Oberlin College and Conservatory
Class of 1968
John Robinson
John's Latest Interactions
Chris was probably the only gentleman, in a rather antique use of the word, that I have ever met or am ever likely to meet. The fact that he tolerated my foolishness for more than 50 years is a small measure of his tolerant forbearance and grace under verbal abuse. I miss his cheery prognostications of doom, which he would broadcast to us, usually after the morning news on NPR.
“Just read chapter 2 of Ralph Shapira’s autobiography on his profile page, and am looking forward to the next thrilling episode with a mixture of equal parts fear and fascination. Will names be named, and if so can I get out of town ahead of the posse? Will the events that culminated in the great Dascomb ice cream raffle and the dispute with the chaplin come up? Will his sneakers receive their just, though smelly, due, and how will he explain our year in East so that it makes any sense?
“Ralph, remember that many of our colleagues are no longer with us, so be generous, and many more are still here, so a measure of discretion and a quick perusal of the libel laws might be in order. But keep writing. I can’t wait to see how we all turn out after we grow up. You have a good eye for the crucial details that humanize your story.”
Rick and I went to the same high school, and were the only two people to be admitted to Oberlin. Given our histories it is probable that we remain the only people admitted. He dropped out, sort of, junior year and lived in my closet for a while. He was trying to memorize Ulysses, I wound up with his copy full of interlinear notes, and went out with Liz’s roommate Beth Pearson briefly. A very funny guy, but carried some very difficult issues.
Pepe was his name. Rick lived in the next section from us, maybe. He was the one who uttered the Immortal phrase as we were leaving Presti’s: in an intelligence contest between Ralph the cop and an oak tree the SM is on the OT.
Walter and I shared an apartment, very briefly as it was in a bad part of Chicago and he and Bill King got beaten up the first night we were there. He was already slipping into the problems that eventually took his life.
Thank you both for the nice words. However, I am told that assuming omniscience is both unbecoming and the prerogative of politicians and the religious. I didn’t know you were a cheerleader, but was in fact referring my old girl friend, who had a picture of her in a cheerleading costume kicking her leg up over her head. Sorry for the confusion.
I think the point of this site is to share memories. Going that far back leaves you open to unearthing all sorts of things that you had purposely buried. However, time and memory prove to be mellowing agents, so you smile at the good, frown at the bad, and sometimes you are very sad. I forgot to mention that Liz was a cheerleader in high school.
Liz, thanks for the prod/nudge. I have been working over what to say ever since the previous comments showed up. I think the best way is simply to relate what I remember and take the change out in potential bad dreams. Liz and I went out for about a year and a half, sophomore and junior years. She was tall, blonde and discontented, as many of us were although I was darker. She was a cello major to begin with, performance I think, but realized that she should have been a voice major. For some reason she couldn’t switch and wound up a music education major. She had perfect pitch, which helped us tune our guitars, but really didn’t like the music we listened to in the dorm. She was in the Oberlin College Choir, but suffered from some form of performance anxiety which handicapped her singing. On a personal level we managed to establish and maintain a fairly rocky relationship, for which I take full responsibility. Her roommate one year was Beth Pierson, also a cello major I think. We parted badly and I haven’t thought about many of these things in years, so the events are as true as I remember but memory is often not the truth.