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Remembering Kip Smith
Ned Groth, June, 2009

(Author’s note: This biographical remembrance is based on documents, including yearbooks, letters, e-mails, and my notes on phone conversations, as well as information I have received from a few classmates and from Kip’s family. It also contains some of my own subjective impressions. I have tried to create an honest and loving portrait of our classmate. While I’ve striven for factual accuracy, I take full responsibility for any errors I may have made. This remembrance can be expanded, amended, or corrected, if it needs to be, as others contribute their own memories to it.   –NG)

Kip was born Ormonde Smith III, suffering as I do from his parents’ utter lack of originality in naming sons. But nobody—maybe a rookie teacher, just once—ever tried to call him “Ormonde.” He was always Kip, or Kipper, to everyone. He joined us as a sophomore, in the fall of 1959; his uncle, Tom Plunkett, had graduated from Darrow in the ‘40s and was a trustee. That first year, he roomed with Llew Haden, Dave Benson and Chuck Romack in Wickersham. Peter Golden recalls Kip as being “dapper, courtly and refined, without being supercilious.” Kip made friends quickly;  he seemed to like everyone, was cheerful and outgoing, and could be awfully funny. Though he hailed from Houston, he didn’t sound much like a Texan, except for an occasional “Howdy.” He was just a normal kid, a bit owlish behind glasses in those pre-contact-lenses ‘60s, a competent student, an enthusiastic member of his sports teams, no particular star in either realm, but a solid, reliable contributor to all aspects of the school’s life. Kip liked Darrow and it, and we, responded in kind.

As the photos below may remind us, Kip played football in the autumn, making the varsity his junior year (although he wasn’t in the team photo as a senior); basketball in the winter (JV as a sophomore, varsity thereafter); and baseball in the spring (JV as a soph and junior, but again with no evidence of his presence as a senior). He sang in the choir/glee club, joined the Current Events and History Book Clubs, and was in the Dramatics Club sophomore year.

Above, Varsity Football, Fall 1960 (Kip’s in the back row), Varsity Basketball 1962, JV Baseball 1961 (Kip’s next to me in front). Below, Choir 1960, Current Events Club 1961, History Book Club 1962.

Kip wasn’t exactly a goody-two-shoes, but neither was he known as a prankster or a raid-the-dining-hall type. Terry Duvall says Kip told him years later that he used to sneak out at night to go “who knows where” (the Showboat? Pittsfield?), using the fire escapes to get out and back in. There is one fire-escape-related incident for which Kip is remembered in Darrow ‘62 lore. As I recall (and I’m happy to have someone with a better memory correct the record), Kip and a couple of other guys lived on the second floor of the Meeting House, above those iconic triple doors, probably our senior year. Enrollment was high that year, and the combination of need, Lamb Heyniger’s ingenuity, and Mike DiMaina’s carpentry had transformed a space that was a locker room when the building was the gymnasium, two years before, into a fairly nice residential suite. Above them, in the faculty apartment on the third floor, lived Physics teacher Don Sutherland and his wife Marie. One night Kip crept up the fire escape and peeked in the Sutherlands’ window, to see what he could see. Or at least, that’s how the story goes. Don couldn’t confirm it, and it may be apocryphal, just a story Kip told about himself. It explains the photo on Kip’s senior yearbook page, which no doubt has mystified anyone who never heard this story.

After our commencement, we dispersed to take up the next phases of our lives, and we lost track of Kip for a while. Like most of us, he was busy finishing his education and growing up, moved around a bit, got out of touch. He went first to SMU, but according to Griswold, partied too much and flunked out freshman year. Charlotte adds, being in a frat house (ƩAE) and discovering hot babes was too much for him. His father set down a condition: Kip could go back to college, but now he had to work and earn his own tuition. He did that, went back to SMU for a while, but then transferred to the University of Houston, where he eventually earned a degree in mathematics. Kip used to refer to his approach to college as “the ten-year plan.”

In the late ‘60s I started the Class Newsletter, and wrote one every year for 14 years. Kip is one of the few class members who never submitted any news. He was listed in the Alumni Notes section of the Peg Board as “lost,” in 1970 and again in 1973. Maybe we just didn’t know where to find him, or maybe he was a bit lost in those years, like some of the rest of us, wandering around, trying to get his act together. He was never in the Armed Services, largely because he was a college student for so long. Since his parents still lived in Houston, and there are relatively few Smiths named Ormonde, Jr., Des McCracken eventually tracked Kip down. By 1980 or so, we knew where he was again, and vice versa. Bob Lang, who had an ex-wife and kids in Houston, began visiting Kip when he was in town. Through Lang, Kip reconnected with Griswold. It took a while, but Kipper was eventually ready to rejoin the class.

During his years at the University of Houston, Kip met and married his first wife, whose name he never shared with us. Charlotte says they made a rather unusual looking couple—she was over six feet tall. They had no children, and their divorce was amicable. Although his “ex” moved away from Houston, Kip (and Charlotte) kept in touch with many of the friends from Kip’s first marriage.

I saw Kip for the first time in 20 years at our 20th reunion, which Lang and Griswold had persuaded him would be worth his making the trip. He was the first person I saw when Sharon and I arrived at the Queechy Lake Motel that Friday, instantly recognizable even without the 10-gallon hat. Given that I hadn’t been that close to Kip at Darrow and hadn’t heard from or spoken to him in 20 years, it felt incredibly great to see him. He simply radiated joy. He was obviously having a wonderful time, enthusiastically catching up with everyone about their lives since 1962. Kip—and that hat—featured prominently in my photos from the reunion, and the Peg Board named him as the alum who traveled farthest for Alumni Day that year.

May, 1982: Left: Los Tres Amigos at the ’62 party at the Queechy Lake Motel, Friday.

Kip with Gib, Dave, Denny and Carl in our official reunion garb on Saturday.
   

From that point on, Kip stayed in touch. We had each other’s phone numbers, and occasionally he would call me, or I’d call him during one of those fundraising phone-a-thons Darrow used to organize. From a few notes I’ve hung onto, I gather we talked about Bill Broyles, former editor of Texas Monthly, then (briefly) at Newsweek, where Sharon worked for him. Kip told me he knew Broyles’ ex-wife, Sybil, from Texas literary circles, in which Kip apparently circulated comfortably, although he seldom mentioned it.

At one point—probably in the run-up to our 20th—Kip informed me that he was getting married again on June 26th (1982). His bride-to-be, Charlotte Cox, of New Orleans, was a teacher at a private school. At the reunion itself, Kip hung out with Gris and Lang, and Gris had been in touch with Llew, yet (despite their collective experience) Kip vowed he was “goin’ through with the wedding.” I asked him for a picture of him with Charlotte, and he sent me this one. They had 27 good years together, made a wonderful couple, and he seemed delighted to have found his life partner.

Charlotte told me how she and Kip met, through mutual friends, on Mardi Gras 1981, in New Orleans. After commuting back and forth from Houston for a year, he proposed a year later, on Mardi Gras. They were dressed up for the festivities—Kip as Roy Orbison, in a blue polyester suit with white patent leather shoes and belt, and Charlotte as Dolly Parton. Wish we had a picture of that!

One particular memory of Charlotte’s about their wedding is the first time and the manner in which she met Lang and Griswold. (By then it was probably too late to change her mind, Eh?) L&G had decided sort of on the spur of the moment to come to the wedding—a plan hatched during our reunion a few weeks before. After a dinner party the night before the wedding, Charlotte went home to rest up for the big day, while Kip and some friends went down to the French Quarter to meet up with Lang and Gris, who had just arrived (too late for the dinner party). After some bar-hopping, Lang and Gris wandered off, having failed to make clear that they knew where to go for the wedding, and Kip went home, having failed to learn where L&G were staying. Kip and Charlotte wanted to call them in the morning to make sure they had the needed info, but had no idea where to find them. Charlotte had to get her hair done, so she was sent downtown on a search mission. It was before the days of cell phones, of course. She was bouncing from hotel to hotel, looking for two guys she’d never met, checking in with Kip now and then from pay phones, and getting more frantic by the minute. It turned out our boys did vaguely recall the name of the church, called and reached the rector there, who asked where they were, and called Kip. Kip told Charlotte when she next called where she could find his wandering pals. She finally did find them, and actually made it to her hair appointment (not to mention the church) on time. What a way to begin her wedding day.

When he married Charlotte, Kip became a stepfather. Reid, 12 at the time, has written his own memoir of his life with Kip. Kip was also close to his nephew, Todd, who likewise has contributed a written memory of his uncle.

One April, a few years after our 20th, I got a call from Kip and Lang. They were in Kip’s office in Houston, on one of Bob’s visits. I learned more about Kip’s business at that point: he owned his own small company, selling energy efficiency products and services to other businesses. He said he had worked for Bechtel for a few years, then went to work for his father. It was a good business to be in, especially in recent years, and I gather he enjoyed it; he did it for 30 years. He had clients in New York, including Columbia University, and had just added the Empire State Building when we spoke then—sounds like he was doing quite well indeed.

After a few years had passed, we reconvened for our 25th reunion. I somehow forgot to bring my camera, or was too busy chasing our then two-year-old daughter around to take pictures. But Kip was there, as this flattering image from the summer 1987 Peg Board attests.

As we began organizing for the 30th reunion, Kip needed no persuasion; he was definitely planning to be there. That June, we had another great gathering, with Kip once again in the middle of things, spreading happiness. That was the year we all stayed in Ann Lee; Charlotte came with Kip this time, got to see ’62 with its guard down (and still let Kip come to the 40th!) From Friday afternoon, when the early arrivals gathered for a photo across from Ann Lee, through Saturday’s festivities, to our departures on Sunday, I never saw Kip without a big smile on his face. He had dug out an old Madras jacket (vintage ‘62 or so), which apparently still fit, and wore it in our official class photo. Kip didn’t win the long-distance prize this time (Kiyo Toh came all the way from Tokyo.) But he enjoyed the events thoroughly, and the pleasure he took added to the pleasure we all felt.

Above, the gang gathering outside Ann Lee on Friday. Later that day, down on the softball field (where the all-’62 ageless wonders would once again trounce the faculty  in the softball game on Saturday), Anson had found the keg of free beer, Kip hadn’t yet, but raised an unnaturally empty-feeling hand in a toast to our reunion. Below, Gris, Joe, Anson and Kip chat behind the Dairy Barn as we gathered for our class photo; and there we are, fourteen of us this time.

During the weekend, the guys who had played football for Harry Mahnken, led by Lang, Kip and Anson, trekked over to Pittsfield, where Harry was roasted by former students and faculty at a surprise party for his 90th birthday. After he got home, Kip, still flushed with enjoyment from the reunion, sent me a note in that said how impressed he was with the school and the direction it was going, mentioned how glad he had been to seen Carl Braun, marveled that Gris and Lang had somehow survived the weekend, and enclosed an article by Dick Nunley, written on the occasion of his daughter’s wedding (which Kip noted had occurred while we were kicking the faculty’s butt). Kip marveled that Dick “is still the consummate writer.”

Eventually Kip got an e-mail account, and he took to e-mail like a duck to water.  He was one of the original core members of our class e-mailing list, and while I had received just a single letter (more of a note, really) from Kip in 30 years, I’d get e-mails from him once or twice a month. Some held news, some just friendly chat, a few shared jokes, and he’d join in the occasional political jousting, backing me or Carl in our endless debates with our more rock-ribbed classmates. Kip tried to warn us about George W. Bush, then shared a wealth of stories from Texans who were not proud of what they had inflicted on the country.

I asked Kip to try to find Chuck Arundale, whose address, the last time I had any clue to his whereabouts, was in Galveston. Kip said he’d do it and probably tried a few times, but he never found Chuck (neither did I), and at one point he confessed that he wasn’t much good at tracking people down. I also gave Kip Chuck Romack’s phone number, at his request. I hope they were able to reconnect before Chuck R. passed away.

Fast forward through another decade. I did not do much organizing for our 35th reunion, and only five of us showed up, none of whom was Kip. But the 40th was a big one, and Kip was there, one of 22 of us who made it this time. The photos here show Kip at one of the tables we filled at Mario’s in the Valley for our Friday night bash; as the evening continued at the Inn at the Shaker Mill; and with classmates greeting Scott Leake, who arrived after our group photo was taken. (The only one who seemed happier to be there than Kip was Scott!) 

Once again we had a memorable reunion, though by now, with Nancy Wolf as Head of School, testosterone levels had ebbed, and the faculty-alumni softball contest was relegated to the dustbin of defunct school traditions (in all likelihood, fortunately for us). We satisfied ourselves with beating the Class of ’57 instead.

The next summer, I got a nice e-mail from Kip (who had taken to signing his e-mails “Kipster, The Aging Hipster”) in which he said he and Charlotte had rented a house in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico; she had spent a month there, he had been with her for two weeks. He said they really liked the place—great climate (at 6,400 feet), cheap, a fairly large American contingent, and only a 2-hour flight from Houston. Said they were thinking seriously about retiring there. He enclosed an article about Mars (the planet, not the candy company) by his brother, who is an astronomer; unfortunately I didn’t print that, and have lost the Word file.

The next flurry of e-mails I saved from Kip had to do with preparations for our 45th reunion. “Of course I’m coming,” Kip assured me, although it would require scheduling around their 25th wedding anniversary. I suggested that he and Charlotte could plan to celebrate the anniversary with 20 or so of their oldest friends, on the mountainside. A few weeks later, Kip sent me an obituary for Molly Ivins, who died January 31, 2007. Kip said he knew her back in his Darrow days—socialized with her and a bunch of her St. John’s (a private school in Houston) friends during summers and holidays. He loved her work, mostly because she was such an effective thorn in Bush’s side. He promised to try to find Arundale in time for the reunion.

As the reunion grew near, on Mayday of 2007, I got an ominous e-mail from Charlotte. Kip was in the hospital; he was recovering from a serious illness, and they were still hoping to make the reunion, and she needed to try to sort out details, such as where they were staying. She was looking forward to joining us to celebrate not only their anniversary, but also the fact that he was still alive! By the end of May, Kip was back to sending e-mail himself. He filled me in on his illness. He’d gone into the hospital in April to have his gall bladder removed (it was infected), and the infection from the gall bladder had spread to his lungs. He developed Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome, and was on a respirator for three weeks, in what he called in all seriousness a “near death” experience. Then “boom,” his body decided to recover, he took a turn for the better, and came home on May 7. As of May 30, he was still using oxygen but trying to wean himself off it, and was about to see a pulmonologist who would either clear him to fly to the reunion, or not. Meanwhile he was trying to sort out whether or not they had a room at the Shaker Mill Inn. He was impressed by the planning for what looked like it would be another great reunion, and noted that it was “kind of scary” to think that the 50th was not so far away.

As it turned out, either the doctor or the airline or Kip’s own innate sense of his limits persuaded him not to fly up for that reunion. Instead, I hope he and Charlotte had a glorious 25th anniversary celebration in Houston. We knew how much he’d wanted to join us, and at dinner on Friday (held at the school this time, a new approach that trumped our traditional class gathering), I asked if anyone had a cell phone. Howdy Davis volunteered his (for which we’ll all be forever grateful), and I dialed Kip’s number. We got him on the other end, then passed the phone around to everyone in the class who was there, including at least two guys (Mike Terry and Peter Golden) who hadn’t seen him in more than 45 years. It was great for Kip, who seemed overjoyed to talk with us and to be included, even briefly and from a distance, in our quint-annual celebration. Peter shared his own remembrances of that brief re-connection with Charlotte recently, saying he could envision the whole person just from hearing his voice, and recalled Kip’s emotional generosity, even after several decades. The next day, as we posed for our class photo, we re-did the phone connection (or maybe we just faked it for the camera, I’m not totally sure), to stress that Kip was there in spirit, even if fate had thwarted his plans to be with us in the flesh.

Kip and Charlotte traveled a lot, but often, she says, they forgot to take a camera along. So we don’t have many pictures of their adventures. This one was taken not long ago, near Santa Fe. The one on the last page was taken in March of this year, on a vacation trip to the Mendocino Coast, where they rented a house overlooking the Pacific. It, and Kip, do indeed look peaceful at that moment, and it’s comforting to think of him spending the rest of time in that calm, relaxed state.

At each reunion, as we age, we know it’s likely that one or more of us—we usually don’t have any idea who, of course—won’t be around for the next one. At our 40th, we celebrated Scott Leake, knowing he was nearing the end of his long battle with ALS, but had no clue we were seeing John Prentiss for the last time. At our 45th, we fully expected to see Kip again at the 50th.  Heck, he’d just had a harrowing brush with near-death, but he’d beaten back The Grim Reaper and was as youthful and exuberant as ever. Surely he’d be the first to sign up for 2012. We joked about it in e-mails.

Yes, Kip also told us he had prostate cancer (joining a small club of classmates living with that particular disease). It was so slow-growing and non-aggressive that, at least back then, they were watching and waiting, rather than treating it. Everything seemed under control, and basically, Kip seemed to be in robust health for someone (ahem) our age. Then I got the awful news from Charlotte: A massive stroke, and Kip was gone. I still can’t believe it. I’m writing this memorial, but part of me is in denial. At our 50th, I’m sure I’ll reach for my cell phone, thinking to call him and bring him right back into the midst of things again.

Darrow was such a big part of Kip’s life. I asked Charlotte if he had shared any special memories, and she had a few specifics. He used to talk about the school, and the place, all the time, and when the Peg Board would arrive, that often started his reminiscences flowing. Charlotte says he had reunion pictures and Darrow scenes all over his office bulletin board. He often talked about Mr. Heyniger, Dick Nunley, and how much studying Latin at Darrow had helped him with his later language studies.  Random impressions that Charlotte remembers are Hands-to-Work (not specific chores, but the general concept); skiing; being stuck in the dorm and having to dig out after a big snowfall; loving the chapel experience; feeling devastated at the loss of the building and all that priceless furniture when the dining hall burned down.

Boy, are we going to miss you, Kip. You were so full of life, and the joy of living it. Wherever you hung out, laughter, good times, friendly vibes filled the air. Fate has chopped another hole in the heart of our class. All of us mourn, and grieve for Charlotte, and for your parents, brothers, sister, nieces, nephews and friends. We’ll carry on, poorer for your absence, sorely wishing you were here, treasuring memories of the happy times you shared with us and made all the happier for us.

Kip’s father contributed this quote, from H.L. Mencken, to the program at Kip’s Memorial service:

If, after I depart this vale, you ever remember me
and have thought to please my ghost, forgive some
sinner, and wink your eye at some homely girl.

Requiescat in Pace, Kipster.

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