Hello to all John Soderberg’s friends. This is Misty his daughter. I wanted to let everyone know that John passed away peacefully in his sleep last night. I want to keep this post short as we are all mourning his loss right now. I know John knew so many people so I wanted to share this sad news. I thank you for all the love you have shown him over the years (and the likes 👍) I will miss my father terribly. He knew how much he was loved ❤️ RIP John Soderberg
John M. Soderberg PhD Location: Sedona, Arizona Interview dates: September 12 & 14, 2015
“To me, art is not a luxury, but is a basic human necessity. Art can, and should, remind us of our humanity, and that of others, and enhance the quality of our lives. From the earliest artists, Stone Age storytellers around a fire in a cave, to the painters and sculptors and architects of today, art has pervaded and shaped our societies. To me, an artist is not primarily a creator, but is rather a conduit—absorbing, translating, and conveying messages of value to others, living or centuries yet to be born.”
John Soderberg circled the world eight times and visited more than 40 countries before graduating high school in Bangkok, Thailand. His father Richard had been commissioned in 1947 by the King of Afghanistan to build the first engineering school in that country. Born in 1950, John spent his first four years there, after which the family moved to India for five years, and then Thailand for eight years.
The Soderberg family was required to circle the world every two years. Loving art, they spent much time in Europe and Asia, visiting the world’s great art in museums, galleries, cathedrals and temples. In Rome, when John was five, his mother Betty held him up so he could touch the foot of Michaelangelo’s Moses. He experienced his first epiphany, and was amazed at the ability of sculpture to move people, centuries after the artist was gone. He dedicated himself to art, started painting in oils at age five, and studied teakwood carving with Thailand’s leading master, a Buddhist monk, from age 12.
After high school in Thailand, John came to America for college, in Washington State. Due to extreme culture shock, he dropped out and painted on the street in Berkely, California, in the middle of the riots of the late 60s. In 1970, for a life-change, he enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps for three years. After receiving his Honorable Discharge, he worked as a machinist days and painted and made jewelry nights. Among others works, he completed a commission for a bracelet for Elvis Presley, then moved his family to Flagstaff, Arizona, to work in a bronze foundry to learn the art and craft of sculpture.
After numerous and interesting starving artist years, John began selling his art professionally, and served as Artist in Residence at Northern Arizona University. He later received his Ph.D. in Humane Letters from that institution. He has since completed monumental bronze commissions for private parties, corporations, churches, and organizations across the country, including Amnesty International, the Crystal Cathedral, the Sedona Synagogue, Rancho Feliz Charitable Group, Free The Slaves organization, Pepsico Corporation, Texas Winery Products, Jacmar Foods, the Honeywell Foundation, Wilden Pump and Engineering, and others. Along with his other works, he has sculpted numerous influential figures including Christ, Steve Biko, Al Stein, Moses, Merlin, Billy Graham, Norman Vincent Peale, Sacajawea, Mark Honeywell, Bill and Vieve Gore, Robert Schuller, Jim Wilden, Archbishop Fulton Sheen, St. Catherine of Siena, Gil Gillenwater, and others.
John became involved with service-work in the military, and has since donated a large portion of his time and work to others, focusing on children and women in need. He has worked with domestic abuse shelters, Amnesty International, Free The Slaves, Rancho Feliz, Big brothers, Big Sisters, and many other groups and causes. In the late 90s, John was knighted by Ulf Hamilton, a Swedish Count, for his service.
John lives and works in the Sedona, Arizona area. His daughters, Heather and Misty, both noted professional sculptors, work with him on all of his monuments. They each began spontaneously sculpting at age one, turned professional at age two, (at their own choice,) and were featured on Paul Harvey News, People Magazine, National Geographic World, That’s Incredible T.V., and other media, and showed their work in galleries in Scottsdale and Houston, all before eight years of age, and all before their father achieved any professional success, whatever.
Cultural Value of Bronze Biography
“Standing in front of the ovens in Auschwitz at age ten and traveling through Southern India, I witnessed the pain and brutality of humanity; but from that same humanity, I have witnessed also instances of humanity’s rare and unearthly beauty, of hope, compassion and faith”.
“One of the most crucial human qualities, I believe, is empathy. Given empathy, brutality becomes impossible. Empathy is at the heart of our humanity, and in fact is the heart of our humanity, for it reduces the barriers of race, religion, and creed to items of mild interest, while unlocking our true, inherent human dignity.
John M SoderbergDeep Water Blow Eyes The act of encapsulating empathy in some medium, be it dance or music, painting or sculpture, simple stories or more complex forms, is my definition of art. The feeling and then the sharing of an emotion or idea — which is the essence of art — is what makes us human”.
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Gary Starr Kocher, age 77, of Toledo, passed away unexpectedly on Thursday, December 3, 2015. He was born on December 24, 1937, to Franklin C. and Ruth E. (Young) Kocher in Akron, OH. As a child Gary grew up in Akron, OH, Rockville, MD and moved to Shelby, OH where he graduated high school. He received his Bachelor’s Degree from the University of Michigan where he was a drum major for three years. Later he received his Master’s Degree from the University of Toledo. For 37 years he taught and was the head of the Science Department at Sylvania Northview High School. Gary also taught at Willow Run, MI and Bangkok, Thailand.
Some of Gary’s passions and interests were natural vegetable and flower gardening, fused glass work and stained glass work.
Left to cherish his memory are his siblings, Terry (Mike Reichert) Bodager, Lary Kocher and Sherry Kocher; four nephews; two nieces and three great-nieces.
The family will receive guests on Tuesday, December 8, 2015, from 3:00-5:00 p.m. at Newcomer Funeral Home, 4150 W. Laskey Rd. (419-473-0300). Sharing of Memories will begin in the funeral home on Tuesday at 5:00 p.m.
Mr. Kocher,
You were my favorite teacher during my time at ISB. You always found a way to make learning fun, and your smile was contagious. That Saturday that you took several of us to Chinatown was a great adventure and one of my fondest memories of Bangkok. Rest in peace and Thank you, David Wilkerson
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Seated in the middle posted by Deborah Bornstein Munoz.
Lovingly Reported by, Deborah Bornstein Munoz
Bonnie Tullar Thompson, Class of ‘72 earned her angel wings on November 5, 2022. Hoping to wish her a happy birthday today, it was a sad shock to see an obituary on her profile. I had not known of this until today. Bonnie was a dear friend, fun and loving, gone far too soon and now I picture her in Heaven with our friend Sarah Ann Vessey 💔. Here’s a picture of Bonnie sitting between Jill McAlvage and Sarah and Ora Brough behind her, a typical weekend scene for us back then. …sending condolences and prayers for comfort and love for all of Bonnie’s friends and family.
Bonnie’s Son, Jared Thompson Lovingly Wrote:
For those of you who did not know my mom personally, this is her. I wanted to share this beautiful photo of her. Nearly 2 weeks it’s been now. I miss you so much. Bonnie Tullar Thompson May 6, 1954- November 5, 2022
OBITUARY Bonnie Tullar Thompson MAY 6, 1954 – NOVEMBER 5, 2022
Barbara (Bonnie) Thompson began life at Ft. Hood in Killeen, Tx. May 6, 1954, and departed this world for the next, on Nov. 5, 2022 at her home in San Antonio. Her parents, Thomas and Dorothy (Dot) Tullar, fulfilled a 26-year Army career, moving Bonnie and her younger sisters, Linda and Sue throughout the world. In doing so, Bonnie was exposed to many cultures and many people which gave her a worldly education all on its own. Bonnie graduated from the International School of Bangkok in 1972 and enrolled at Texas Christian University (TCU). While studying in the field of Social Work, she met and after graduation, married the man who would be the long-time love of her life, Chris.
Together they soon moved to San Antonio, where Bonnie worked in Child Welfare for the State for many years. After their third son was born, she decided to give up Social Work and do the equally rewarding work of raising a family and keeping a welcoming home. She did it all with grace and good cheer.
She is well remembered and already deeply missed. Her sons, Jared, Zach, and Adam Thompson, all survive her and are inspired by her love and devotion. Chris admits to “marrying up” and certainly becoming a better man for it. Bonnie worked tirelessly at St. Matthews United Methodist Church over the years, with Children’s Church, Youth Groups, Vacation Bible School, Boy Scouts and many other efforts. In her passing, many hearts are saddened, but many smiles come forth in any remembrance of her.
In lieu of flowers, please consider Bonnie’s favorite charities. The St. Joseph Indian School, PO Box 100, Chamberlain, South Dakota 57325. Or the Special Needs Ministry of University Methodist Church, 5084 De Zavala Rd, San Antonio, 78249.
Fond memories and expressions of sympathy may be shared at www.sunsetfuneralhomesa.com for the Thompson family.
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Lovingly written and submitted by her son Sidney Gerson ~ Class of 1972
Rachelle Musman Bennett 8/23/1933 – 3/5/2023
Mom was born in Esch-sur-Alzette, Luxemburg. She told us of her early life in Luxemburg and how she, being the youngest, and only daughter of four children, was spoilt rotten. One snowy day her three brothers, Jacques, Maurice, and Bernard were forced into taking her sledding. When they reached the bottom of the hill, she didn’t want to walk back up so she cried and screamed so loud and long, causing the neighbors to look out their windows, forcing her brothers to drag her back up the hill while she sat on the sled. Mom even had a dog that would meet her after school and carry her books home.
When she was around seven, the Nazis invaded Luxemburg and the family had to escape. They fled all the way to the South of France, sometimes finding a truck to take them and sometimes on foot. When they were on foot they had to watch for Nazi planes and had to jump in bushes to hide. After the dangerous trip our mom was hidden in a convent. She lived in the convent as a young catholic girl until a family was found to take her in. As Rachelle got on the bus to travel to this family, the Mother Superior gave her some Rosary Beads. Rachelle refused the beads saying “I am Jewish”. Mother Superior convinced her to take the rosary which turned out quite fortunate. The bus was stopped at a checkpoint, the Nazis were searching for Jews, Rachelle pulled out those rosary beads and started saying the prayers like a good little catholic girl!
She went on to Rodez, France, where she assumed the identity of a young French girl who had died, and lived as the daughter of the Catholic family. Of course, during this period, she was such a good student that she won an award which was signed and presented by a Nazi General and she accepted this award in front of a large assembly of students, their families, and of course Nazis.
After the war she burned the award along with other memorabilia she had accumulated because she wanted no memory of the traumatic years she had to endure. It was always hard for our mother to talk about this time in her life, although she was able to sit through two interviews recording her personal experience of the Holocaust. Once I was driving her to a Holocaust Survivor’s event where she was supposed to be one of the speakers when she suddenly said “I cannot do this, turn around right now!” I tried talking to her and calm her down but I could see she was getting terrified so I stopped trying to convince her to go, and came up with an alternative plan. We went and ate Thai food and she felt better.
After the War, mom’s family immigrated to America. They sailed across the Atlantic on the Queen Elizabeth and started a new life in Brooklyn where our mom attended high school. In her high school year book she wrote that she wanted to live in the Orient. Mom went on to get a Batchelor’s Degree in Romance Languages from Brooklyn College. While at Brooklyn College, she went to a Jewish Mixer where she met our father, who had been born and raised in Thailand, the Orient! After college they were married and moved to Bangkok so our father could join his family’s business.
Mom became a teacher, and taught high school French, Latin, Math, and Chemistry at the International Children’s Center (now the International School of Bangkok.) Later she taught French at the Bangkok Pattana school where Suzanne and I both attended. In her first year of teaching, Mom had some belligerent students. She failed the ones who didn’t do their work, almost the whole class. The headmaster told her she couldn’t fail them. She said this was the grade they deserved. Then she worked with those students so they could bring their grades up. They all ended up getting B’s and A’s!
Our mom fully embraced life as an expat in Thailand and created a diverse community of friends. She joined charitable organizations such as the International Women’s Club, the American Women’s club and the Red Cross Society. When Temple Beth Elisheva was formed she became very involved with the temple’s Sisterhood. She also learned to play bridge and got so good that long time experienced players wanted to be her partner.
In Thailand Mom discovered her love of entertaining. She hosted dinners for the expat and Thai business communities. The formal evening Bar Mitzvah party she organized for me was one of biggest social events in Bangkok that year.
She gave me and Suzanne big birthday parties and made beautiful cakes for us. One year, my cake was a ship. Another birthday Mom used Suzanne’s favorite doll and made the cake around the doll to look like a beautiful gown and made a tiara that was edible! Our mom also liked making elaborate costumes for us for Purim and Halloween. I was always one of the three kings in the Bangkok Pattana School Christmas Play. I’m pretty sure it was because I always had a most spectacular costume!
One Thanksgiving dinner that she hosted, mom made pilgrim costumes for Suzanne and me and we had to meet the guests at the gate and walk them to the party around the pool. She gave me some money and bought (confiscated) my small sampan boat and had it converted into a Viking ship where she set up the buffet dinner.
Mom was an excellent cook. In Bangkok, she made an agreement with our cook, SomSee. For every Thai dish SomSee would teach her, Mom would teach SomSee a European dish. Years later, before there were any Asian markets in the USA, Suzanne and I would go over to Mom’s house to make curry pastes. We would decide what curry paste we were going to make, buy almost every ingredient we needed at the grocery store, make a few substitutions, and Mom would whip it up in the blender. They tasted so authentic.
In Thailand our best friends were the Isaacs. No, not Jewish! One year Hanukah would be celebrated at our house and Christmas at theirs and vice versa the next year. Because of this, Christmas became very important to our mother and us. One year here in America mom decided she was going to put on a very fancy Christmas dinner. She skinned a goose in one piece, breaded the goose, sewed the skin back together and stuffed it with her homemade stuffing. The goose and the stuffed skin were baked together so when the main course was brought out it looked like there were two geese at the table! The goose fat from the skin sure made the stuffing taste great but she said she would never do that again!
Thailand was where Mom’s love for gardening began. Our house sat on an acre of land and she completely transformed the grounds into lush tropical gardens. She spent hours every week in the garden nurturing the fauna, and there were flowers of all colors with bougainvillea hedges, frangipani trees, roses, jasmine, orchids and also beautiful shade trees around the pool. She was always trying to chase our barking deer away for the fresh bougainvillea buds, boy did those deer like the tender buds!
Our mom had a great sense of humor and enjoyed joking around. Once, when she came to help me for two weeks after I had back surgery, I discovered something about her sense of humor I never suspected. The movie Spaceballs was coming on TV and I told Mom she probably would not like it. She asked me what was Spaceballs and told her it was a movie by Mell Brooks. Whereupon she completely surprised me “I love Mel Brooks, Blazing Saddles is Dolph and my favorite movie, Dolph and I watch it every month”!
One time in Thailand, we boated out to an island with a large group of friends. Mom contributed hard boiled eggs for lunch. Since we were on a beach everyone decided to have fun and use their heads to crack the eggs. Mom came up and asked to use my head, I said yes and suddenly I had raw egg all over me. Everyone laughed and laughed. After I washed up, she brought another egg over and I said NO, I would crack it myself and I had egg all over me again! She insisted it was a mistake but I know better.
Another time, in Brooklyn, Mom and Suzanne were walking home from the Subway. They passed a pizza place where music was blaring out into the street. Mom put down her packages and started dancing. Of course, Suzanne was very embarrassed, but our mom just had fun.
A little known fact about our mom was that she was a jock! She could run like the wind; she played golf quite well and she was on a dive team when she was a teenager. One day, when a group of us kids were water skiing in Pattaya, our mothers decided to learn how to ski also. Mom’s first try she was up and skiing. Then she let go of the rope. When asked why she let go of the rope she replied “I don’t know how to ski yet”! This went on for a few times so we had to fix this. Her next try all the children in the boat started yelling hold on, hold on, hold on… and she finally did hold on. A couple of weeks later she was on a slalom ski.
A few years after her first marriage ended, Mom was in synagogue in Bangkok and she kept hearing a beeping noise. She looked over and realized the noise was coming from the gentleman she was sitting next to. Adolph Bennett’s hearing aid was making noises and he kept putting his finger to his ear. So she thought it was just like in the movies, he must be a secret agent man! They talked after the service and he asked her out and a romance was kindled. At the time, he was stationed in Laos so they managed a long-distance relationship. Several months later after Dolph was stationed back in Thailand, they were married and shortly thereafter moved to Annandale Virginia.
A year later year Dolph was stationed in Kenya for three years. In Nairobi Mom continued creating beautiful gardens. She immediately was out in the garden with the gardener trimming and planting native species of flowering plants and turning her garden into a colorful portrait. Our mom again involved herself in many charitable organizations and the Jewish community. She and Dolph had many fancy parties and she enjoyed showing off her garden to her guests. She was happy to learn about several parts of Africa when she was able to accompany Dolph on some of his work trips.
Dolph’s next post was in Washington DC. Mom again became involved in clubs and charitable organizations. She was the President of the Falls Church women’s club for three years. She belonged to the sisterhood at Temple Rodef Shalom, and served for a year as President. She earned her Master Gardening Certification. She was proud of the garden she nurtured at her home in Falls Church, gave tours of her garden and taught at her gardening club. She could not have had this wonderful garden with out the help of her former son-in-law David who faithfully came over weekly to help her in the garden and mow the lawn. After mom got her companion dog Muffy, David also brought along special treats for Muffy.
One thing Mom used the flowers from her garden for was creating flower arrangements. She would trim her plants and create beautiful center pieces and other arrangements for the parties she had. Mom became so good at arranging flowers she started a business making bouquets and arrangements for weddings and celebrations. Waking up at 4 AM to help her take all the flowers to a church for a wedding was so much fun!
A joy for Mom of living back in the US, was being able to spend time with extended family, including her own mother and brothers.
Another big privilege of living in the US was being Nanny to one of the joys of her life, her grandson Aaron. She got to spend a lot of time with him and watch Aaron grow from his babyhood to an outstanding man. Mom also enjoyed the times she spent with Dolph’s grandchildren.
I would like to thank Keith for the support he gave Suzanne during the past year and most importantly, I wish to thank my sister Suzanne deeply for the loving care she took of our wonderful mom.
Thank you for gathering with us here today to honor our mother. We will miss her guidance, humor, and love
Please send pictures (old and new), anecdotes, articles, stories, and tributes to isbeings at gmail dot com or visit us on Facebook at ISBeings
The Thai, Barry and Will on a ‘float dock’ assembling materials for the raft. The raft consisted of two pontoons of bundled bamboo about 16-ft long, held together by wire. The deck was of teak between the two pontoons We pushed the raft with bamboo poles, like Huck Finn. On the River Kwai – April 1960
Leilani Rigby lovingly wrote:
Thank you for responding to my message about Barry’s death. I apologize for my slow response. And thank you for your efforts in assembling a tribute page – what wonderful old photos.
I will attach a few photos, not that you need to post them but I always want to share Barry’s wonderful life. One shows him with an ISB buddy building a raft to use on the Kwai River. One shows him with Afghan elders at a refugee camp in Pakistan. One shows him building our deck. And one just shows his beautiful face.
There was not a published obituary, but here is a short version of the eulogy I prepared.
Five years as an army officer showed Barry that he enjoyed leadership positions, that he was an effective listener and counsellor, and that he no longer wanted an army career. So he got a degree in social work.
He worked with an international social work organization in New York City for six years, then joined the UN refugee program (UNHCR), where he worked for 20 years in many challenging locations and programs. He was posted in Switzerland (HQ), southern Sudan, Pakistan, Somalia, Ethiopia, Turkey, and Bosnia, He organized effective programs under difficult circumstances, aided by talented and helpful staff. He took early retirement in 2000 because he knew he had Parkinson’s and wanted to have some quality time living in upstate New York doing the other things he loved.
Barry was always active and eager for a challenge, often with his old ISB buddies, building on the escapades and adventures they’d in high school He loved working with his hands and built a lovely – if quirky – house for his family in Jefferson, NY. In retirement he achieved his life-long fantasies of country living, hard work, lots of boys toys, and fresh air.
He continued to have worsening health problems. In 2010 he had a terrible bicycle accident, breaking 12 bones, then a long rehab. He was then diagnosed with a rare genetic form of emphysema. This left him increasingly short of breath, eventually and requiring oxygen. Added to these were a myriad of less major ailments and health challenges. Yet he never gave up or stopped taking on new projects. He had a life-long love of hard work and staying active, which is probably what enabled him to live to age 77 despite his deteriorating body. He died outdoors on a beautiful day, doing work he loved. An autopsy concluded he’d had a heart attack, probably due to an enlarged heart. Yes, he had a very big heart. His life was one of value, well lived.
He is survived by his wife Leilani, two daughters, Fiona and Metasabia, and three grandchildren.
Doing what he loved doing, buiding the deckBDR visits refugee settlement
From: Leilani Rigby To: director.comms Sent: Wed, Feb 22, 2023 9:13 pm Subject: Barry Rigby, Class of ’61
I opened Barry’s email account for the first time today. I see that you have been sending messages to him at bdrigby@yahoo.com. I am Barry’s wife and I’m very sorry to have to tell you that he died on 20 July 2020. His years at ISB provided him with a lot of wonderful memories and our family with a lot of wonderful stories.
Thank you, Leilani Rigby
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Lovingly submitted by: Angeline P. Rajendra Behrend
My brother Ernest Rajendra passed away from heart failure on February 2, 2023, in Los Angeles, CA. He was 73. He was the eldest son of Mr. P.E. Rajendra and Hilda Pushparatnam Rajendra. His daughter and wife were by his side. I know he would appreciate your prayers. Here are two photos. The second one is from Ernest’s own previous FB posting: Picture courtesy of Larry Jacobs, Ernest Rajendra (a fierce bowler) 1968. Umpire in the back is Mr. P.E. Rajendra. Good old times to cherish.
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Kevin Haverty ~ Director of Development(1993-1996)
Arrived ~ 4/29/1952
Departed ~ 8/30/2009
KEVIN HAVERTY OBITUARY Kevin M. Haverty Westminster, VT formerly Leominster; 57 Westminster, VT Kevin M. Haverty, 57 of Tory Hill Road, died at his home on Sunday, Aug. 30, 2009 following a long illness.
Mr. Haverty was born in Chelsea, MA, April 29, 1952, the son of Leo and Phyllis (Bourgoin) Haverty. He graduated from Leominster High School, Leominster, MA, received his bachelor’s degree from Providence College and his two master’s degrees from Keene State College, Keene, NH.
Mr. Haverty’s career in education went in many directions. He was at Thayer Jr. and Sr. High School in Winchester, NH for six years, where he taught English, Social Studies, Basketball, and Soccer, he was Guidance Counselor and Assistant Principal in Athens, Greece, as Assistant Principal at Bellows Falls Union High School, Westminster, VT, as Development Director in Bangkok, Thailand, as H.S. Principal in Israel, as H.S. Principal and Deputy Director in Prague, Czech Republic. Mr. Haverty was Director of The American International School in Vienna, Austria. He served overseas schools for 16 years.
Upon returning to the United States in 2006, he worked at the Chesterfield Elementary School as part time Assistant Principal. He continued on as a Guidance Counselor and Admissions Director at the Virtual Learning Academy, Charter School in Exeter, NH.
On Aug 13, 1983 in Walpole, NH, he married Lori Walters who survives. He also leaves a son, Tarek Haverty of Alstead, NH; his parents, Leo J. Haverty of Leominster, MA and Phyllis Deneen of Fitchburg, MA and a brother, Brian Haverty of Lunenburg, MA. He was predeceased by a daughter, Allison.
There will be calling hours Friday evening, Sept. 4, 2009 from 6:00 P.M. to 8:00 P.M. at the Fenton & Hennessey Funeral Home, Bellows Falls, VT. A memorial service will be at 11:00 A.M. on Saturday, Sept. 5, 2009 at the Unitarian Church, Walpole, NH. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the Home Healthcare, Hospice and Community Services, PO Box 564, Keene, NH 03431 or the Melanoma Research Foundation, 170 Township Line Road, Building B., Hillsborough, NJ 08844
Published by Sentinel & Enterprise on Sep. 2, 2009.
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Lovingly submitted by Bob’s sister Peggy French ISB 1971
Bob loved life and would do anything he could to please, or help others. He was living in the state (Vermont) that he loved and wanted to buy a farm and have lots of dogs, a fabulous garden, raise Alpacas, and hike the mountain trails.
He loved to write and wrote some really fabulous stories about his his time in Thailand, especially his senior class trip riding a raft with his classmates down the river Kwai! If I can find his story I will repost it! He was an avid reader who would take out 20 books at a time at the library . He had a really good memory… he knew directors, actors and what they directed or acted in. He loved Song trivia and always tried to get me to guess something by saying “you will, know this”. Of course I didn’t and usually had to Google it. He loved The NY Times crossword puzzles, classical music, FOOD, and cooking. He loved good dancers… all kinds. He would send me YouTube videos of Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers of old and the new ones like the Mayas who won Americas Got Talent this year.
R.I.P. Robert Mansfield French 1948 – 2022. Survived by his sister Peggy, daughter Alex and Alex’s husband Heath and two ex-wives, Linda (ISB Class of 71) and Cindy!
Rolling On the River Part One By Bob French. Class of 66
To say that my senior class trip was different is an understatement. In the spring of 1966 as a senior at International School Bangkok, Thailand, 55 classmates and myself, floated for 5 glorious days on large bamboo rafts down the River Kwai, (as in Bridge On the…). And one inglorious day when a storm so turbulent and wild almost capsized us and and threw us into the raging river; a fact that was diluted and watered down, (no pun intended,) for anxious parents when we arrived back home the next evening. Our journey started as we all gathered at the Bangkok Railway Station early on a Sunday morning for the 5 hour train ride to Kanchanaburi, a port on the river and home of the famed cemetery for the POWs (7,000,) who died building the Burma Death Train as it was called. At the time, the only thing left of the fabled bridge were the pylons with nothing connecting them. Now the bridge has been totally rebuilt and the whole area is a large resort area and premier tourist destination. There we boarded narrow low-slung high-speed boats, where we had to sit one-abreast and raced up the river into a magnificent sunset and the isolated jungle of northwestern Thailand. These were not western boats— these craft were sleek and the propellor shaft alone was 10 feet long. As we raced along the river, I kept thinking how we were getting further and further from civilization, which was both exciting and scary. And this was mirrored by our modes of transportation: train to motorboat to bamboo rafts.
We arrived at our destination and clambered aboard the rafts. There were seven in all: three designated for us: The Playboy Penthouse, the Bunny Bungalow, the coed mixed raft, the command and cook raft and three families with all their belongings, moving down river. They were all moored together and we enjoyed a community meal and settled in. These rafts were not flimsy, 25 by 25 feet, built up on three levels of solid, sturdy, bamboo logs. But, bottom line, these were rafts, we were on a river, and we were going to get wet, really wet as it turned out. The first thing we noticed, almost all at once, was how utterly still and quiet it was; people were whispering, almost in awe of this phenomenon—no hubbub, no city noises, no nothing. And with only the stars, a campfire, and a few flashlights, the atmosphere was almost reverential. And the next morning our riverine journey began.There is something very therapeutic about floating on the river on a bamboo raft. It is quiet, peaceful, and talking about going wherever the day might take you. The mood was serene, the jungle exotic and the pace was languid. We had no way to steer, brake or accelerate; we were truly at the mercy of the river, and the calming effect was almost hypnotic. We had a Thai guide and a couple of long poles, like in Davy Crockett and Mike Fink in case we needed to shove off from a shoal, or avoid getting hung up in the limbs of low hanging trees. Otherwise, we just drifted along, wherever the current took us. At night they tied all the rafts together and secured them to the shore, but during the day, we just bobbed along at our own pace.
But it did not take long for trouble to find me. And I swear, I did not go looking for it. About midday, the three ISB rafts pulled in to a small cove featuring a small and scenic waterfall. We horsed around, climbed around, splashed around and many of us were diving into the pool off the edge of the falls. Truly heaven. Then Joanie Swanson, a good friend and I, went exploring a little way back into the jungle. We came back what seemed like a short time later. Joanie was a little ahead of me, and as we came to the waterfall, I saw her face blanch as she screamed, “They’re gone!” I mean, NO RAFTS! No sign of them or any other form of human civilization, whatsoever. They must not have taken a head count and assumed everyone was on board. And we probably couldn’t hear them because of the falls. But they left us, alone and defenseless. Talk about feeling bereft and unmoored; all we had were are bathing suits and wits and they were diminishing rapidly. We were stranded in the dense jungle of NW Thailand with nothing to guide us, feed us or clothe us. No food or water, nothing, not even a pocket knife or matchstick. Not a sound or sign of the rafts. There was only one thing to do, start walking, but which side, which way? I had been on Boy Scout survival hikes, but they were always with an adult and a compass and civilization nearby. And I could tell Joanie was starting to panic and I don’t think the immensity of it all had dawned on us. Then it occurred to me that the best way forward (for both of us) was to act confident (and of course as we were in Thailand, to whistle a happy tune.) And pretend that this was just one more big adventure. We swam over to the other side and started trekking. But as the jungle closest to the river was so dense, we quickly lost sight of it. I reasoned that since we were in the Northwest and Bangkok was southeasterly, we should keep the waning sun on our right and chart a roughly oblique course. Great idea except when dusk started to seep in and at times the jungle was so dense, we couldn’t see the damn sun. And the terrain was so hilly, it was easy to lose our bearings. After what seemed like hours and as twilight started to envelope the whole world, and our spirits were flagging, we crested one more hill, heard voices, saw firelight, burst out of the cane break, saw the beautiful river, and there were our beloved rafts all tied together and tucked into a small lagoon. But the strangest thing, instead of receiving a heroes welcome, we were greeted by a very somber group and treated like lepers. The consensus was that we had just snuck into the jungle for a quick roll in the hay, or in our case, jungle vines. I received a stern dressing down from Mr Henry as one of the female advisors read the riot act to Joanie. I am not even sure they ever believed we got separated all the way back at the waterfall, and should have been overjoyed that we trudged all the way through the jungle, with zero resources, and found them— the umbrage should have been on our part not theirs. How would they have ever explained to our parents that they had lost us. It is so easy to judge with hindsight; a few degrees in the wrong direction and we might never have found the river. And maybe it was a wakeup call; maybe it occurred to the adults that they needed some type of backup plan—and some form of communication. How would they have ever gotten together a search party —we could have been half way to Burma by then or worse. I wonder if they ever even had another raft trip after that…
Rolling on the River Part Two by Bob French
The rest of the trip was uneventful and perfect till the last day. We swam, floated, lazed, explored, snacked, played cards, hung out with girlfriends or boyfriends. We saw elephants hauling giant teak logs into the river, river snakes gliding across our wake, heard monkeys and exotic birds chittering and gibbering in the trees, wore as few clothes as possible and saw only one white person the whole week, a German tourist exploring the backcountry. We were about as removed from civilization as we could be. We had no walls, no roofs, no schedule, homework, responsibilities, chores, nothing but beautiful pristine lush and verdant jungle gliding lazily by us. We built campfires in the evening, told ghost stories, sang Kumbaya, and most of us slept right on the shore. And because there was zero light pollution, we felt like we could reach up and pluck the bright shining stars right out of the sky or their mirror reflection in the river. And no city sounds or white noise to invade your sleep, only the river lapping gently at the shore, an occasional plop from a jumping fish, or the muted cry of a distant wading bird. It was heaven on earth. Once we had a ferocious pitched battle with the mixed coed raft using our bamboo poles ala Mike Fink’s Keelboats, and cheered jubilantly when we managed to knock there outhouse into the river. (Actually just a four walled bamboo privacy enclosure) but we won. Which was a clear indication of our mental and physical superiority.
Everything was sailing along smoothly on what was meant to be our last day on the river. We were scheduled to float into Kanchabanuri about five PM, where we would catch the last train to Clarksville, I mean Bangkok, where our parents would pick us up. I sensed a kind of muted sadness as we realized this would be our last river day, although we were definitely looking forward to dry clothes, toilets and hot showers. Everything on the river was as special as usual, but there was a subdued energy field among us as we felt drawn by two different kingdoms, nature and civilization. As if sensing our mood, the river’s demeanor seem to subtly shift mid afternoon. The world seemed to grow still, the river slowed down, and the birds grew quiet. This was the proverbial calm before the storm. I think our Thai guides new what was coming as they signaled for us to converge so they could secure us together. We could see all the rafts then and watched breathlessly as they got two of the rafts tied together. We all huddled in the middle of our rafts, no one saying a word, but it was easy to tell that the adults were worried. Then a small wave gently lifted us up, and someone jokingly cried, “Surf’s up!!” And we were off. And it was every man or raft for himself. The river rose over a foot in one minute and all the daylight leached out of the sky as if someone had flipped a switch, and our calm beautiful quiet river became a raging inferno—it roiled, hissed, smashed things, raced and the sound was deafening. And it tossed us like a matchstick. We spun, we bucked, we screamed and we held on to each other for dear life. And we were actually riding one and two foot breakers in the middle of the river. Surf was up. And the river was still rising and moving faster and flooding the banks and you could not get your bearings, because we were spinning and the only time you could see anything, was when lightening flashed and then you could see the skeletal and jagged trees racing by. Which was actually worse, because then then you could tell how fast we were moving and how much was flooding. Whew! And then somehow one of our guides grabbed on to an overhanging limb and the world stopped spinning. All of the adults and a couple of us kids managed to haul the raft into a little protected area and secure it to the shore. We all heaved a collective sigh of relief and as if all our minds were on the same wavelength, we wondered,“now what?” Now what was right. We were temporarily safe, but the storm raged, the river raced, the rain pelted us, the winds blew, the riverbanks continued to flood, and the maelstrom continued. And what could we do? Nothing but pray and hopefully ride it out. Our little thatched roof had blown off long ago, and we were all soaked to the bone, so we couldn’t get any wetter. We couldn’t see, hear or talk while the storm raged. And not everyone was on the right raft, so we couldn’t even do a head count. We couldn’t see or hear any of the other rafts, in fact we couldn’t see anything. All we could do was pray that the other rafts were okay and everyone was on board. We all sat huddled in the middle of the raft shivering and white- knuckling it till well after the storm blew itself out in the middle of the night. There was a lot of hand wringing and hand holding, even among some kids that wouldn’t be caught dead being together back at school. The next morning dawned bright and crisp and the early morning sun started to thaw us out. We wanted to get moving so we could locate our companions. But the river had changed—it wasn’t finished with us—it was swollen, and brown and ugly and still angry and racing, with tons of debris floating dangerously by. As anxious, cold, wet and hungry as we were, we had to wait till the river slowed down, and for the water level to drop to a safe level. Especially as there was no way to steer or control the rafts. At first we had conquered the river, but then it had vanquished us.
Early in the afternoon we heard a shout, and here came the Bunny Bungalow, bedraggled and bruised, but intact and floating beautifully. There were shouts and cheers and pandemonium ensued; we were safe and they were safe and within an hour we had found all the rest of the rafts, each individually sequestered as best as they could in their own little safe havens. What a rush of emotions, to be scared witless for most of the night, and to be joyously reunited with the rest of our river family. No one complained about being wet, cold or hungry, all of us just glad to be safe and together. And everyone talking and cheering at the same time. Amazingly, beside being a little worse for the wear, everyone was okay, all present and accounted for. Full credit goes to our Thai guides and our adult advisors for ensuring we all made it safely home. We found out that, ironically, we were only a couple miles from our landing site but all of us were just glad to be safe and on firm ground. It was a very subdued train ride back to Bangkok and a low key reunion with our parents. I don’t know how much they knew—they may have just assumed we were tired. We found out later that the storm was the worst on the river in decades doing a colossal amount of damage upriver. We were fortunate to have survived the jungle and the river and probably have no clue how perilous the journey had been. My hunch is that there were no more raft trips after that year—just too many unpredictables. But speaking strictly for me, that was the trip of a lifetime and if you asked me about the inherent dangers, I would quote Alfred E Newman, “What, me worry?” Oh, the invincibility of youth.
A Steamy Night in Bangkok
by Bob French
One night in the summer of 1968, I interviewed a Thai whore. Back then, if you were to say the three-syllable phrase, “so-penny,” to the driver of the ubiquitous three wheel open-air samlor (taxi,) on a hot and humid Bangkok night, you would find yourself at a Thai brothel in 15 minutes. For whatever reason, I did this one night while on home leave after my sophomore year at Syracuse. This was something privileged, 19-year-old white college boys did; maybe part of “the Ugly American,” syndrome. But this time was different—I went back to the same place the next night and requested the same young lady and suggested that maybe we could go somewhere else for more privacy and to talk. Somehow, through broken Thai and English a deal was reached with the proprietor, and we taxied out into the night. I could tell from her body language that the young Thai lady must have vouched for me. Instead of going to a hotel as I had initially planned, it occurred to me that my father was stationed in Nam and Mom was upcountry, so I directed the driver to our house on Soy Sipsam.(13) Here we could use my room until my brother and sister, who were sleeping upstairs, would awaken.
Even looking back 53 years later, I am not sure why I did this, except that I wanted to get to know her as a person,and not just as a prostitute: what made her tick, why a sex worker, who she was apart from the brothel. So I got us a couple of drinks, we got cozy in my bed, and in spite of barely speaking the other’s language, we joked, giggled and talked for about 5 hours, almost like hanging out with one’s friends, except of course the part about being naked. One language that we did share in common was the universal ranking of #1 through #10. So-penny we agreed was #1, good Singha (Thai,) beer was #2, and so on.
“G.I. #10,” she said emphatically.
“Why, I asked?”
“They mean and no pay.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, thinking that the constant pool of servicemen on R’n’R from Viet Nam probably amounted to 90% of her income. Tough life. Probably where the standard retort of “no sweat, G.I.” came from. She told me that one reason she did what she did was that she had no education and was trying to help her family, especially a younger sister, who wanted to go to college.
“You #1,” she said.
“Oh, how come?”
“You nice.”
“Thank you.”
She told me her name, that she was 25 and lived with her parents and two siblings and that her father worked as a janitor at university. Her grandmother who was 70, lived with them and spent most of her waking hours chewing betel nut, a mild narcotic, that leaves your teeth and mouth dark red, and is suspected of being very carcinogenic. Hundreds, if not thousands of food vendors line the streets and sidewalks all over the city, squatting down for hours with angry red mouths and yet, happy as clams.
“You go to college,” she asked?
“Yes.”
“What you study?”
“Girls and beer,” I quipped, and we both laughed heartily.
“You funny,” she said.
And I said, “you’re sweet, to say so.”
She told me her brother was older and was off in Cambodia fighting the Khmer Rouge. I asked her why and she said the pay was good and some Thais were concerned, that if the Khmers, funded by the Viet Cong and the Communist Party of China, were victorious in Cambodia, they might try to annex Thailand. The Thais are fiercely independent, having been the only country in Southeast Asia to never be colonized, and not for lack of trying.
“Are you scared for your brother,” I asked?
“Yes, shot in leg, home 2 months.”
“What did he say about it.”
“Mai pen rai, and went right back to war.”
I had to laugh as “Mai pen rai,” is the universal Thai expression for “no biggie, or “no worries.” It used to drive my mother nuts when the little Thai butterflies, as she called them, would be waving their hands out their car windows, drying their fingernail polish, then giving you a big smile as they cut you off, and exclaim in beautiful singsong, “Mai pen rai, Mai pen rai, madam!”
This banter continued till about 5 AM, and I asked her if she wanted to sleep for a couple of hours and then I would get her a samlor home. So we did, just as if we were a normal couple.
At 7:30, I instructed our gardener to run down to the Main Street, to fetch her a cab, I gave her a generous tip and sent her on her way. When I came back in, the maid was looking at me with a knowing smile. I pointed upstairs, and said, “Madam,” and shook my head. She nodded and that was the end of it.
I had a rinky-dink little portable reel to reel recorder, on which I had taped some of our evening. Great fun to listen to afterwards. I even played it for a couple of my college buddies when we were in Frankfurt, on our way back stateside. They thought it was outlandish and hilarious—unfortunately that player is long gone.
I don’t remember if we had sex that night, and I never went back to another Thai brothel, but I will always remember that night with my new-found friend, a Thai whore. I still don’t know why I did it. Maybe there is a latent sociologist lurking inside me somewhere. I do know I wanted to get to know her beyond the confines of a brothel. Sometimes I wonder what she thought of this still wet-behind-the-ears college kid paying for a night of her service and taking her back to his own home and bedroom, and spending the night just socializing and treating her like a human being. I have also fantasized about going back to Bangkok and trying to find her, but that idea is probably a non-starter.
I have only shared this with one other living soul, and now you guys, so this book, Thai Whores and Loony Bins, will definitely be my coming out party.
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