In 1964 I received a phone call from Albert B. Wolfe saying an alleged 1690  Cambridge farmhouse was being offered to anyone willing to move it and properly preserve it.  Abe was then Chairman of the Cambridge Historical Commission and lived on Brattle Street.  He was a committed preservationist.  Abe asked if I wanted one of the best preserved pre - Revolutionary farm houses in Cambridge containing original  paneling, stairs, and woodwork and presently located in North Cambridge.  I said sure,  but I had no place to relocate it.  Abe said he understood and he would help me find a suitable location in Cambridge.  Meanwhile, I was required to move it to a storage location nearby until we found a permanent site.

Within weeks I arranged to move the house in one piece to the nearby lot on Massachusetts Avenue in North Cambridge,  and then began my search for a permanent location.  The closer to Harvard Square area I could relocate this landmark, the more value I believed I could create.

Starting at Brattle Square I walked Brattle Street stopping at every house that had a side lot or sufficient room to relocate the farmhouse,  asking each owner if they had any interest in providing a site for one of Cambridge's earliest houses, allegedly 1690,  but probably mid 18th century.  I received only vague expressions of interest or an incredulous -  "Are you crazy?"

Reaching the end of the large lot Cambridge Brattle Street houses,  I turned left onto Elmwood Avenue towards the president of Harvard's house, "Elmwood".   Receiving similar rejections along Elmwood Avenue I knocked on the door of the last house.  It stood directly opposite Harvard's "Elmwood" on the corner of Mount Auburn Street and Elmwood Avenue.

Mrs Counihan  came to her front door and I made my plea.

"Well, I love Cambridge and I would like to help --  but I need my side lawn....... That is where my daughter will be married  --  and I will hold her wedding reception."

"Oh..... How lovely!"  I commented.  "Is your daughter considering a marriage?" 

"Yes,  of course."

"When is the wedding?"

"In September."

"Wonderful............  I can wait."

Mrs Counihan smiled and then laughed.....    So did I.

"Are you sure?" she inquired.

"Yes........ I am sure."

We negotiated the terms and the price of the buildable lot,  $10,000.

We shook hands, and I called Abe to tell him I had found a site for the Watson House.  He asked....  "Where?"

"On Elmwood Avenue opposite Elmwood.

"Great!!!  ...... How did you do it?"

I looked at Mrs Counihan......and smiled.  "I knocked on the door of a very kind and wonderful lady."  Mrs Counihan smiled, and then we laughed.

 I have no memory when I began to stutter as a child.  Yet, I have no memory of ever not stuttering as a child.  This imperfection got me into difficulty,  especially in the first grade.  The teacher would assemble a circle of students to read at loud.  Inevitably,  when the reader got two seats away from my turn I would start a fight.  And then I would be kicked out of the reading circle.  By the end of the first grade at Edgemont Public School, they strongly urged my parents to enroll me in a private elementary school, Brookside.

 At Brookside my academic achievement was minimal.  By the fifth grade again the school recommended I apply to another private school,  Montclair Academy.  Again my academic achievement was low.  Montclair Academy recommended to my parents I see a psychiatrist.  The arrangements were duly made by my mother.

On the appointed day to see the doctor my mother dropped me off at his office and said he was expecting me.  I was welcomed by the doctor and told to come into his office,  where he asked me why I was there.  I had no answer other than my mother had brought me and she would be back in an hour.

The psychiatrist looked a little puzzled.  He asked me-

"Do you have any problems?"

I was at a loss for words.  No one had ever asked me that question.

"Well, yes, I guess I do"

"Will you tell me?"

"OK,  .......... I stutter."

"I don't think I can help you much on that.  What else?"

"I still wet my bed and I am in the sixth grade"

"Oh,  I don't think I can do much about that, either."

"I hate my name Sherrill."

"Sherrill?  That is an unusual name."

"I hate it.  Kids call me Shirley Temple, and I have to fight them."

"Well, I may be able to help you on that one.  I'll talk to your mother and maybe we can change it."

My mother agreed to change my name,  but that is the only appointment she ever made with that or any psychiatrist.

After chatting with the doctor a bit more, he asked me."   May I ask you one more question, before you leave?

"OK."

"Which would you rather stop first? Bed wetting or stuttering?"

That was another question no one had ever asked me..   I thought about it.

"Bed wetting."

Within a month my name was changed.  The next year I stopped wetting my bed.  However,   I did not stop stuttering until I was in my 70s.

In the mid 1960s my friend Tad Stahl, FAIA, board member of The Society for the Preservation of New England Antiquities (now Historic New England) and I, the founder and president of Architectural Heritage Foundation were commissioned by Ed Logue, Director of the the Boston Redevelopment Authority (BRA), and  Mayor Collins to undertake a study of the Faneuil Hall Markets.  We were commissioned to produce a plan to utilize the soon to be empty North and South Market Buildings of the wholesale food district.  The city acquired these much altered buildings from wholesalers to facilitate the removal of Boston's two hundred year old  food market from Boston's center to less congested neighboring locations.

We completed our study in 1967 and we proposed the restoration of the much altered and decayed  Faneuil Hall North and South Market Buildings to their original historic Greek Revival  1826  design by Alexander Parris.  In addition to proposing this restoration we had to determine their adaptive reuse and if our plan was feasible.  Another year of study determined our plan was not feasible --  unless the City of Boston and the federal government provided up to four million dollars of historic preservation grants that we determined may be available from the federal government and others.

We presented our plan to outgoing Mayor Collins and the soon to depart Ed Logue.  Our plan was accepted.  However, the job of finding up to four million dollars of historic preservation grant money for restoration fell to the incoming Mayor White and his BRA Director,  Hale Champion.  Tad and I made an appointment with the new Mayor White to present our plan for this  historic restoration of the emptying and much altered wholesale Faneuil Hall Markets,  next to Boston's nearly completed Government Center.   Mayor White would have a spectacular office in the New City Hall with windows overlooking  the restored Faneuil Hall Markets and the Harbor.

At this meeting we were accompanied by Walter Whitehill, the renowned Boston Historian, and the esteemed Director of the Boston Athenaeum, and board member of my non profit Architectural Heritage Foundation.  Walter was an early proponent of turning the New Boston towards the Harbor by establishing a Walk to The Harbor--  to start from the gold domed Bulfinch state capital on top of Beacon Hill,  down through the new government center and the soon to be empty wholesale food markets and to a revitalized and attractive new waterfront of residential and commercial neighborhoods.

The three of us met at the Mayor's office in Old City Hall on School Street.  Mayor White's forever cigar smoking Chief of Staff, Barney Frank,  greeted us.  He guided us into the Mayor's  offices on the second floor.  Our presentation to Mayor White was met with interest --  but not with enthusiasm.  Instead,  Mayor White challenged us with these questions --

"You want me to find you millions of dollars to restore YOUR Faneuil Hall Markets  ---  when my architectural advisors tell me to tear down MY City Hall  -- that many of us love? "

Mayor White continued his questioning.....

"This old building that we sit in --  is now,  and has been occupied by my people and my wife's people.   Our parents, grand parents, and families worked for generations right here in this building on School Street.  Some served as city council members.  Now,  I serve as Boston's mayor! "  Shouldn't we be concerned and working to save this building?  --  This one hundred year old landmark?"

We did not expect this response from the Mayor.  We were unprepared.

"So"-- continued Mayor White, "let's save this City Hall!"

We were surprised.  He added more information.  Mayor White's Blue Ribbon Committee that he assembled to advise him how to save the Old City Hall was chaired by the eminent Boston architect Nelson Aldrich.  They had concluded it was not feasible.  This panel alleged the cost to rehabilitate this 1865 Victorian structure was fifty dollars a square foot -- twice the cost of new construction!

The mayor looked at us.   He waited.  We were tongue tied.

"I'll make you an offer" proposed Mayor White.  

"If you come up with a feasible plan to save this city hall  -- the building loved by my family and many Boston's Irish -- I will try to get the funding to restore your Faneuil Hall Markets."

" That's reasonable ",  commented Walter Whitehill.

I contacted Nelson Aldrich and arranged a luncheon meeting to discuss the feasibility of saving Old City Hall and to request the use of his files.  At that luncheon Nelson Aldrich noted that neither he or any of the Blue Ribbon panelist were paid for their service, and their study had been more of a discussion over several lunches.  There was no file with their calculations he could give me to assist our investigation of the feasibility to save Boston's City Hall.   Instead, Nelson Aldrich presented three ideas why he believed Old City Hall could not be saved by the City of Boston.  

First, he asserted, the existing 19th century landmark building had only one open grand stairway, and that did not meet fire code that required two closed stairways.  

Secondly, the 1865 structure was over one hundred years old.  Nelson Aldrich assured me old buildings have many surprise problems that double their restoration costs.  

Thirdly,  architect Nelson Aldrich shared his opinion that the Victorian City Hall was "ugly",  and had unsavory associations -- such as James Michael Curley and "that crowd".  He wanted to know if I agreed with his feeling this building was "ugly".

At our next meeting with Mayor White we told him we saw nothing to prohibit the reuse of this historic structure.    However, Mayor White said his hands were tied and he could not disregard Nelson Aldrich's Blue Ribbon Committee determination of "not feasible" for city reuse.

"If you believe what you say.... " suggested Mayor White,  "Why doesn't Architectural Heritage Foundation make a proposal to save and reuse this wonderful landmark building?"

My role as preservation consultant changed that moment to preservation developer,  later joined by Graham Gund as co-developer.

Shortly after this meeting I was contacted by Hale Champion the newly appointed Director of the Boston Redevelopment Authority (BRA).  Hale informed me Mayor White's suggestion that the Architectural Heritage Foundation (AHF) save and reuse City Hall for its private use -- could only be accomplished by the City of Boston making the same offer to the entire development community.  By issuing a Request For Proposal (RFP), Hale Champion was about  to begin this process.  Tad and I immediately began work to submit our proposal in response to the soon to come RFP.

With in the month the city produced an attractive brochure and widely circulated it among the major developers in Boston and beyond.   However, when the  RFP submission date arrived there were only two proposals and none from the traditional development community which had 

rejected Mayor White's offer to save Boston's City Hall.  Of the two proposals received, one was from Architectural Heritage Foundation and the other proposal from four Harvard Business School (HBS) students who were completing a course requirement.  As required the city took these two proposals under review.  Within a matter of days the HBS student proposal improved somewhat with the addition of a young lawyer, Michael Dukakis, an experienced real estate development advisor.  Nevertheless, Hale Champion advised us AHF would be designated developer at the next BRA board meeting on Thursday afternoon.

We were ready but surprised at that meeting when Michael Dukikis challenged the BRA's decision.  Dukakis stated two of AHF's team members, Tad Stahl and Walter Whitehill, were in conflict of interest and could not be part of AHF's team. The BRA board postponed their decision until the following Thursday while this charge was investigated. 

The next day Mayor White' Corporation Council,  Herbert Gleason, met with me.  Herb upheld Michael Dukakis' charge.  Tad Stahl and Walter Whitehill served on many review boards and as advisors to the city on matters of historic preservation, and Tad would become the City Architect to supervise the exterior restoration of the Faneuil Hall Markets.  However, Herb noted, if these persons resigned from the AHF team -- then AHF's conflict of interest charge would be solved.  Tad and Walter willingly withdrew from our AHF team.  Tad was replaced by Tim Anderson and George Notter as architects and Walter resigned from AHF's board.

At the next BRA board meeting AHF was designated developer.  AHF secured a 99 year lease from the City of Boston for Old City Hall.  Mayor White soon vacated Old City Hall and AHF hosted a memorable LAST HURRAH party at Old City Hall.  The Old City Hall was filled with former employees,  and Irish music.  Walter Whitehill danced Irish jigs with Mayor White and stamped out musical rhythms with an old Irish cane.  By 1971, our first tenant opened their restaurant, Maison Robert, on the ground floors of Old City Hall to celebrate Bastille Day, a party that became a tradition for over thirty years.

  In that year 1971 the American Institute of Architects (AIA) made a major shift in their attitude towards the conversion of historic buildings and adaptive reuse.  The traditional attitude was "old is bad (ugly) and new is better" was evidenced by the generation of architects like Nelson Aldrich.  They were replaced by the next generation of architects like Tad Stahl, Tim Anderson and George Notter,  who went on to become the national President of the AIA.  The national AIA showed Boston's Old City Hall as their prime example of the new direction and the "most promising trend" of the AIA  in 1971 -- in hundreds of ads appearing in a number of leading national publications -- such as:

"You're looking at the most promising trend in modern architecture.  This magnificent City Hall came dangerously close to becoming a magnificent rubble.  Just five years ago the common way to handle an obsolete masterpiece was to bulldoze it down and truck it away.  Now it's a  brand new challenge that architects relish -- how to make a silk purse out of a silk purse."          So stated the American Institute of Architects (AIA) in their many national advertisements in 1971.  Mayor White set the example that spread across the nation,  and it was widely promoted by the  American Institute of Architects (AIA).

We were riding a new wave of architectural taste --  a new trend.   Boston's Old City Hall became a pioneer of    "SAVE the............"    movement.    Five years later in 1976  the already  restored to Alexander Parris' 1826 historic design  under the direction of Tad Stahl, FAIA,  the Faneuil Hall Markets followed Old City Hall.   Now under the direction of James Rouse and Ben Thompson  using many of the techniques we devised for Old City Hall  --  such as the long term 99 year lease with rent based upon the level of occupancy --  this new development team devised the adaptive reuse technique of the "festival marketplace".

The Federal government commissioned AHF to advise and consult on many buildings such as the Old Post Office in Washington, D.C. , utilizing  our experience developing Old City Hall. Many government buildings across the nation such as schools, firehouses and other city halls were no longer "bulldozed down and trucked away".  Architects strove to make "silk purses out of silk purses".

Traveling in Italy I fell in love with a donkey.  Almost every Italian city has outdoor statues -- historical, religious and sometimes beloved animals.  These statues receive pats of affection from persons passing by and this leaves on the statue a shiny-reflective surface, evidence of their continuing strokes of connection.

Florence of all Italian cities perhaps has the most outdoor statuary and is blessed with several ateliers that produce these statues in all sizes and shapes.  I happened upon one of these shops in Florence years ago and wandered through their collections.  My eye fell upon a life size donkey hidden behind a large statue of a hog and Michelangelo's David with a saintly woman kneeling in prayer.  The donkey looked at me and we fell in love.  I pictured this little donkey in Boston on The Freedom Trail -- perhaps in front of Old City Hall.  I have always wanted a statue that would be particularly pleasing to children.

Purchasing the donkey and arranging its shipment to Boston was quickly negotiated.  Upon my return I contacted the city authorities to notify them of my intended gift.  Their response was cold.  I was denied permission to proceed.

"You can't just add an Italian donkey to The Freedom Trail..............  It just doesn't belong."

"But the donkey is so lovable.   The kids will be thrilled!   Give me a week and we can work this out.  You will love this donkey, too.   Come see it."

Within a week I returned to this city authority with good news of the historical justification for the donkey and its intended location.  Boston's Old City Hall sits on School Street and upon the site of the first public school in North America.  One of its graduates was Ben Franklin. His statue stands in the courtyard.  I surmised that Ben and other students rode their donkeys to school  and tethered them in the school yard that is now the Old City Hall courtyard.  Therefore, I argued a donkey statue in that location was historically appropriate. The request was denied -- again.

However,   months later I remembered yet another significant historical fact.  I returned to the city with my third request to place the donkey on The Freedom Trail in front of Old City Hall.  Now I argued the donkey is the symbol of the Democratic Party and Boston's politics was dominated for over a century by Democrat mayors. They predominantly occupied Old City Hall on School Street from its construction in 1865 and until 1970 when they moved to the new Boston City Hall to govern Boston into the twenty-first century.  After taking this into consideration the authorities  determined our Italian donkey could become the "Democratic Donkey" in Boston and stand in front of Old City Hall,  the bastion of Democrats for a century.  I was given permission to proceed.  

Years later in 2004 the Democratic Party gathered in Boston to select a candidate for the president of the United States.  Many of their meetings and banquets occurred in Old City Hall's  nationally famous restaurant Maison Robert. The delegates soon became friends with our donkey and the delegates officially designated our donkey their "Democratic Donkey".  The donkey appears in many of their official photographs and literature.

Today our "Democratic Donkey" stands beloved by all on The Freedom Trail in front of Old City Hall.  Almost every walker of The Freedom Trail stops for a picture and stands next to or sits on our donkey.  Most children and even some grandparents climb up upon our donkey in a display of affection.  My love for this little donkey has only increased.  

Now, our Italian immigrant donkey awaits YOUR visit to Old City Hall on School Street -- standing  in the shadows of Ben Franklin and Josiah Quincy -- Boston's "Democratic Donkey"

My job in the reconstruction of Old Bethpage Village on Long Island was as a consultant. The time was in the mid 1960s when many valuable historic buildings were destroyed by neglect and urban renewal.  Every week I flew to Long Island and reported to the director, Ed Smits, to receive my weekly assignment.  Ed identified a threatened valuable historic property and I went to its site to evaluate the practicality of moving that building to Old Bethpage Outdoor Museum -- a typical 19th century Long Island village recreation , and similar to Sturbridge Village in Massachusetts. 

"This week we have a property that needs your immediate evaluation.  It is an early Dutch farmhouse.  The new owner has evicted the airline hostess tenants.  I think they are moved out by now.   He plans to clear his property of all structures to build a new home.  We only have weeks to get the farmhouse out of there if we want to move it to Old Bethpage."  

I drove to this beautiful and rare early Long Island farmhouse and immediately began my evaluation with photographs and measurements of the exterior.  It appeared unoccupied. With  the key that Ed  gave me,  I unlocked the front door and let myself inside to measure and photograph the largely original interior.  No one seemed to be living here.  I completed my evaluation of the ground floor.  Then proceeding up the stairway to the second floor I was amazed to find the walls painted a bright pink, the floor covered by a thick shag rug and the ceiling covered by mirrors.  Opening a door to a bedroom I was shocked to encounter a young woman enraged and striding towards me with no clothes.  

"What the hell are you doing?  GET OUT OF HERE! --   NOW! "

I dropped my camera and equipment.

"GET OUT! -- GET OUT! --  NOW!"

Quickly I picked up my camera and equipment and backed out of her bedroom as she continued to yell at me.  I closed the door and went down the stairway and out the front door as fast as possible.  My camera appeared damaged and I  was shaken by this screaming woman.  

Reporting to Ed that the farmhouse was still occupied by at least one stewardess,  I quickly completed my evaluation and returned to Boston on an early flight.  I was in time to join my wife and young daughters for dinner.

"Well,  you could never guess what happened to me today on Long Island."

I shared my tale of photographing and measuring one of Long Island's rare and early Dutch farmhouses -- and how the shock of discovering an enraged and naked airline hostess shouting at me on the second floor had so unnerved me that I dropped my camera and equipment.  My wife smiled and broke out laughing.

  My six year old daughter, Rebecca, frowned and asked

"Daddy, if she was naked -- how did you know she was an airline hostess?" 

My Quaker grandmother and Quaker mother were outspoken about the evils of alcohol.  Grandmother lectured me ever summer I visited her in Sandy Spring, Maryland,  the Quaker farming community where my family lived for many generations,

"Thee will live a happier and healthier life   --   if Thee does not drink alcohol."

My mother demonstrated her Quaker belief by living an alcohol free life in the suburban town of Montclair, New Jersey,  where her Episcopalian husband was born and raised.   In my father's family alcohol was a daily part of life.

  My father managed to bridge these conflicting family beliefs.  He did not drink at home.   However, he participated in the pleasures of alcohol outside our home in his daily life and in his business activities.  Business entertainment required him to socialize and host many persons who expected an alcoholic drink at lunch or dinner.

My mother would not serve alcohol at home.  However,  at large family parties or even at neighborhood functions, she would not object if neighbors brought alcohol to these occasions --  or if my father provided a Christmas Punch, wine or champaign to celebrate something special. 

If I detected at a party that someone had difficulty walking a straight line  I often pointed this out to my mother.  She would excuse this behavior and give me some explanation like --

"Roger,  Thee must not be judgmental.   Mr. Williams served in the war.  He "was gassed."

I did not understand what "gassed" meant - except that it seemed to be a military term and must occur in wartime?  I never observed similar balance problems in  Sandy Spring,  so I attributed it to the fact very few Quakers serve in the military.  

  My father encouraged me not to drink alcohol, and he offer me one thousand dollars if I abstained until twenty-one.  He did not drink alcohol for one month every year, to show himself he could stop drinking when he wanted.

My downfall came at the age of eighteen in 1952 when I attended Harvard College.  The entire freshman class was invited to Harvard the week before classes began. It was a week of socializing and some binge drinking that preceded our academic activities.

My Class of 1956 was the last class to be given this traditional freshman party by  Harvard College.  It was called "THE SMOKER".   Our freshman class assembled at Sanders Theater in Memorial Hall.  We  were addressed by the Dean of Students.

"Look to your left.....   Now,   look to your right.   One of the three of you WILL NOT be here to graduate in four years!" 

I  looked to my left and saw my roommate Dick Bertman, a graduate of Brookline High Public School.  I looked to my right and saw my Choate classmate and friend  Roy Shulman.    I assumed Dick was the likely one not to be here and to whom the Dean directed my attention.

Next came a short advisory speech from the Dean.  He asked us to open ourselves to new experiences and new ideas.  He suggested we get to know as many people as possible.  His speech was followed by a new experience  --  an artistic and  revealing dance perform by  "ROSE  LA ROSE",   the stripper from the OLD HOWARD,   who had been hired by Harvard for this "SMOKER" event.     Rose demonstrated her unique skills by disrobing to traditional  music.

 Her dance was followed by a beer drinking contest.  All contestants climbed two  flights of stairs behind Sanders Theater stage to a balcony high above that stage.   We were each given  a very large cup filled with beer.  At the signal from the Dean  we were encouraged to drink the beer as rapidly as possible.  I recall spilling most of my beer down  my shirt and not winning a place into the final round of this competition.  However,  free beer kegs were provided in the large adjacent hall and we proceeded to socialize for the rest of that evening.  I became throughly exhausted.  It was the first time I heard the expression --  "I'm wasted !  --  Are you?"   

I recalled my grandmother's admonition.  Was I happier?  Was I healthier?  By the time classes began all hope of receiving my one thousand reward from my father was gone and I considered myself an experienced alcoholic drinker.  

Four years later I witnessed Dick and Roy's graduation.  I remembered the Dean's warning.  I was the one!

Born a Quaker with a committed Quaker mother and grandmother I always was aware of the evils of smoking.  My grandmother lectured me each time I visited her.  She told  me many times-  

"Thee will live a happier and healthier life,  if Thee avoids tobacco."

My mother demonstrated the evil of smoking.  Every year she  brought a bowl of live fish to Quaker Meeting First Day School and rigged a smoke machine to blow into the water.  By the end of class all the fish were floating upside down, dead.  We children got the message.

My father was an Episcopalian.  He smoked cigars, cigarettes and pipes filled with tobacco..  However, he encouraged me not to smoke and offered me a thousand dollars if I abstained from smoking until I was twenty-one.  To demonstrate to himself he was not addicted to tobacco he abstained from smoking one month every year.  My father always picked February -- the shortest month of the year. 

My downfall came at the age of nineteen in 1954.  I served in the United States Army when free cigarettes were given out by the military.  I was soon smoking two packs a day.

After I was discharged I resumed my college education and fell in love with a young woman.  She was a non smoker and let me know of her disapproval of my tobacco habit.  I cut back to less than a pack a day.   However,  she still disapproved.    I asked her if she would enter into a committed relationship with me?  She said no -- not until I stopped smoking.   My sweetheart added that she did not (and never would)  enjoy kissing anyone who smoked.

So, that day was the last day I smoked a cigarette.  I found kissing to be an equally pleasant addiction and within a year we married.  Half a century later I have yet to smoke another cigarette,  although kissing is no longer an addiction and I am no longer married.

  My Quaker mother believed in passing clothing from one child to another until they were sufficiently worn to discard -  or be passed to another family that could utilize them.  Being the youngest of three boys I  was the recipient of much clothing that survived the wear and tear of at least one brother,  if not two.

About the time I took notice of clothes  --  I also took an interest in girls.  Some girls were quite good dressers and dancers.  One special girl with an unusual name, Susan Dear, held my attention.  I asked Susan to the eighth grade dance.  She accepted.   

I knew that now I had to assemble the proper clothes for this very special occasion.  A coat and tie were required as well as dancing shoes.  Sneakers, tee shirt and bluejeans were out of the question.  My older brothers did have the appropriate articles of clothing in their wardrobes,  so it became a negotiation.  What could I borrow -- and from whom?

Shoes were no problem, my feet fit into one brother's best shoes, and my best pants filled that requirement. A dress shirt, tie and coat were the problem. I had to negotiate.  One brother offered me the loan of his coat in exchange for some promises, and my other brother reluctantly agreed to loan his tie and dress shirt for that evening -- exchanged for more promises.

Dance night I put on all the appropriate articles of clothing.  The only problem was my brother's coat sleeves extended beyond the ends of my fingertips.  My mother quickly fixed that problem by pinning up these too long sleeves back under themselves to shorten the sleeves.  A brother drove me to pick up my date and to the dance   --  in exchange for more promises.

At the dance all the pins my mother had placed to shorten my coat sleeves quickly dislodged.  The coat sleeves regained their normal length and covered my hands and fingertips.  It became difficult to hold Susan's hand   --  and impossible to guide her dance steps.  

I was embarrassed.  I did not ask anyone to dance.    No one asked me.

Unable to tuck up and pin these absurdly long sleeves that covered my fingertips --  I suggested we go home.  Susan agreed, and so ended the evening that began with hope.

It was the worst dance I ever attended  --  and I have been to some bad dances.

I first met Shipokazi Koyana visiting my daughter at Smith College in the1980s.  Ruth was living at the International House with students from Pakistan, India and South Africa and Shipo was the recipient of a four year Smith scholarship for black South African women.  Nelson Mandela was imprisoned at Robbins Island.   South Africa was an apartheid society,  and Shipo's generation was at work to secure a better future for South Africa.

That spring Shipokazi received a hate note.  "NIGGER, don't come back next year."

 With the support of her fellow housemates Shipo reported the note to the Dean of Students.  Receiving only expressions of regret she went directly to the president of the college, Mrs Dunn- only to receive similar expressions of regret.  Again with the support of her housemates Shipo wrote two letters - one to the Boston Globe and the other to The New York Times.  Both newspapers investigated and printed front page articles "Smith student receives racial hate note".

Mrs Dunn was contacted by many of her Board of Trustees.  She called a college wide meeting to announce the actions Smith was taking - such as mandatory sensitivity courses and a more racially diverse student body.  Several years later Smith College selected a new president,  an African- American.

Upon graduation from Smith College Shipo did not want to return to an apartheid controlled society.  She asked my help to secure and finance a graduate MA degree in South African literature from Yale University-  that had the best collection of black South African literature.    Shipokazi wished to teach at the university level when she returned.   She hoped for the rumored release of Nelson Mandela and then she expected things would change.  Her request for my help surprised me.  However,  I accepted, and agreed to cover her expenses beyond what was available from Yale University and later at Temple University.  I made an investment in a young woman and South  Africa.

Within two years Shipo had secured her MA from Yale and Mandela was released from prison and elected president of South Africa.  (Several years later  Shipokazi secured a  Phd in Literature from Temple University.)

In 1990 with just her MA from Yale University she returned to Cape Town, as the first black South African woman to teach South African literature at Rhodes University.  Her lecture hall filled - and required TV transmissions to other lecture halls to accommodate the number of students.  Shipokazi not only became among the first black South African women to teach at Rhodes University but later was the first black woman with a Phd in South African literature to teach at  University of Pretoria - and other institutions.

My friendship with Shipokazi has widen and enriched my life, and broadened my perspective to the possibilities for change.