I ran across this foto and paused. It was taken in 1967, almost certainly in Udaipur India where we were getting our final training before heading out to our sites for two long years. Now that was a journey marked by frustration and fultility though interspersed with occasional moments of triumph or, more accurately, small successes. It is difficult to discern what we were thinking in that moment. Perhaps it was hitting us that we knew shit about what we were being asked to do. It had been a long and arduous training but, let’s face it, you cannot turn city kids into farm experts in a few weeks. It is even more impossible when the technical training was in another field altogether (chicken farming or poultry raising) for the first half of our preparation.

Not long after this shot was taken, three of us would be loaded on the back of a truck with all our worldly possessions stuffed into a standard Peace Corps trunk and sent on a perilous journey down out of the Adravilli Hills to our hot desert homes some 50 or so miles (kilometers) south of the enchanting city of Udaipur. Randy (not pictures above) and I were assigned to Salumbar, a real town and the headquarters for local community development efforts. Poor Steve (the Black fellow whose face can just be seen in the 4th position from the right) was sent even further south to some hamlet long forgotten. He was a great guy, but his assignment was impossible. It was too remote and the place simply too backward. The locals talked a dialect (Mewari) in which we had no training, and it took him one day on India’s cruel form of torture (rural buses) to reach us and another day to get to Udaipur. He gave up after a few weeks. I’m surprised he lasted that long.

Many of these faces bring back memories, though not all. I cannot recall the name of the fellow on the far left. He did not come to any of the reuninions that we began having in 2009, the 40th anniversary of our return to the States in 1969. But I do recall the last time I saw him. Three of us were standing in St. Peter’s Square, the center of Vatican City and the Catholic Church. While gawking at our surroundings, we heard a familiar voice. It was he (who cannot be named). We chatted amiably about all we had seen and then went our separate ways. Perhaps I would have treasured the moment more if I had realized our paths would never cross again.

Next to him was Jerry. He was a thoughtful and serious fellow that I did not get to know very well. Then again, it did nor help that he married one of the gals from the public health group we trained with and who then served in Maharasthra to our south. Thus, he did not hang much with us during our occasional escapes to Udaipur for R&R. I believe his new wife became ill (several in my group became seriously ill though I escaped any real trouble). They both returned to the States after about a year. That marriage did not last but I do see his blogs from time to time. He remains immersed in leftish politics and in fighting the good fight. He has retained his spirit while mine might be lost somewhere under the couch.

Gary, the slightly dishevelled gentleman to the right of Jerry, was a favorite of all of us. He seemed very talented and extremely bright. He played a marvelous violin and had such a unique and idiosyncratic take on things. He saw things in an oblique but unique manner. He was one of two in our group to extend for a third year in India. Sadly, he never adjusted well after returning to the States. He wound up surviving on earning from playing his violin on street corners and from a small trust fund left by his parents. To our dismay, we discovered that he ended it all by jumping off a building in San Francisco. Damn, he was such an original.

Haywood was another of what I would call one of my closer friends. We all loved him. He had grown up dirt poor as part of a sharecropper’s family in North Carolina but always said the one thing they had in abundance was love for one another. Later, he would insist that Peace Corps changed the course of his life. On numerous occasions, he noted that some of us motivated him to go on to do graduate work which, in turn, led to a career as a top official in a national union. He probably looked at me and said, if this klutz can do well, then anyone can. Yes, I’ve been an inspiration to many. To use an old cliche, he did light up any room he entered. I can still hear his infectious laugh, feel his kind heart, and recall his humorous stories. He passed way too early several years back and is missed by all.

Tom M, [not to be confused with Tom C (me)] is next in line. While Tom has a soft look about him, that hid a tough, focused interior. He had strong values and was always looking for ways to make a difference. After getting his master’s in government from Harvard, Tom eventually went on to work with the United Nations. During his career, he was assigned to a number of the world’s hottest spots while working with refugees and others caught up in struggles and conflicts we’ve never been able to completely avoid. As happened in the Balkans during their post-Tito ethnic and nationalistic coflagration of the early 1990s, he found himself trapped on the front lines. That was far from the only time he was in danger. An exciting life indeed. Another vilounteer (not pictured) spent his career in the U.S. Foreign service. he had roatated out of the embassy in Iran not long before the Khomeini inspired student takeover in 1979.

Me! Then there is me, tall and lean and with a full head of hair. Sigh! But you know about me so I’ll only share one story. Some time back, I took this picture and showed it to a number of acquaintances and colleagues. Which one of these characters is me? I would ask. Each would study the picture, look at me, study the picture again, look at me a second time, and then make a selection. Invariably, they would pick the wrong guy, usually a selection I found perplexing or even insulting. I suggested to several they seek help from an opthamologist.

Bob is next to me. He is a bit of an enigma. I don’t recall much of him from our days in India. He might actually have worked hard at his job. Then, he passed before we started getting together about a dozen or so years ago.

Bill comes next. Like Haywood, he is someone I got to know somewhat better than many of the others. He was a scholarship student at Yale, coming from a large working class Catholic family. We were in the same language class during training, which was somehow based on aptitude though my making it in proved that the selection process was flawed. He, however, was smart indeed. He and I travelled back together through Europe at the end of our tour enjoying several enjoyable, if futile, efforts at seducing young ladies who were unfortunate enough to cross our paths. Then he went on to to get a Business degree from the Wharton School at the University of Pennsylvania and a Doctorate in economics from NYU. He did everything from working in international banking in Paris to working at the Federal Reserve. He always had a strong ethical side to him and spent part of his early retirement focused on climate change, writing a scholarly book on the topic. A fascinating guy.

Below is a pic of Haywood, myself, and Bill while we visited the family of one of our language instructors in Delhi.

Next we have an instructor from the local university about wjom I know absolutely nothing.

Roger is next. He was one of several volunteers who had attended the University of California-Berkely as an undergraduate. With a few exceptions, most India-44 volunteers (the one’s who lasted that is), came from the east and west coasts. Many attended prestigious schools though not all. This was back in the day when the Corps had many more applcants than they could select or use. Not surpisingly, many then failed to make it into the program, or through training, or either to be assigned to a site nor complete their two years of service. Many were called but few chosen and fewer survived to the end. India was considered one of the toughest sites back then for a varety of reasons, something we learned about through painful experience. Enough of a digression. I recall Roger being a serious volunteer with a love of cycling. He somehow used the crappy Superman bikes we were given and cycled all over Rajasthan. Years later, we met at his home in the Bay area. His wife was also into Indian culture and dance. His Peace Corps tour clearly had stayed with him.

David L is next … the tall young man with the short beard. He left at the end of our in-country training but still managed to leave me with a strong impression of him. He was from Virginia, retained a distinct southern accent, and was deeply committed to social justice and civil rights. During our stateside training we spent a week in Houston Texas. It was 1966, and we northerners were totally innocent. When we heard that a black volunteer was denied entrance to a ‘private club’ that was open to any white person who would pay the entrance fee, we had to protest. That led to a kerfuffle at the entrance. David, when he was grabbed by a couple of rednecks immediately went limp. It was the ‘non-violent response’ he had learned in civil rights protests. I will never forget what came next. As tensions mounted, I saw a police car coming down the street and waved them over. I told the officer that a violation of the civil rights law had just occured. He looked at me as if I had just dropped out of a space ship, told me he didn’t give a f%$k about civil rights, and then rolled up his window as he continued on his way. We somehow made our escape and filed some kind of action the next day with a federal agency (forget which) that I’m sure was discarded the moment we left. I wish David had stayed with us.

A Peace Corps technical instructor is next. All I recall is that he was from some midwestern state and had the impossible task of turning us into farmers ina few weeks.

Steve is the head of the black guy barely visible. I think he was from Tennessee. Poor Steve was assigned to an impossible site south of my town, probably near the freaking border of Gujarat. I have no idea what Peace Corps was thinking with some of these placements. From the inception of the program to when we were placed, a lot of time had passed and the original situation may have changed. Moreover, the presumption that any American kid could make a technical contribution, even if they knew jack-shit about what they were doing, was wildly optimistic. Steve was a wonderful guy and tried hard. But no one could have lasted where he was. One has to remember, that we were really isolated back then … no cell phones or other means of communication. You were really on your own in the freaking Rajasthani desert where it was hot, disease ridden, isolated, and lonely. Beside that, you could not get a beer (or any alcohol)at a local bar and even looking at women was discouraged.

David D. was an interesting character. He also was an Ivy league scholarship student … Columbia University. Perhaps because he had to fight for all he had achieved, he had a bit of a chip on his shoulder. He was smart though perhaps not the best fit for Peace Corps. Something happened about halfway through our tour and he was sent home early. Still, he remained attached to the group and came to a couple of our reunions. He never lost his interest in India, going on to get his Doctorate in South Asian Studies at Columbia. When we did reunite, I found him to be mellower and at peace with himself. He was mch more self-aware as well. We all grew in our own ways.

Mike is the next in line, thin with a beard. Well we were all thin then but he was extra thin. I liked Mike a lot. He also had grown up in a relatively poor ethnic family. Many of us later talked about how easy it was then to go to college. The California public system was dirt cheap (he attended San Francisco State University). There is one reason Mike remains a favorite of mine. Later in life, he wrote a hilarious manuscript about his misadventures with members of the fair sex after his divorce. In his writings he referenced some of his earlier failures with women, one involving the final party we had before leaving India. He was having a medical issue at the time and might have skipped the party in any case. But what he wrote was that he decided not to go since he despaired competing with guys like me for the favor of the ladies since I was ‘tall, dark, and had the rugged good looks of someone who could adorn the cover of a romance novel.’ Then again, his medical issue turned out to be a detaching retina and he was flown to the Military base in Germany for immediate eye surgery. Obviously, he could not see clearly. Bill and I visite him there on our way home. Mike also went on to get a graduate degree and ran a non-profit that upgraded the computer capabilities of libraries in New England. I last saw Mike on his 75th birthday when he, Bill, and familes had rented a party boat for a trip up the Hudson River. Mike is an original.

Hap completes the lineup. He also served out the two years. He was inevitably upbeat and had a smile on his face. While I never got to know him very well, it was always nice to be around him. He made us all laugh and feel good about ourselves. He also was from California and would return there to become a lawyer. At the end of our tour he started back hime with Bill and I through Europe. I think he made it to Rome before heading directly back to the States. Bill and I went on to Switzerland and Paris, from where he headed home since a girl was waiting for him. I had to visit Ireland, my irish roots were calling me, before heading back to reality. You can only avoid life for so long. Sigh!

This is a small taste of what was a seminal experience in my life, in all our lives. As you can tell, only a small prtion of all who started out on this adventure endured to the very end. Many didn’t make it to India and the caualty rate of those who did remained high. It was a tough experience but one that left us all changed, hopefully for the better. You really understood the power of culture after being immersed in a version of one that tested your strengths and endurance.

I am amazed at how much our small group (many of which were not included in the picture) contributed to the world later in life. Many went on to advanced degrees from top universities and to successful careers. Perhaps they had been picked by Peace Corps because they were special to begin with. Or perhaps they (we) were transformed by this compelling and unique experience. We cannot know.

Of all my experiences in life, three stand out … my days at Clark University, my Peace Corps experiences, and my days in Milwaukie right after returning from India. I don’t recall much else, nor much about the people at least, during my life before Clark nor during my later doctoral studies. Perhaps these moments stand out only because they occured at a special time in the trajectory of my life. Either that, and I don’t discount this, there was something magical about these moments in time that I was priveleged to experience.

If you want to experience more, pick up the volume below: