NOTES FROM ALUMS
Below, we’ll include notes from from folks who couldn’t make it but had stories to share.
The Duke’s Men On the Road: From Maine to Nassau – The Fun of It All
Roger Shoemaker '68
‘As Freshman First’ I thought I would take a break from singing, but I didn’t. I was fortunate enough to get into The Duke’s Men. Here follows a series of remembered anecdotes, if memory serves, and the service has been poor of late. If you want linear and coherent, find another article.
So freshman year there was tap, then the party with Green Cups at Mory’s. Beside the large block of ice loosening my front teeth, I recall being on one side of the locked York Street gate to the Old Campus carrying a chicken, named Kingman B. Rooster of course, and I remember being on the other side of that wrought iron fence, you know, the one with high spikes. My pants were torn (both legs) to mid-thigh, and Kingman B. had gone free range. And it was like that all the way through, as Sabina notes about the comedic chaos in Thornton Wilder’s “The Skin of Our Teeth.”
We had memorable retreats to ostensibly, and sometimes actually, learn music. My favorite was sponsored by a rich Old Blue who gave us a waterside cottage on Eggemoggin Reach in Maine, complete with endless Löwenbräu (when it was still an imported beer) and two fine wooden sloops. Dan Badger and I both had significant sailing experience, although perhaps not sufficient to let us take out these fine craft unsupervised, but we did. We played sponge-tag on the deep, still waters of the Reach, and our noisy levity echoing off the rocky shores. What a blast.
We took spring break trips to Nassau, where Bill Prouty and I once got so sunburned we spent the day in a darkened room, spread-eagle so no part of one’s body touched any other part. I could have sent letters home on the skin that peeled off my back. We really knew how to have fun.
We sang at a dinner party for Lord Mountbatten. Really, the actual Lord Mountbatten. Followed by a trip to the casino with Bobo and Kevin McClury. At Lyford Cay, we saw Sean Connery, who was in his prime, and was, I think, there to film Thunderball. I was shocked to see that he was bald as an egg.
We played car-to-car Botticelli on long overnight road trips. One time I unwisely decided in the middle of the night to invite the whole group to crash at my house outside Philadelphia. My mother awoke to sleeping college boys on every surface. Being a trooper, she started making a big mess of eggs.
Of course, we also did give concerts on campus and wherever we went. We were invited to sing at a Yale Club event someplace, where I had the rather odd experience of having to make a correction to the printed program’s lyrics of “Bright College Years.” They printed ‘In after life, should troubles rise…” I found to be a bit of an overreach, even for Yale U.
Despite the fact that five of our number were elevated to 1968 Whiffdom (Rick Manning, Whit Shepherd (my roomie), Dan Badger, Dick Gould (who grew into the Whiff’s number one fan and historian) and Paul Steege. The class rounded out with me, Bill Prouty, Jim Rossbach, and Kit Ebbersbach, who did some nice new arrangements, such as “Satin Doll” and “Real Live Girl.” Surprisingly, with all that talent, we didn’t sing that great. This was partly due to my undertaking Pitchpipe as a sophomore with insufficient skill (Thanks, Gus). The group was later rescued by Dan Badger. I would give us B, B- among the groups in terms of quality singing. But for having fun? 440 A.