Charlie Marlin

— 5th — (1977) Jimmy Carter

In August, 1972, started alternative service for CO draft status in that coal colony called West Virginia. Finished as orderly in Chattanooga Mental Hospital. Since then have been happily "underemployed" -working as gardener, painter, house cleaner, listener. Living here, no phone or TV, where indigent friends seek refuge, trying to grow in love and understanding. Come and visit.

— 15th — (1987) Ronald Reagan

I quit my gardening job in 1978. For the next three years I taught math in Chattanooga. In 1982 I joined Intergraph and for the last five years have been making computer-aided design systems work. I've lived in Huntsville, Washington, Seattle, and Los Angeles. Best wishes to all the good people who shared their lives with me at Gray's Middle, K-House, and Jordan-J. You really set me free.

— 20th — (1992) George H. W. Bush

Hello. Still kicking.

— 25th — (1997) Bill Clinton

FOR the last fourteen years, I've been working for Intergraph, a computer graphics company. It has been thrilling and challenging and sometimes a grind. My most frequent assignment has been to introduce expensive technology to a company and make it successful. We sell worldwide, so I have worked through a bunch of cultural, linguistic, and time zone obstacles.

Before Intergraph, I taught mathematics (more arithmetic than math) in the vocational division of a community college for three years. For the previous five years, I was a hippie gardener around Chattanooga. Before that I did alternate service as a conscientious objector to satisfy the draft board.

Observations on the last twenty-five years: Society has proven to be much more resilient than I expected in 1972, when the collapse of world civilization seemed imminent. Work can be tremendous fun; just because they pay you for it doesn't mean it has to be onerous. It has been difficult to find a woman who drives me crazy in good ways and doesn't drive me crazy in bad ways. I am much more like my father than I ever thought possible. Funny jokes and stories continue to be told, a testament to the enduring folly and invention of mankind.

Speaking of folly and invention, I recorded an album a few years ago: seven covers of Chuck Berry, ZZ Top, and Jimmy Reed, plus seven originals. All occupants of Jordan-J or Gray's Middle are welcome to write me for a free copy.

Email me.cbmarlin@ingr.com. for chapter and verse.

— 30th — (2002) George W. Bush

There have been many changes since the last report. I met a great woman in 1997 and we married in 1999. She already had two children, so the whole family came ready made, including in-laws across the street and next door. Having been a bachelor until age forty-eight, I had quite an adjustment to make. But then again, they all had to adjust to me, which is certainly the greater achievement.

— 45th — (2017) Donald Trump

I would like to be myself in this post; on the other hand, I would like to be wise and helpful. Let's start with wise.

Now let's move on to helpful. We are more than our minds. Yoga is wonderful for keeping joints supple, improving balance, preventing injury, and I believe it does a lot more. Weightlifting can help postpone the decline of strength with age and make daily life more enjoyable. I believe that it, too, does more. Movement that is vigorous enough to stir the blood improves the mood. Meditation helps to stabilize the mind and has other benefits. Old friends are a joy; laughter comes easily with them, and some sort of ineffable warmth. Finding the right woman is transforming; being in a constructive relationship is a whole different (and much better) way of being alive. I suspected all these things when I was twenty, but now I know they are true. I invite you to join me in these interpretations and activities. I am willing to listen to your helpful hints, too. What's happened with me over the last forty-five years? When I left Harvard I expected world civilization to collapse in a few years. It just seemed too complicated, interdependent, fragile, overextended; the least shock would send it over the edge. When the oil embargo of 1973 had no more effect than it did, I had to revise my opinion. Civilization was more resilient than I expected. After fulfilling alternate service as a conscientious objector, I was a hippie gardener for a couple of years, then moved to a subsistence farming experiment in middle Tennessee. No electricity, no running water, no indoor plumbing. On Easter Sunday morning in 1976, I rode a mule that had run off the night before back to our farm. We plowed with mules, cooked on a wood stove, and washed our clothes and ourselves in the creek. We milked a cow and a couple of goats. We planted a garden. I lasted three months. Civilization had its consolations.

I spent a couple more years as hippie gardener near Chattanooga. I fell into a cushy position: three days a week, three dollars an hour, year around, working at the same place. I could walk to work. Most days, I ate oatmeal for breakfast, a peanut butter sandwich with a carrot for lunch, and chopped cabbage with some cottage cheese for dinner, often with a bit of onion or pickle. I worked with Amos Clark, a seventy-year-old black guy who had been gardening at the same place for nine years, which seemed to me an incomprehensible length of time. He taught me a lot about how to use hand tools. Also, how to start a fire in a bucket to keep your hands and feet warm in the winter. That was particularly intriguing. We could be clearing brush along a fence in thirty-degree weather. In total comfort. The effort and some clothing kept us warm except for hands and feet. The fire bucket solves that. Once I saw a car go by and thought that if I were in the car and saw those two guys out in a field on a day like today, I would think they must be miserable.

Amos quit; the job became less engaging, and I quit. After a few really interesting short-term jobs, I rejoined the regular forty-hour-a-week world teaching math for vocations at a local community college. That was great for a year or so, then got discouraging. I could help the bright, motivated students learn enough math to be successful electricians, tool and die makers, drafters, or HVAC technicians, but there were many unmotivated students that I could not get over the hump. After months of struggle, they remained innumerate.

I got an offer from Intergraph, one of several technology companies developing computer-assisted mapping, drafting, design, and manufacturing systems. A great place at a great time for an ambitious single guy. Over the next five years I traveled a lot, lived in McLean, Virginia, Bellevue, Washington, and Irvine, California. I did many different things for Intergraph over eighteen years, some primarily technical, many with a social or political component. I jousted with Con Ed and stayed on my horse. Wonderful stories that are better told in person.

I worked for several years in a five-person software and services company. Eight years ago I joined the local utility company, where I work with geographical information systems, mostly by writing mobile applications and providing data analysis. I enjoy writing applications that will be used in production more than writing apps for demonstration or proof of concept. Also, it is tremendously rewarding to help people with scant computer experience overcome their apprehension and learn how to work more effectively. The ones who are already comfortable using computers generally react with "Finally! Where have you been?"

If I look back over the last few decades of work, one of the themes has been extending the reach of technology. A theme of daily life has been trying to bring the human element into everyday social interaction. A common social critique holds that modern life transforms all relationships into material transactions. The supermarket customer doesn't care about the life of the checkout person, only how quickly and accurately the transaction is completed. I've spent plenty of time in that pit of blindness and emotional sterility, and I still fall in from time to time, but I try to climb out of it whenever I can. Eye contact. A smile. Some acknowledgment of the other person's fundamental dignity and worth, based merely on their membership in the human race. It requires a personal energy investment, but the occasional reward makes it worthwhile. Like when a person who looked miserable responds with a smile. What's the price of that? What's the value?

Overall, I consider myself the luckiest man I know. My wife and I are in love with each other and we laugh a lot together. My work is enjoyable. My living arrangements are wonderful. I survived decades of youthful folly with remarkably little damage to me or to others. My health is good. I sing sometimes in the shower and in the car. Occasionally I provoke someone to laughter. Luckiest man I know.

My political and social views are not in sync with many of the people around me, but it's also true that "majority" does not mean "monolith" (occasionally I see the bumper sticker that shows a small blue dot in a big red square); I know many people of goodwill whose interpretation of political events differs from mine; and I have many opportunities to show that a person with my views is not a demon from beyond. In fact, I enjoy talking with people I respect but who do not completely share my views.

Let me close by thanking all the people I met at Harvard who helped me explore and grow. The pioneers at Grays Middle. Larry, Bill, and David at Kirkland. And a wonderfully accepting and encouraging group of people at Jordan J. I owe you a lot. Thank you forever. Call. Write. Come visit.

— 50th — (2022) Joseph Biden

I learned a lot in four years, and I was exposed to a much larger amount of learning. You can only take in so much. I have spent decades digesting pieces of that exposure, and in many ways I still am. When people ask me if I “liked” Harvard, I’m not sure how to answer. Not every day was pleasant. In fact, a lot of days were decidedly unpleasant. But a lot of days were exhilarating. The experience brought on rapid growth, and I would not trade it for anything.

At times I was taken aback, but overall the experience was healthy and sobering. It punctured illusions. I noticed that one part of me wanted to cling to those illusions and their familiar comfort, even while a greater part could not ignore new discoveries. I also learned that people could think and act quite differently but still be human and moral and ethical and kind and follow the example of Jesus better than I did, even though they might not claim to be Christian.

The last two years I lived in a co-ed dorm. Eleven men and thirteen women. Harvard and Radcliffe’s first “experiment in co-educational living”. Instead of being on the dormitory food plan, we had a well-equipped kitchen; and each of us prepared dinner for all the others on a four-week rotation. After each dinner, a team of two cleaned up. The food was terrific. Imagine 24 different cooks! We ate things I never knew existed. I got to know women on an everyday, just-woke-up, what-will-I-do-for-breakfast basis, outside the artificial structure of dates, social gatherings, dances, and such. We even shared bathrooms. That felt weird for a few days. Then it felt normal. Then I wondered why we ever had separate bathrooms.

When I left Harvard, I expected world civilization to collapse in a few years. It just seemed too complicated, interdependent, fragile, overextended; the least shock would send it over the edge. When the oil embargo of 1973 had no more effect than it did, I had to revise my opinion. The interconnected web of civilization was more resilient than I expected.

I fulfilled alternate service as a conscientious objector, mostly in West Virginia coal country, which was a different universe. Then I worked at a mental hospital and met a goal of learning something about how to behave around mentally disturbed people. I worked as a hippie gardener for a couple of years, then tried a subsistence farming adventure in middle Tennessee. No electricity, no running water, no indoor plumbing. On Easter Sunday morning in 1976, the bicentennial year, I rode a mule that had run off the night before a few miles back to our farm. We plowed with mules, cooked on a wood stove, and washed our clothes and ourselves in the creek. We milked a cow and a couple of goats. We planted a garden. I lasted three months. Civilization had its consolations.

I spent a couple more years as hippie gardener near Chattanooga. I fell into a cushy position: three days a week, three dollars an hour, year around, working at the same place. I could walk to work. Most days, I ate oatmeal for breakfast, a peanut butter sandwich with a carrot for lunch, and chopped cabbage with some cottage cheese for dinner, often with a bit of onion or pickle. Not much money, but plenty of time to read, wonder, watch the trees and shrubs, visit friends, and begin sorting through the jumble of ideas I had encountered during the previous several years. As an attempt at cheap entertainment for a party, I built a maze out of cardboard boxes. It was an unexpected hit, and I built about a dozen more over the next several years, mostly in Chattanooga, one in Nashville, one in Albuquerque, and more recently, a couple in New Market, Alabama, for my step-children’s birthday parties.

As a hippie gardener (which, on my resume, I eventually inflated to “groundskeeper”) I worked with Amos Clark, a 70-year-old black guy who had been working there for 9 years, which seemed to me an incomprehensible length of time. He taught me a lot about how to use hand tools. Also, how to start a fire in a bucket to keep your hands and feet warm in the winter. We could be clearing brush along a fence during 30-degree weather in total comfort. We pulled up mounds of honeysuckle and privet hedge by the root. We made piles higher than our heads each year and burned them in bonfires on cold drippy-wet autumn days. He told me stories.

Now I’m the age he was then. The last two winters I have reenacted our honeysuckle and privet eradication project where I live. Sort of active reminiscence. What a man he was!

Eventually, Amos quit; the job became less engaging without him; and I quit. After a few really interesting short-term jobs, I rejoined the regular 40-hour-a-week world teaching math for vocations at a local community college. That was great for a year or so, then became discouraging. I could help the bright, motivated students learn enough math to be successful electricians, tool and die makers, drafters, or HVAC technicians; but there were many unmotivated students that I could not get over the hump. After months of struggle, they remained innumerate.

I got an offer from Intergraph, in Huntsville, Alabama, one of several technology companies developing computer assisted mapping, drafting, design, and manufacturing systems. It was a great place at a great time for a single guy who had recovered his self-motivation. I traveled almost every week, lived for several years in McLean, VA, Bellevue, WA, and Irvine, CA; and eventually returned to Huntsville. I did many different things for Intergraph over 18 years, some primarily technical, many with a social/political component. I jousted with Con Ed and stayed on my horse. After one of those visits to New York, I climbed the scaffolding surrounding the Statue of Liberty and kissed her chin. Her lips were too high to kiss, but I touched the lower one with my hand. We climbed further and looked down on the torch. The yellow glass panes between strips of metal had not yet been replaced by the gold flame.

After Intergraph, I worked for several years with a five-person software and services company, all of us former Intergraph people. About fourteen years ago I joined the local utility company where I worked with geographical information systems (GIS), mostly by writing mobile applications and providing data analysis. I enjoyed writing applications that would be used in production more than writing apps for demos or proof of concept. I found it tremendously rewarding to help people with scant computer experience overcome their apprehension and see how they could use a mobile computer to work more effectively.

As I look back over the last few decades, a major theme of my working life has been to extend the reach of technology and help people work more productively. A theme of daily life has been to bring the human element into everyday interactions. One social critique holds that modern life transforms all relationships into commercial transactions, so that the supermarket customer, for example, doesn’t care about the life of the checkout person, only how quickly and accurately the exchange of goods for money is completed. Sadly, I’ve spent plenty of time in that pit, and I still fall in from time to time. But I aspire to do better. To make eye contact. To smile. To acknowledge the fundamental dignity and worth of other people, based merely on their status as human beings. It only takes a small amount of personal energy, and the occasional response makes for an outsized reward. When a person who looked tired and miserable smiles back, what’s the price of that? What’s the value?

My political and social views are not in sync with many of the people around me, but it’s also true that most people, regardless of political preference, prefer honesty and plain dealing over lies and deceit. I know many people of good will whose interpretation of events differs from mine, and I have many opportunities to show that a person with my views is not a demon from beyond. In fact, I enjoy talking with a person I respect but who does not completely share my views. Both of us can learn.

Overall, I consider myself the luckiest person I know. My wife and I are in love with each other and we laugh a lot together. We help each other over rough spots. My son and daughter are wonderful sources of energy, and they refresh me culturally. I live near a lot of trees. I survived decades of youthful folly with remarkably little damage to me or to others. My health is generally good. I sing sometimes in the shower and in the car. Occasionally, when I’m fortunate, I provoke someone to laughter.

Some conclusions I’ve reached over the last 50 years: We are more than our minds. We extend well beyond the horizon of our ideas, even though we tend to restrict our awareness to that more limited region. Yoga is wonderful for keeping joints supple, improving balance, preventing injury; and I believe it does a lot more. Weight lifting can help slow down the decline of strength with age and make daily life more enjoyable. I believe it, too, does more. Movement that is vigorous enough to stir the blood will improve the mood. Meditation helps to steady the mind and has other benefits. Old friends are a joy: laughter comes easily with them, and some sort of ineffable and wonderful warmth. Finding the right woman is transforming; it’s glorious to be in a constructive relationship. I suspected all these things when I was twenty, but now I know they are true. My fellow classmates, along with your families and friends, I earnestly wish you all the best!