me to the school is now called Clark Field.
I saw Inky for the last time during a college vacation. He and I hadn't been close for years, but my mother still felt grateful to him — as did I — and she invited him over to her apartment for brunch.
The years had caught up with Inky, or perhaps it was the drinks. Beneath the cheery banter and the bright outfit, he seemed weary. We caught up about my time in college, the injury that ended my years on the field, the various players and teachers we both knew.
Inky was a man who dared to reinvent august institutions and inspired decades of students. For reasons I still can't quite fathom, he had gone to the effort of changing my life. But here we were sitting across from each other, after so many years, and we were just making small talk. It didn't seem right.
Stan Kops had recently committed suicide. That horrible news felt like a heavy, unaddressed presence in the room. So, yearning for a deeper connection, I took a swig of my drink and found the courage to say that I was sorry to hear about the death of his friend.
Inky looked at me with his watery blue eyes and slowly wiped his mouth. "Strangest thing, Mouse," he said, as though from far away. "I heard about Stan Kops, too."


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BOSTON — Ray Allen was out on the perimeter like so many times before during a 16-year career in which he's established himself as the most prolific 3-point shooter in NBA history.
BOSTON — Ray Allen was out on the perimeter like so many times before during a 16-year career in which he's established himself as the most prolific 3-point shooter in NBA history.
Only this time, he was alone.
The Philadelphia 76ers were sagging off the Celtics guard in Game 7 of the Eastern Conference semifinals, essentially daring him to shoot another 3; he had already missed five. And when Allen got the ball behind the arc on the left side, near the start of the fourth quarter of a three-point game, he showed a rare moment of hesitation before shooting.
But this one was good.
Allen hit a pair of 3-pointers in the fourth quarter to overcome his early woes, and the Celtics beat the Sixers 85-75 to advance to the Eastern Conference finals against the Miami Heat.
Game 1 is tonight in Miami.
"I had some great looks tonight, probably the best I've seen so far this postseason. I wish I had some back," said Allen, who scored eight of his 11 points in the fourth. "It's almost like I needed the fourth quarter ... I love to get to that point, you focus a little more. But they go in when they counted."
Rajon Rondo had 18 points, 10 rebounds and 10 assists for his ninth career postseason triple-double, and Kevin Garnett scored 18 with 13 rebounds as Boston reached the NBA's round of four for the third time in five years. Paul Pierce had 15 points and nine rebounds, but he picked up four fouls in less than four minutes in the middle of the fourth quarter and fouled out.
Rondo opened the game with a burst — four assists and two rebounds in the first three minutes — but did little over the next two-plus quarters before taking over when Pierce fouled out with 4:16 to play. Rondo had 11 points, four assists and three rebounds in the fourth quarter alone, even drawing up a play during a timeout to get Allen open for a 3.
"To have the trust in Ray, after the way he was shooting the ball, to get it to him for him to make it says a lot about Ray," Celtics coach Doc Rivers said. "And I think it says a lot about our team: We trust you for 48 minutes. And I thought that was huge."
Allen, 36, has been struggling with bone spurs in his ankle, and he has been visibly slower after missing the last nine games of the regular season and the first two of the playoffs. Rivers said it would be difficult to hide Allen's weaknesses on defense, but that on offense we was still a threat because "if I tell Ray to stand in the corner, someone's going to stand next to him."
Still, Philadelphia took a chance on giving Allen space for large portions of the game, using his defender to help out elsewhere. Sixers coach Doug Collins denied that they had intentionally left Allen open, but it was apparent to anyone in the building that covering him on the perimeter wasn't their top priority.
"We never want to give Ray Allen a clean look at a three," Collins said, calling Allen one of the classiest and hard-working athletes he's ever known. "The one thing about great shooters is that they are going to keep shooting. He knocked down those two 3s and gave them some distance. That's what great players do."
The NBA's all-time leader in regular season 3-pointers — he's 21 behind Reggie Miller in playoff 3s — Allen missed his first five attempts from beyond the arc on Saturday night, some of them quite badly. Boston was 0 for its first 14 as a team, but when Allen passed up back-to-back open jumpers in the middle of the third, Rivers pulled him aside.
"I went over to him and said, 'Hey, listen, we're not going to have that,'" the Celtics coach said. "And I told him again, I said, 'Ray, listen, you don't ever pass up shots.'"
Rondo went over and told Allen the same thing, and then Garnett did, too, "which I thought was great for Ray to hear, confidence-wise," Rivers said. "I thought that was big for him to hear."
Allen checked back into the game near the end of the third quarter, and he found himself open from 3-point range early in the fourth. He dribbled a few steps, realized he was still open, and fired up the shot.
It went in, and the crowd rose to give him a standing ovation.
"Ray is the ultimate gunslinger," Rivers said. "You know, I was a basketball player one day. And I would've never taken that shot late in the game like Ray, after missing my first (five). First of all, I wouldn't have been in. ... It was just impressive. You felt like if he got a shot — I didn't know if he was going to make it, but I knew he was going to take it."

subset: commoncrawl


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I've mentioned before that Christmas Eve is a big tradition for Italians. In many ways Christmas Eve was more important that Christmas growing up.
For one thing, we opened up all of our gifts on Christmas eve. My brother and I were the first grandchildren on my Father's side of the family – and we were for a few years until our other cousins came along. So on Christmas Eve Nick and I would have to stay up until midnight before we could open our presents i.e. we would be falling asleep on our Nonna's couch. 'Santa' a.k.a my Nonno or Zio would dress up as Santa and come to my Nonna's house at midnight to deliver presents.
Earlier in the evening we would eat our Feast of Seven Fishes dinner – Italians do not eat meat on Christmas Eve, only seafood. My brother and I were incredibly lucky to grow up with such amazing food and traditions. It was truly a feast to remember. We would begin with a seafood pasta course (usually tuna sauce my dad or nonna would make), followed by fish, prawns, mussels, clams, baccalà (salted cod), homemade calamari and other amazing dishes. It has always been my favourite memory of Christmas with my dads family.
As a child I remember stealing Pizzelles from the counter before dinner, when Nonna or Nonno weren't looking. Pizzelles are incredibly thin, delicate waffle like cookies that are crisp and slightly sweet. You can eat about 6 in a minute flat. They were always the elusive holiday cookie that you would only get at Christmas or maybe Easter. Pizzelle makers were not popular so only my Nonna would have one therefore making it an even more treasured dessert that I looked forward to.
Now, I have my very own Pizzelle maker by a complete mishap that happened this summer. Long story short, the company Chef's Choice sent me an e-mail on a completely different subject that lead me to respond and receive a response from a woman in their marketing department. After a few back and forth conversations about her daughter, myself and my family she offered to send me one of their products to make up for the mishap. Of course I chose the Pizzelle maker, as it meant I would not longer have to borrow my Nonnas. Also – that I could now make Pizzelle's whenever I wanted.
I am also excited to be hosting my very first Christmas Eve dinner at our house this year. In honour of my Dad I hope everything turns out – though Christmas Eve has never quite been the same since he passed. Christmas makes me feel incredibly nostalgic. Nevertheless I am looking forward to having all of my family over to share a delicious seafood meal together – and Pizzelle's will definitely be on the dessert counter. This time, I won't have to sneak them.
- 3 Eggs
- 1 3/4 cups Flour
- 1/2 tsp. Anise seeds (optional)
- 1/2 cup Butter or oil, melted
- 2 tsp. Baking Powder
- 3/4 cup Sugar
- 1 tsp. Vanilla Extract
- 1. Turn on Pizzelle Maker. In a medium sized bowl beat together the eggs and sugar until frothy.
- 2. Add the cooled melted butter or oil, vanilla and anise seeds (optional) and beat again.
- 3. In small bowl, sift together the flour and baking powder. Add to the egg mixture stirring with wooden spoon.
- 4. Stir batter until well combined, it will be slightly stiff and dough-like. The dough should be stiff enough to drop by rounded spoonfuls.
- 5. Drop by spoonfuls in the centre of the Pizzelle maker. Be careful not to place too much dough, otherwise it will spill out over the sides. You want them to have delicate 'fingers' like lace.
- 6. Bake according to your Pizzelle Maker's instructions, usually only 20-30 seconds per batch. Carefully lift off using a fork. Place on cooling rack to crisp.
- Special Equipment Needed: Pizzelle Maker
- Pizzelle cookies last quite well. Place in airtight container (my nonna would always place paper towel over them) and store on counter for up to 2 weeks. You can also easily freeze them for ice cream sundaes, or ice cream sandwiches.


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Nephrology – Professional Education
Penn State College of Medicine and Penn State Health Milton S. Hershey Medical Center are committed to establishing and maintaining high-quality Graduate Medical Education training programs.
Contact us
To learn more about educational programs in Nephrology, call
Penn State Hershey Medical Center offers two-year fellowship training in nephrology that prepares the trainee for clinical or academic adult nephrology. We also train clinician-scientists to become competitive clinical researchers.
Training is conducted on the campus of the Hershey Medical Center, which offers the unique co-location of basic, translational, and clinical science, patient care, and a College of Medicine on one campus.
Clinical training covers a full array of experiences in dialysis, renal transplantation, hypertension, inpatient service, consultation service, and outpatient consultative and long-term follow-up activities. All modalities of dialysis are available, including in-center and home hemodialysis, acute hemodialysis, chronic peritoneal dialysis, and continuous renal replacement therapy (CRRT).
Residencies and Fellowships
Find more information about all of our residency and fellowship programs.
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The Nephrology Fellowship at Penn State Health Milton S. Hershey Medical Center is a two-year, ACGME-accredited program that admits two fellows per year.
Medicine Clerkship
Penn State College of Medicine provides a wide range of medical student education programs in both the pre-clinical and clinical years of training.
Nephrology Continuing Education
A variety of nephrology continuing education programs are held throughout the year. When available, registration links will appear below.


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Universal's Halloween Horror Nights already sounds pretty dandy with a "Cabin In the Woods" maze being announced this year and now there's news that a "Evil Dead" maze will be landing in both Hollywood and Orlando parks. I for one am very excited for the opportunity to see a morbidly obese man dressed up as Ash. I think that's probably the way we'd all want it at least.
"The Conjuring" doesn't come out until this Friday but New Line is throwing caution to the wind and already working on a sequel for the film. Based on what's supposed to a be a true story the film follows paranormal investigators who try to help a family being terrorized by an evil spirit. Early reviews have been decent, there's a solid chance this will be a hit and I've been sleeping pretty well so I say let's just go for it.
Good news? Platinum Dunes producer Brad Fuller took to the twitters to answer the question of when a "Friday the 13th" sequel would begin production. It looks like fairly soon actually, within the next month once they finish off their Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles project. I can't begin to tell you how filthy that last sentence made me feel.
I completely forgot that this movie was happening but it looks like "Paranormal Activity 5" is being pushed to next year, with a January 6, 2014 being lined up. No word on why the change is being made but if I was a betting man I'd put my money on... honestly I have no idea. Trouble finding the right cleavage for the film? They've got to be running out of actresses who are willing to prance around in a tank top pretending to be afraid of ghosts at this point.


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For USA Manufacturers that Export Around the World, the E-Award is Coveted
Hildebran, NC USA – May 17, 2012. In a ceremony today at the White House in Washington, DC, DeFeet Founder Shane Cooper and VP International Sales Lynn Moretz accepted the "President's E-Award".
2012 marks the 50th annual "E" Awards. Today Commerce Secretary John Bryson honored DeFeet among a select group of US manufacturers. The "E" Awards are the highest recognition any U.S. entity may receive for supporting export activity. Winners are authorized to fly the blue and white banner, display the accompanying certificate and refer to the award in their advertising.
"We are all proud at DeFeet to receive this award" said Lynn Moretz, DeFeet VP International Sales. "DeFeet products are in demand Internationally and our distribution network now includes over 35 countries. Our distributors are doing well with us."
DeFeet Founder and Chief Sockologist Shane Cooper added "It means so much to be recognized in this country for manufacturing excellence. I have to hand it to Lynn and the rest of our team for their diligence in growing our 'footprint' around the world. We really thank our International distributors for their efforts."
The E Award presentation is part of World Trade Month, consistent with President Obama's National Export Initiative (NEI). Mr. Obama's NEI seeks to increase U.S. exports abroad in the effort to grow the number of jobs here at home. Companies honored today sell high quality products and services in every corner of the world and most importantly, helping to create good jobs for American workers. Secretary Bryson's vision for the Commerce Department is to support American business to enable them to "build things here, and sell them everywhere." "The sports of cycling, running, ski and outdoor are what got us here" Cooper said, gazing across the White House lawn. "DeFeet is committed to make the finest products and exporting, of course. Supporting our customers and dealers, that is really what this is about."
Source: Paul Willerton


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Regional Credit Manager - Bilingual
Ottawa, ON
Convoy Supply is Canada's largest wholesale distribution company serving building envelope professionals. Our commitment to exceeding expectations among our customers is the cornerstone philosophy of the company. We are proud of the relationships that we have built over the past four decades with customers and suppliers alike, and are honoured by the friendships we share. Since we opened for business in Prince George, BC in 1972, Convoy has grown to 35 locations across Canada, including our Simplex Tapered Insulation facility in Ontario, and 8 in the Pacific Northwest USA.
Convoy has an immediate opening for a Bilingual REgional Credit Manager to join our amazing team. The role would suit an individual whom has had previous credit granting experience, is always trying to improve themselves and the work that they do, and works well in a team environment but is seasoned enough to independently meet time-lines and company goals. Being detail orientated, a great communicator and problem-solver will help the candidate's success in the position. Previous construction credit experience, enrolment in the Credit Institute of Canada program would definitely be an added benefit.
Duties and responsibilities
• Analyse new credit applications for credit accounts
• Monitor and adjust credit limits for existing customer base
• Make recommendations when additional security is required to mitigate risk
• Contact customers to follow up on payments
• Process payments and educate customer on the various platforms payments can be made
• Meet Company goals to ensure the portfolio maintains a high level of success
• Provide a professional customer service experience to our internal & external customers
• Communicate with internal partners to aid in dispute resolution
• Complete account reconciliations
• Monthly reporting as required
Strengths & Skill Set
• Professional demeanour – both verbal and written
• Fluent in Both French and English
• Think independently
• Ability to nurture and develop relationships
• Goal orientated
• Proactive problem solver
• Flourishes in a high volume atmosphere
Experience and Qualifications
• 2-3 years in a credit granting role
• College certificate or diploma – Business related (Finance, Accounting, Administration)
• Microsoft Office proficient
• Previous construction credit experience, enrolment in the Credit Institute of Canada program would be an asset.
If this role fits your qualifications we look forward to discussing the role further but please note that only the candidates that are short listed for the role will be contacted. Thank you for your interest in a career with Convoy Supply Ltd.
Convoy Supply
Convoy Supply is a one-step building materials distributor with over 40 locations across Canada, the Pacific Northwest, Montana, and Maryland, with product lines covering every aspect of the building envelope.
Here's a sample of what it means to join Team Convoy:
- A team of champions who bring their best to every game
- A vision for our communities that includes and goes beyond providing meaningful employment
- A commitment to grow ethically, responsibly, and sustainably
- A rich history spanning over 45 years, filled with stories of challenge, growth, and friendship
A career with Team Convoy can lead to a wide range of employment opportunities, including truck drivers, crane operators, warehouse associates, sales, administration and finance, and management. We provide a comprehensive benefits package for you and your family, support your career goals through education, transfers, and development, and are committed to providing a safe place to work. We believe in making our communities and our world a better place to live, and our goal is to meet and exceed our customer's expectations. We work hard and enjoy ourselves in the process.


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- Italian Grand Prix 1950
Farina takes title as rivals falterMartin Williamson
- Race:
- Italian Grand Prix
- Championship:
- FIA Formula One World Championship
- Drivers:
- Alberto Ascari
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- Luigi Fagioli
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- Juan Manuel Fangio
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- Nino Farina
A week before the season finale at Monza, the leading drivers took part in the International Trophy at Silverstone and, as had been the case all summer, the Alfas of Nino Farina and Juan Manual Fangio dominated, the pair winning their respective heats and Farina going on to victory in the main race.
The teams all reassembled in Italy, with Fangio (26) two points clear of Fagioli (24) who was in turn two points clear of Farina (22). Only the best four results of the season would count, Fagioli, with four seconds, could only take the title if he won and his team-mates both failed to finish. Fangio had three wins, so any finish would add to his tally, while Farina knew he had to win and even then hope Fangio finished no better than fifth.
The qualifying went to plan, Fangio taking pole ahead of Alberto Ascari, with Farina and Fagioli just behind them. The initial laps went the same way, Fangio leading Ascari's brand new Ferrari 375 - the 4.5-litre car that would break the dominance of the Alfas - and setting the fastest lap. Ascari briefly took the lead on lap 14 but was soon overhauled by Fangio, and then Ascari's rear axle broke and he limped into the pits and commandeered Dorino Serafina's car. Two laps later Fangio's gear box seized and he too took over his team-mate Piero Taruffi's vehicle, but ten laps later the engine blew and he was out.
That left the field open for Farina who went on to finish a minute-and-a-half clear of Ascari and in so doing become the first Formula One world champion.


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On clay.
This is for my cousin Cat who loves Rafa so much, with a lot of stress, and probably didn't sleep well last night thinking about this morning. It turns out the rain delay helped him. He came out hard today, finishing off Novak Djokovic in the fourth set, despite being down a break when they suspended the match yesterday. Whatever pep talk his uncle gave him, with some extra love from Xisca, obviously worked. Nadal was in no mood to play a fifth. And that's 7 French Open titles now, more than anyone else ever.
But it's a blessing and a curse, isn't it? A blessing for us because tennis has been beautiful the last few years in this golden age of Rafa, Roger, and Novak. A curse though for them because even if you remove just one of those names from the list, the other two easily have at least a couple more Grand Slams.
How much do you love these pictures of Rafa rushing up to his cheering section and, after hugging his mother and sister, being embraced by Pau Gasol?


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Military jet makes emergency landing in Milwaukee
For the third time in just more than a month, a military jet made an emergency landing in Milwaukee.
WISN 12 News has learned the crew of four on board the KC-135 aircraft were just five minutes into their flight when the check engine light signaled problems.
Within minutes, the aircraft was turned around for what was a safe emergency landing in Milwaukee.
This is the third in flight emergency in just over a month for airmen onboard a 128th Air Refueling Wing KC-135.
Most recently, on May 16, crews reported an engine failure while on a routine training mission.
They were able to safely land after circling Mitchell International Airport while they burned off fuel.
On April 19, another KC-135 aircraft reported an in-flight emergency when the cockpit filled with smoke.
No cause has been identified for any of these incidents.
Te KC-135 began operations in the Air Force in the 1950s, so it is an aging fleet of aircraft.


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A tape of one of The Beatles' final meetings, recorded weeks before Abbey Road was released, is shedding new light on tensions within the band and providing a fascinating revelation about how and when The Beatles actually decided to go their separate ways.
Conventional wisdom in Beatledom has long said that the band members agreed to break up following their final studio project together, Abbey Road, with John Lennon eager to pursue the next chapter in his career.
(Though Let It Be was released eight months later, it was recorded prior to the Abbey Road sessions.)
Beatles expert Mark Lewisohn recently obtained a tape that proves the band was planning for its future as recently as two weeks before Abbey Road was released to the public, reports The Guardian.
The tape, Lennon explains at the start, is for the benefit of drummer Ringo Starr who was unable to attend the meeting due to illness. In it, Lennon, Paul McCartney and George Harrison, discuss the possibility of releasing a single in time for Christmas and, yes, their next studio album.
"The books have always told us that they knew Abbey Road was their last album and they wanted to go out on an artistic high," Lewisohn explained. "But no — they're discussing the next album."
He continued, regarding Lennon: "And you think that John is the one who wanted to break them up, but when you hear this, he isn't. Doesn't that rewrite pretty much everything we thought we knew?"
On Lewisohn's tape, Lennon leads the discussion, suggesting a more equal-than-ever formula for the sessions, that he, McCartney and Harrison contribute four songs apiece, and if Starr is interested in writing, he'll get two.
Lennon also suggests that he and McCartney abandon their custom of crediting their songs to "Lennon-McCartney," acknowledging that the two had not written collaboratively in years.
McCartney meets the suggestion with a cringeworthy comment about Harrison:
"I thought until this album that George's songs weren't that good," he says, despite Harrison having authored pre-Abbey Road Beatles classics like "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," "Taxman" and two solo albums.
To the back-handed compliment, Harrison replies: "That's a matter of taste. All down the line, people have liked my songs."
Lennon then reminds McCartney that no one else in the band liked "Maxwell's Silver Hammer," which was on the Abbey Road album. He suggests that in the future, McCartney pass songs of that nature on to other artists.
Lewisohn utilizes the revelatory tape in a new stage show called Hornsey Road, which uses a multitude of Beatles artifacts to tell a more complete story of their relationships, their lives and their eventual break-up.
The show is a prelude to a series of books Lewisohn is working on, The Beatles: All These Years, which aims to tell the whole story of the band.
The first volume, Tune In, covers the band up until its first hit song. He says it'll take him 14 or 15 years to finish the next two titles, Turn On and Drop Out.
The 50th anniversary edition of Abbey Road is due out September 26. Earlier this summer, fans crowded the world-famous intersection again to celebrate the golden anniversary of the album's iconic cover photo.
Photo: Getty Images


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Primary likely to be decided by Southwestern CT
Region holds key to primary hopes for Foley, McKinney
When political push comes to shove next month, a handful of communities, mostly in southwestern Connecticut, will decide the Republican primary for governor.
Fourteen of the party's 22 highest-voting towns and cities in the 2010 primary are located here, including five of the six communities where Republicans cast more than 2,000 ballots four years ago.
They're educated voters, affluent and attuned to important state policy issues that could give the primary victor sorely needed momentum as the fall campaign shifts focus to the re-election bid of first-term Democratic Gov. Dannel P. Malloy.
"I think this primary runs right through Fairfield County," said Gary L. Rose, chairman of the Government and Politics Department at Sacred Heart University. "It has long been an area that has a pronounced influence on Republican politics. Given their economic status and political literacy levels, their education levels, it also means those are the likely Republicans who will be at the polls on Aug. 12."
Four years ago, there was a three-way gubernatorial primary that drew less than 30 percent turnout among Republicans (less than 25 percent of eligible Democrats voted). Tom Foley, the Greenwich millionaire, took the region, and the state, in that primary. The importance of Republican strongholds remains this year, as Senate Minority Leader John McKinney, of Fairfield, pursues his underdog bid against Foley, who lost to Malloy in 2010.
Foley's home base of Greenwich is important, as is McKinney's Fairfield turf. But the race may come down to support in Milford, Stratford, Norwalk, Shelton, Trumbull, Danbury, Ridgefield, Newtown and New Milford -- towns with high Republican registration. The crucial swing city is Stamford, where the 4,048 Republican primary votes in the 2010 primary were the most cast in one community statewide.
"Over a period of time, it is clear that Fairfield County is the critical battleground in a Republican primary," said Joseph J. McGee, vice president for public policy and programs for the Stamford-based Business Council of Fairfield County and a political analyst.
McGee predicted that about 125,000 Connecticut Republicans -- equal to the population of Stamford -- will pick their gubernatorial candidates on Aug. 12.
In the 2010 primary, then-Lt. Gov. Michael Fedele, of Stamford, received 46,989 votes; Simsbury businessman Oz Griebel got 22,390; and Foley won with 50,792, out of more than 126,000 votes cast.
"You're going to see 4th District interest, where John McKinney has strong name recognition," said retiring House Minority Leader Lawrence F. Cafero Jr., R-Norwalk.
More InformationStatewide voter registration:
801,702 unaffiliated
704,561 Democrats
399,815 Republicans
Source: Secretary of the State Denise Merrill
He predicted that a low turnout will again emerge, maybe even lower than the statewide 29.76 percent of Republican voters of four years back.
Adam Wood, chief of staff for Bridgeport Mayor Bill Finch, who has managed 4th District congressional campaigns, said last week that Foley and McKinney have to anticipate frustratingly low turnouts. And with Foley abandoning his self-funding strategy of 2010 -- when he spent $11 million of his personal fortune only to lose to Malloy by 6,404 votes -- to participate this year, along with McKinney, in the state's voluntary public-finance system, he will have less to spend for the primary. Foley has $1.5 million. McKinney, who applied for the program with his running mate, David Walker of Bridgeport, will also have $1.5 million, but Walker will use a portion of it.
"Fewer resources is going to challenge all the campaigns to maximize their effectiveness," Wood said. "There aren't a large number of places in the state with high Republican registration."
While Foley had a hefty lead in the most recent Quinnipiac University Poll, Wood noted that both Foley and McKinney are very well known in the western half of the state.
"This is the most-Republican district in the state," Wood said, adding that Foley's lead could evaporate in the final two weeks of the campaign and the race might come down to absentee ballots from vacationing GOP voters. But overall, it's tough challenging the party-endorsed Foley.
"Statewide there's a big gap in name recognition," said Wood, who managed the campaign of Diane Farrell, the former Democratic Westport first selectman who lost to then-U.S. Rep. Christopher Shays in 2004 and 2006.
Although Milford and Stratford are in the 3rd Congressional District, the bulk of the swing towns and cities are in the 4th District of Fairfield County and the 5th District of Litchfield County.
Rose, whose latest book is called "Connecticut's Fourth Congressional District: History, Politics and the Maverick Tradition," said in an interview that parts of Litchfield County that fit the Gold Coast demographic will also be crucial to the primary winner.
He said McKinney, whose late father Stewart B. McKinney was a popular longtime 4th District congressman until his death in May 1987, could reap both name recognition and added support.
"There may be an element of nostalgia for John McKinney from people who remember Stew," Rose said. "There are some who look at the son and say `he reminds me of the father a lot.' "
Rose said McKinney seems to be gathering some campaign strength in his new TV ads.
McKinney is also coming off a strong showing last week in a debate with Foley sponsored by The Hartford Courant and Fox 61.
"He's definitely, behind Foley, but I still would say there's an element of McKinney support there," Rose said. "Especially among older Republicans, where age correlates to voting in the primary. Still, Foley is the convention's nominee and he has a number of activists. Once in a while the convention-endorsed candidate doesn't win a primary."
McGee, who served as Stewart McKinney's congressional chief of staff from 1971 to 1978, stressed that Fairfield County will be very important to the eventual winner. But if they split the region, then other sections of the state may increase in importance, such as Waterbury, West Hartford, Bloomfield, Glastonbury, Manchester and Farmington, communities where more than 1,500 Republicans cast votes in the 2010 primary.
"Eastern Connecticut does not have huge Republican numbers, but they become important," McGee said. "Northwestern Connecticut, which doesn't have huge Republican turnouts become important. I think the McKinney-Foley race is much closer than people believe. My gut instincts say that 125,000 people, maybe, turn out. The bulk of the voters are in Fairfield County. It's a highly concentrated, one-month campaign and the winner will be the one to get the vote out."
Malloy, who became the first Democratic governor since 1991 when he won the squeaker over Foley four years ago, agrees.
"My read of the situation is that the contest has not generated a lot of excitement," Malloy said in a brief interview last week. "So I think what's key is whoever turns out their vote. I think it's going to be very low turnout. Whoever motivates their base in a very low-turnout election wins. That's what happens. There's not as much excitement this go round as there was four years ago, clearly," he said with a knowing smile. "I'm watching, observing and we'll be ready on the 13th, I assure you."
email@example.com; 860-549-4670; twitter.com/KenDixonCT; facebook.com/kendixonct.hearst; blog.ctnews.com/dixon


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Trustee Jeffrey Gural Pledges $1M to Cooper's Saturday Program
POSTED ON: July 2, 2013
Jeffrey Gural, a member of The Cooper Union's Board of Trustees since 2003, has pledged one million dollars to the institution's endangered Saturday Program. The donation rescues the program, which offers a free arts education to New York City public high school students, from an uncertain future. "It means that we are here. We are not in a panic," Marina Gutierrez (A'81), Director of the Saturday Program says.
"I didn't even know the program existed," Jeffrey Gural, at left, admits in his matter-of-fact style. He recently heard about the Saturday Program from fellow Trustee Richard Lincer who had just pledged a $15,000 matching gift to the program after visiting its annual exhibition and hearing of its budgetary woes. "I met with Marina Gutierrez and Victoria Febrer [Administrative Coordinator] of the program and was impressed," Mr. Gural says. "I told them I would donate a million dollars at the rate of $100,000 per year in order to allow them to continue to thrive and restore some of the cuts they had to make." The donation requires that The Cooper Union continue to fund the program at its current rate, according to Mr. Gural. "I really did it to try and keep that program going and to try and improve on it."
The Saturday Program, started in 1968 by Cooper Union students, provides free art classes, including supplies, to over two hundred local NYC public high school students per year. Classes, which meet every Saturday, continue to be taught by undergraduate students from the Schools of Art and Architecture under the supervision of a professional staff of artists. Originally inspired by the slashing of public school arts programs, the Saturday Program itself recently saw its own budget reduced as part of institution-wide belt tightening. For the first time ever, according to Director Gutierrez, they had to begin soliciting donations from individuals.
Does Mr. Gural, Chairman of Newmark Knight Frank, a commercial and industrial real estate management firm, have a particular interest in the arts? "Not really," he says. "But I think people who do and may not have the money to go to a school should have an opportunity to pursue their dream in the arts. And maybe as a result they can get a scholarship to Cooper Union or some other school. I sponsor several I Have a Dream programs, which helps kids get a college education. It is a personal project of mine to level the playing field. And I felt that with all the controversy around the decision to end free tuition at The Cooper Union it was important for me to make the statement to the community that this program is free and that we are committed to maintaining this program and actually improve on it."


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The patron reviews have started coming in, and people are loving Penobscot Theatre Company's latest production WIT. Here is what we've heard so far:
"Saw WIT last night at Penobscot Theatre and was simply blown away. Surer today than I've ever been that Netflix will never supplant live theatre." – Mary Budd
"Congrats to all involved on a very moving production of Wit. The balance struck between very serious subject and the humor instilled by the playwright was wonderful." – Julie Arnold Lisnet
"I strongly recommend this play to anyone who is able to see it in Maine! Get tickets at once. Last night my son…and I attended the excellent production of "Wit" at the theatre. The audience was warm and welcoming. We made friends instantly. The set was elegant and spartan as required by the author. The lighting and costumes were appropriate and professional; I especially liked the costume worn by Alison Cox. The ensemble worked extremely well but the performance by Sarah Dacey Charles was breathtaking. With a line load that rivals a lead in Shakespeare, she deftly transitioned between the works of John Dunne and Vivian's own witty attempts to understand her cancer. Her performance was sublime. I am a director in the theatre myself and must compliment Kappy Kilburn for an amazing job…well done! The play is an emotional roller coaster, intentionally done and it is no wonder it earned the Pulitzer Prize for Drama. It is surprising to find such professionally staged work in Bangor! I shall return again and again. May you have a LONG and successful run!" – Paul Warshauer
"This was breathtaking! Kudos to the amazing actress who so eloquently played the lead! As a health care worker, I was not at all surprised by the view on healthcare providers. While the majority of us are all about our patients, some are still not and they leave a very bad taste in people's mouths. All health care workers should see this and try to take a different view on what they do every day!! Amazing and very moving!" – Barb Seymour
In addition to the production, Penobscot Theatre is working with local organizations, hospitals, and charities to provide a context for the subject matter addressed in WIT. This includes "Stories of Survival," an event in conjunction with Story Slam Bangor. Local survivor Kelsey Price of Hampden, Maine was gracious enough to sit down and share her story with us. See our interview with her here:
In addition to events, $20 raffle tickets will be sold during the performances of WIT. The winner will receive a spot on our trip to New York City! The drawing will be held Sunday March 24th so get your ticket right away!
Tickets range from $22 – $36. Discounts for students, seniors and military personnel. Special BUY ONE GET ONE for all cancer patients and survivors with code: Survivor. Group rates available. Purchase tickets, subscriptions and gift certificates online at www.penobscottheatre.org, or through the Box Office at 207-947-6618.


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OK, not so large but I need to use something where around 60,000 files with average size of 30kb are stored in a single directory (this is a requirement so can't simply break into sub-directories with smaller number of files).
The files will be accessed randomly, but once created there will be no writes to the same filesystem. I'm currently using Ext3 but finding it very slow. Any suggestions?


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All the great funnymen do it, so why shoudln't Steve Carell go dark?
Carell will star in "Foxcatcher," about John E. du Pont, the heir who, in 1996, killed an Olympic wrestler in his home, reported Variety. The film will be directed by "Moneyball" helmer Bennett Miller, who wil be reunited with screenwriters E. Max Frye and Dan Futterman, the men who penned his first feature, "Capote."
Du Pont's a truly bizarre story, the likes of which can only happen to the super-wealthy. In the late '80s, du Pont turned a portion of the family estate outside of Philadelphia into a training facility for amateur wrestlers. But somewhere along the line, du Pont apparently slipped into the grips of paranoid schizophrenia, and in 1996 shot and killed Olympic Gold Medal-winning wrestler Dave Schultz, and then barricaded himself inside for two days while he negotiated with police. He eventually died last year while in prison at the age of 72.
U.S. & World
Carell's done a fair amount of dramedy in his career, including this year's "Crazy, Stupid, Love," but this sounds like a far heavier role than anything he's done before. Who knows, maybe Miller will do for du Pont what Gus Van Sant did for Pamela Smart in "To Die For," and manage to tell a truly tragic story in a respectfully amusing way. Miller has made only three other films in his 13 year career--"The Cruise," "Capote" and "Moneyball"--but he's yet to make a bad one, and they've all been distinctly different, so who knows what he has up his sleeve.


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Second to last.
91. "Every Moment" by Rogue Wave (2004)
Brevity with a solid beat.
10 extra points for the Mormon shoutout.
92. "So Far Away" by Carol King (1971)
5th grade was the year after my BFF moved away, the year that my ultimate elementary school love moved away, and the year I questioned God's existence. In other words, I spent that year depressed, but Carole King's Tapestry on repeat helped. "So Far Away" is one of my favorite songs on the album.
They're all so little!
93. "The Things We Do For Love" by 10cc (1977)
Let's cheer up with a perfectly written pop song, "The Things We Do For Love." The chord progression in the bridge is so good. And what is it about a piano that automatically makes a pop song that much bouncier and awesome?
Good effort with the live vocal harmonies, fellas.
Good effort with the live vocal harmonies, fellas.
94. "I'm Only Sleeping" by The Beatles (1966)
Oh, John. Sleep is fantastic. Here's the incredibly true and catchy song as the Beatles defeat a dragon (song starts about 2:00).
95. "Superstar" by The Carpenters (1971, original "Groupie (Superstar)" written in 1969 by Bonnie Bramlett and Leon Russell)
Such a lovely melody and deep voice.A chorus I'm not afraid to bust out on all occasions.