James Bell Armstrong

FAVORITE MEMORIES OF WILLIAMS

All-Stars: Larry Graver, Ben Labaree, Sheafe Satterthwaite, Fred Stocking, Whit Stoddard, R.G.L. Waite, Honorable mention: Larry Frank (freshman English)

WILLIAMS CLUBS / ACTIVITIES

Soccer, intramural hockey, intramural softball, Big Brother program of Williamstown, proud member of the hasher crew at Greylock Dining Hall

CURRENT INTERESTS, PASSIONS, AND ORGANIZATIONS

Fan and supporter of public libraries and independently owned bookstores; member of numerous public and community radio stations because of the quality of their news and talk and the eclectic music. I support Democracy Now! and other alternative-news sources. I’m a long-time member and officer of West End Presbyterian Church in NYC and sit on numerous committees; when in Maine, I attend the Congregational/UCC Church of West Brooksville. I support various national and international social-justice and environmental groups, and also local organizations that address hunger and homelessness.

LIFE SINCE GRADUATION

On the one hand, I must admit to feeling pretty good. I retired in 2016, and since then I’ve made a conscious effort to get out and go walking, usually three or four miles at a time, sometimes more. By now I know Riverside Park and Central Park very well. During the summer, when I’m in Maine, I kayak, and in the winter, when I’m in New York City, I play handball.

On the other hand, I’m increasingly conscious of the fact that I am no longer middle-aged. Not that long ago, I could maybe fool myself. But that ship has sailed, for sure. Aches and pains now appear without warning or reason, and they hang around longer. I wear hearing aids, which help, but not enough. Flexibility? Forget about it. Recently, I experienced a medical issue that required first attention, then medication, and finally surgery. When I look at my daily allotment of pills, I roll my eyes and mutter, “Geezer.”

However, my vision, thanks to cataract surgery, is better now than it was for the first sixty years of my life. So there’s that.

But there’s no question that I’ve become increasingly aware of the rapid passage of time as it manifests itself in . . . well, in me. I’m getting old. I could try to fight it (no doubt clumsily). But it is what it is—right? And it’s best to acknowledge reality and move on, go with the flow. I’m lucky that baseball, which I follow via radio, TV, newspaper, and the internet with perhaps more zeal than is necessary, does not require any physical dexterity on my part.

Here’s a photo of me engaged in two other favorite activities: traveling off the beaten path and messing about with trains. It was taken a few days after my 70th birthday, and the location was Rhyd Ddu, North Wales. I and a bunch of similarly obsessed railroad buffs from all over were in the midst of an intensive look at some of that area’s famed narrow-gauge steam railways. Good times! Closer to home, I love to travel around southwestern Colorado and northern New Mexico, where, yes, there are fascinating narrow-gauge steam trains just begging to be ridden. And next door is Arizona, with its breathtaking landscapes and a new interest of mine: rez ball, as played in the towns and high schools of Navajo Nation.

Over the years I’ve published travel articles in a variety of obscure periodicals: South American Explorer (on riding trains in Ecuador), Hudson’s Bay Company quarterly The Beaver (on riding trains in Alberta and the Northwest Territories), and Classic Trains (on riding freight trains across Newfoundland). On a more practical level, I’m involved, as a non-skilled laborer, in restoring to full operating condition a Maine Central Railroad steam locomotive constructed in 1924. It’s a long, slow undertaking, and to be honest, I’m just hoping to live long enough to see the project completed.

There was a day a few years back when our daughter got into graduate school to pursue a master’s degree in public health. She had wisely taken time off after college, but things hadn’t exactly worked out as planned; suddenly, grad school was no longer a sure thing. But then she was accepted by one of the programs she was very interested in. I clearly remember the overwhelming sense of relief and gratitude that swept over me. Our son had earlier graduated from college and was by this time gainfully employed, and now our daughter was on her way to doing what she really wanted to do. Although I will never not worry about our children, I was able, at that moment, to take a step back and realize they were both well set up for whatever lay ahead in their lives.

A friend and fellow congregant at my small neighborhood church in NYC always answers the question “How are you?” with “I’m blessed.” As the amazing, accomplished, and fascinating Class of 1972 approaches its 50th reunion (50th!!! who’d-a thunk it???), I can think of no better way to conclude this brief bio than to echo her, and so declare: “I’m blessed.”