Excerpts from Joseph's Fragmented Biography

by Joseph Nathan Hall

-First published in "Joseph's Fragmented Biography" in June 2002 (at http://www.5sigma.com/joseph/bio/)

Fun with Water

I guess the best way to go about this will be in a fragmentary way, just kind of wandering from anecdote to anecdote. Here's one.

In my junior year I lived on the second floor of Wyche House. This was a weathered, slightly cockroach-infested two-story dorm (with a basement) at the corner of the campus. Wyche (rhymes with "Robert Reich") was inhabited for another year or two but then was condemned, and later renovated (I think). Anyway, my room was one of the larger ones, in the center of the building facing into the campus. My room faced Hill House, actually, the girls dorm, but it was so far away that I would have needed a pretty good telescope to do any serious peeking. Never got around to it myself but some other folks did.

Anyway, I digress. The room overlooked a sidewalk which wound around an air conditioning unit (I'm not sure what it cooled?) and toward the outside entrance of the basement. In my first days on campus I discovered that water thrown out the window onto the AC fan made a very gratifying sound and 360 degree spraying effect. You know what they say, when the shit hits the fan. I'd go dump a pint or so into the fan periodically just for jollies. The water would go in all directions with considerable force, maybe 30-40 feet horizontally.

So one day I found a bigger container. I don't remember what size it was but I'd guess a couple of quarts. I carted it over to the window and dumped it out the side directly into the fan. Wow. That considerable dose of water almost stopped the fan--I could hear/see it slow down. Biiiiggg splash. Cool.

Pretty quickly there was a knock on the door. There stood my downstairs "neighbor", Bart. He had the room directly below mine. Bart was wet. His face had a few drops clinging to it and his shirt had damp splotches. Bart had been doing his homework next to his open window just a few moments ago. He heard a sound, looked up, and a small wall of water came tsunami-like through his window. It doused him, his desk, his papers and other things lying nearby. After the initial shock, things clicked for him. He had noticed some minor weirdness with the fan earlier, sounds and the odd drop of water, but this was the first incident that clued him in.

That might have been the first time I met Bart, but fortunately he seemed more amused than wrathful. He turned out to be a great guy. We roomed together senior year and have kept loosely in touch off and on through the years.

The Shaving Cream Bomb

During junior year there was a period where you could find shaving cream on various odd parts of the dormitory, on doorhandles, underneath stair railings, and the like. Might as well find some alternative uses for it, since most of us didn't really need to shave all that often. I don't recall what the inspiration was but I eventually started experimenting with filling balloons with shaving cream.

I found out that if you just filled the balloon with shaving cream and burst it, not much happened. You just got a "cowflop" of shaving cream. On the other hand, if you partially filled a balloon with shaving cream, filled it the rest of the way with air, then shook it to distribute the shaving cream across the interior of the inflated balloon, then it made a really nice mess when it burst.

I further don't recall what the inspiration was for the next step, but three of us, myself, Chancellor and a fellow I'll identify as R.L., plotted to make a device, a shaving cream bomb if you will, that would be placed in some unsuspecting fellow's dorm room.

I came up with the idea of using a model rocket igniter to burst the balloon. Off we went to the mall to purchase a 9 volt battery and a packet of Estes model rocket igniters (the pyrotechnic kind that were easy to ignite, not the nichrome sparklers). We also purchased the most repulsive shaving cream we could find. I think it was lime scented.

Then we assembled a "cradle" of wire that held the battery, and taped the igniter and a loop of wire to the balloon. The cradle was to be placed on the floor, and the balloon was to be placed atop the cradle. When picked up, the wire on the balloon would touch wires in the cradle and complete the circuit, setting off the igniter, and hopefully, covering our victim with shaving cream and probably scaring him to death in the process.

The device was constructed. Chancellor had managed to figure out how to modify his room key so that it was actually a master key (and furthermore had removed the master tumbler from his room's lock so that the master key didn't work on it), and he was assigned the task of gaining entry into the victim's room and placing the balloon a couple yards from the door, with a towel wrapped around the base to conceal the, ahem, hardware.

When the device was in place, R.L. got the victim to go to his room. We heard the details later.

Unfortunately the balloon hadn't burst. :-( :-( Everything else went perfectly though. The victim opened his door, saw this balloon lying on the floor, scratched his head, and picked it up. The igniter lit but since it was completely taped to the side of the balloon (a last minute design change that I have always regretted) what happened was that air and shaving cream spurted out of a small hole in the tape. Well, at least it startled the daylights out of him.

I suppose he was also impressed that his dorm-mates would go to so much trouble to play a prank on him. I might have been worried ....

My Michael Collins Story: "Dyunnastannat?"

During my junior year I was reasonably well behaved. At least to the point where I didn't do much that they had a rule against. Later on in my senior year my life started to go a little sideways, and toward the middle of my final semester, a small but growing rebellious streak, intense disinterest in my classes and curriculum, and some extremely weird interpersonal things all converged to make me a somewhat less than ideal member of the student body. There were two separate incidents that led to my encounter with Michael Collins.

The first was when my R.A., "Menace," came to confiscate my speakers one evening. I don't remember whether we (Bart and I) were playing the stereo loudly at the time or not but we certainly had played it loudly in the past. Of course so had everyone else with a capable system. Anyway, we were very recalcitrant. Menace wound up banging on the door while we just ignored him. He was righteously pissed. Pretty level headed guy but that was the first time I ever heard him yelling. I guess we were pissed too.

The second was around that same time, when my friend Ward and I were wandering the halls late one night. We noticed a ceiling tile ajar and Ward wanted to see what was up there, just for the heck of it. Ward stood on a chair and looked into the ceiling. At that very moment one of the RAs turned the corner and inquired as to what we were doing. We said, "Just looking in the ceiling." Apparently we weren't believed. This was probably because Ward's hacker callings were somewhat strong at the time and the tile happened to be somewhat near a collection of modem lines and other stuff leading into the machine room that held our precious VAX-11/750. Not a bad piece of hardware for a high school to have in 1982.

Anyway, as things turned out I had not one but two appointments scheduled with Mr. Student Affairs, Michael Collins, on the same day. First in the morning with Steve Davis (head of the math department and "god" of the computer system), and then that same afternoon with Bart and Menace. I remember nothing of either except that when Collins was rendering his final thoughts/judgment/verdict/whatever he would punctuate the end of each sentence with "Dyunnastannat?" -- slurring his words together in the finest American tradition. Bart and I emerged a little shaken but we both had fun saying "Dyunnastannat?" "Dyunnastannat?" to each other for the next few days.

The result of these grim encounters was a letter sent to my parents. I had been "phased," in the disciplinary lingo of the time. I received a copy of the letter and noticed that it was full, or grammatical and speling er.ros

As one of the better English students on campus, what was I to do? Naturally I proofread the letter, marked it up, and taped it to the outside of my dorm room door.

A scenario repeated itself over the following 2-3 days. From inside my room I would hear someone stop by my door. He would mutter something like "hey, what's this?" Then there would be a minute or so of pause, a chuckle, then finally uncontrollable guffaws.

Eventually someone took it down.

Fun with Acid

Back to junior year. For a month or two one of my primary recreational activities was "windowsill chemistry." R.L., who introduced me to the notion, had a few little bottles of sulfuric and nitric acid, acetone, methanol, the like. He even had a little plastic squeeze bottle of hydrofluoric acid.

Oh, you're thinking, that kind of acid. What did you think? I've never been a serious illegal drug user, although it probably would have been more fun and possibly more enlightening than some of my more miserable adolescent/early adult experiences.

I digress. Again. That will be a pattern. Anyway, we would meet in my dorm room, select chemicals, and mix them in little beakers on my windowsill in the afternoon or early evening. I don't remember the combinations very well now. Not that it matters. We would try various things in various proportions. In general, if you mix nitric and sulfuric acid with something else, you get a cloud of either nitrogen tetroxide (the brown stuff) or nitrous oxide (clear stuff), or, generally, some of both. The reaction can be fairly vigorous, and of course, nitrogen tetroxide is fairly poisonous, hence the improvised fumehood.

It was fun to watch.

By the way, this is a good place to insert a disclaimer. If you try any of what I'm describing here, I won't be held responsible for any damage, injury, dismemberment, death, or whatever. Hell, I may not even remember what I did accurately. Caveat chemist.

We also got hold of a quart or two of technical grade hydrochloric acid that was used in some cleaning project (drains maybe?). Ahh, the wonder of seeing HCl poured into a beaker of aluminum foil strips for the first time.

I learned some other things. If you pour concentrated sulfuric acid on your skin, just hurry up, wipe it off and rinse. (It's syrupy.) No harm done so long as your skin's dry and you're fast. Nitric acid makes a yellow stain. "People nitrate." Hydrochloric is nasty. Exposing skin to the concentrated vapors can give you a terrible case of the itchies an hour or three later. Neither of us was stupid enough to accidentally or otherwise expose ourselves to hydrofluoric acid. We did bum a small piece of raw meat from the cafeteria to see what various chemicals would do to it. I remember being impressed that a drop or two of hydrofluoric acid seeped into a sample like it was a sponge and turned it a lifeless gray all the way through.

On to the specific anecdotes. Two come to mind. First, as you may or may not know, the recipe for nitroglycerine is a mixture of sulfuric acid, nitric acid and glycerine. You may also know that the process is very exothermic (liberates heat) and that unless great care is taken when mixing to keep things ice cold, the reaction will "run away" and just produce a brown cloud. (Of course you know that if you succeed in making the stuff you may just blow yourself up, but see the disclaimer above.) Well, we knew all this, but decided to mix up a little with warm ingredients anyway, to see what would happen. We retired to the parking lot behind Wyche one quiet afternoon, and into a tiny (10ml) beaker we poured a dab of each. Things started bubbling, then bubbled furiously, and suddenly there was a POOF and a van-sized cloud of nitrogen tetroxide was liberated. It drifted with the wind across the parking lot into the woods. Cool.

Good thing we didn't try that on the windowsill. It would be such a bummer to be the cause of a building evacuation.

The second that comes to mind is that one evening just after we had got the hydrochloric acid, we were experimenting with applying it to the stucco outside my window. I decided that it was better when somewhat diluted, down to maybe 5-8 percent. So anyway we were doing our thing, a little dab here, a little squirt there, and suddenly a head appeared out the window right below where I had just been dropping acid (so to speak) on the sidewalk.

It's Bart. Again.

He says, "Hey, something just dripped in my ear."

Oh shit! I say, "Rinse it out, man!"

"Huh?"

"Rinse it out! Then come on up here."

Bart survived the experience. He claimed his ear burned and itched the next day. Meanwhile he joined us as we created increasingly complex cocktails. We got punchy and were throwing very weird mixtures of stuff out the window onto the sidewalk late that night. One created a strange multicolored stain that lasted for years.

(that's all for now...)

Prankster's Delight

by Steve Gallup

You may not be old enough to remember; but once upon a time - back in the 70s - aluminum cans were everywhere.  They were nearly as ubiquitous then, as Amazon delivery boxes are ubiquitous today.  Back then, soft drinks were typically sold, and consumed, in cans that held only a modest 12 liquid ounces.  20 ounce plastic bottles were a rarity, if they existed at all.  And even the bottles had simple cylindrical designs, unlike the amped-up, palm-of-your-hand, Transformers-inspired designs of today.  

Recycling was in its hay-day as the 80s began and the environmental movement flourished.  Everyone in the world was recycling their drink containers.  People could even get reimbursed for recycled aluminum (just as they could get money back (a nickel) for the glass soda bottles, decades before).  It was quite common for the people scraping to get by, to go deep into public trash cans (or "Dempsey" dumpsters) to collect the aluminum; filling clanking, lumpy, black garbage bags full of the empty aluminum cans, as they meandered from one garbage heap to the next.

At the School of Science and Math, we were fueled by Domino's pizza and caffeinated beverages, in the evenings, when the cafeteria was closed.  But unlike our neighborhoods at home, there was little recycling on campus; and there were no transients to cull the trash bins of aluminum.  Our empty cans of soda began to accumulate - waiting for a purpose - stacked up like building blocks on our wide window sills.

Sidebar:  The design of an aluminum can is a thing of beauty.  It's designed to withstand internal pressures from carbonated drinks and external pressures from stacking.  The cylindrical shape and the concave bottom prevent the can from easily crumpling when stacked for storage and transportation; and it's design helps it to withstand the wide range of  temperatures that affect the volume and pressure of the liquids inside.  (Here is a fantastic video describing it's features: Ingenious Design of the Aluminum Beverage Can.)

It was only a matter of time before we recognized the outstanding mechanical properties of the aluminum beverage can, gradually stacking them higher and higher, in a sort of dormitory race for supremacy of can-stacking ability.  It became clear that they could be stacked much higher, when stacked next to a wall or another vertical surface - less likely to tilt over to one side and come clattering to the ground.

And from these early subconscious observations it was inevitable that we should make the leap one day, to the creation of a seven foot wall of aluminum cans, stacked row by row in front of the door of one of our dorm-mates. 

Probably, we were eating some Domino's pizza - procrastinating from our class homework - imagining (with our caffeinated brains) all of the other things that we could be doing besides our assignments.  We happened upon the material and the structure - the modular construction of a wall of aluminum cans - and we had only to identify a victim (who shall go nameless) and a date, to bring the project to completion.

So we began collecting our cans - a clear act of premeditation.  We chose a day and an hour, when the subject of our prank would be ensconced in his room, happily resting.  And we fine-tuned the plans for our edifice, considering the various possibilities - the choice of adhesives or fasteners - to reach the towering height that we had planned.

Ultimately, we used strips of masking tape to horizontally-secure rows of cans to each side of the door frame.  The cans fit nearly perfectly, adjacent to the heavy wooden door, in the space between the external door jambs on either side.  Gradually the wall was constructed, row by row, as we silently set to work.  The student sleeping inside was unaware of our late night activities - of his gradual imprisonment (like Fortunato in The Cask of Amontillado).  

We didn't use tape for every row.  We wanted some of the cans (...in the end, about half the cans...) to fall cascading to the floor.  Although construction of the barricade was carried out in silence; we hoped that it's deconstruction would be nothing less than a percussive cacophony of metal.

And, boy, was it!  After our hijinks in the witching hour, I was sound asleep the next morning, when the discordance of  falling cans jarred me awake.  First there were a half dozen "clinks" and "clangs" of bouncing cans.  Then a crashing racket of noise.  Then another scattering ripple of falling aluminum.  I peeked my head out.  A number of other doors on the hall were also opening.  At least a dozen other students were wondering what was causing the commotion.  

About this time the victim of our prank was trying to work his way through a gap in the aluminum wall, like a caver working his way through a tight spot in an underground tunnel.  As he made his way out, one leg at a time, still more cans came bouncing - clattering - to the ground.  Others scattered from the pile already littering the floor.  A row or two remained perfectly intact, inside the door frame, suspended above his head, still attached by a row or two of beige masking tape.

Our victim took the hazing as well as can be imagined.  He was embarrassed, perhaps, by the unwanted attention; perplexed, perhaps, with what to do with the hundreds of cans; but he seemed to take it in stride.  

Still, I wonder how he really felt.  My empathy - my upbringing - make me wonder if he really was unaffected - if he felt acknowledged or rejected by our group; included or excluded by the act.  

I still imagine the look of bewilderment that he must have had when he opened his room door, to go out for a shower, or to use the bathroom, and found his progress blocked by a door completely filled with empty Coca Cola and Mountain Dew cans, stacked row upon row - up to the very top of the door.

Today, I feel a certain amount of guilt in the childish glee with which the adventure was undertaken.  But at the time it occurred, I felt only delight and pride in the utter success of our plan - the beauty and simplicity of our engineering achievement.  

Writing Prompt #9: Pranks

Prompt:  Write about a memorable prank that happened at NCSSM during your stay.

Due Date: August 11, 2025

Details: Write about a prank that you instigated, or a prank in which you were the victim, or a prank that you witnessed, while you were at the School of Science and Math between 1980 and 1982.  

Alternatively, write about life on your residence hall, and how you let off steam when you weren't busy studying.  (Don't write about a time when you got in trouble.  The judicial system (Phase system) will be the subject of a later prompt.)

Blog landing page URL: https: https://half-sheet-of-paper-workshop.blogspot.com/

New Post URL: https://www.blogger.com/blog/posts/6942635268531392674

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Background:

The following excerpt from the 1982 yearbook, describes how interactions (including pranks) contributed to the communal experience of life on campus:

The elements have been gathered, but only through interactions could the warmth and spirit of the NCSSM community have been created.  In a wide variety of activities we have interacted and learned about the universe, ourselves, and others.  Early-morning talks, trips to the bank, studying with friends, and other everyday experiences have revealed different facets of others' personalities: the determined student, the dorm prankster, or the concerned roommate.....

Evening memories of eating a pizza with a friend, dances in the assembly hall, or a game of spades become special.  Lifelong friendships have been created, and we have become a closely-knit community.  The elements and their interaction is the essence of the NCSSM experience.

[Odyssey 1982; page 47; DigitalNC.org]

 

Robert Lee scotch taped to a column in the elevator lobby of the Beall pavilion

[1982 Odyssey yearbook; DigitalNC.org website]

The following article (by an anonymous author) describes some of the pranking that was prevalent during the 1980-81 school year.  (Hill House was a female dorm during that first year.):

Hill House for Laughs

Warning: This story is going to be blunt and written exactly as I speak because I find that the way I speak, even though at times it may be rather dull, is not nearly as dull as my writing is. 

I volunteered to write about pranks in Hill House because I am frequently in on a large portion of them. We all know about the really obvious pranks played on the American Studies teachers, for we are all there to witness the out comes, but not everyone knows what goes on after curfew in Hill House. I would say that one of the most obnoxious and common pranks of Hill is the old glass of water on top of the door trick. For a while, I was so paranoid about door opening, that my mother was asking me why I looked up every time I went into my room at home-strange. 

There is also the great trick of pouring a bucket of ice and water on innocent showerers. I, personally enjoyed pulling this one because the girl whom my colleague and I dumped it on was stupid enough to yell "Ha-Ha! you missed," which led us to dump about 12 more buckets, most of which did not miss. Unfortunately, my colleague and I had to camp out in a lounge that night due to the wet toilet paper woven into our bed covers. I didn't get rid of all of it until 5 days later when I changed my sheets.

Speaking of sheets, at the present moment there is a gang of short-sheeters ravishing the dorm. This is one of the best ways to teach people to lock their doors. 

Another reason for locking doors is that quite often, bedrooms get "t.p.ed." The worst incident occurred during the horrible week long toilet paper shortage. Talk about "rubbing it in your face." 

There was also another drastic shortage around here one night. When Dr. Wilson was being a "pretend" R.A. By her very own astute observation skills, she realized that the entire population of the first floor was nowhere to be found. After almost 30 minutes, she checked the down stairs bathroom and found them all crammed in the showers. She had thought that the moving curtains were a result of the fungis usually found in the stalls but fortunately she was wrong. 

One of my favorites is where I knock on the resident door and wait for them to answer and surprise threw with some sort of a stunt or another. My most successful one went as follows: 

Knock Knock 

"Come in" 

30 seconds of silence 

"Come in!" 

30 seconds 

"Come In!" 

Knock, Knock, Knock. 

“*#* it, I said, COME IN! '' 

-have noise of getting up out of bed and stomping, not walking, but stomping toward the door. The handle turns. The door opens and the occupant looks for the loud metallic clicking sound. She looks down to Her feet to find an ugly, tacky, china town, metal duck running in circles. 

Well, this article, if that's what you prefer to call it, has been drug (drugs! Oh No!) out long enough. Those are only a few of the pranks pulled in 'Hill House" after curfew.

Love, Yours truly, 

[Public Display of Announcements, May 22, 1981; Other Campus and Student Publications; NCSSM Digital Collections]

A prank being committed in broad daylight

[1982 Odyssey yearbook; DigitalNC.org]

Joe Liles - Generations apart from your ordinary art teacher

by Brian Faircloth

first published in NCSSM Magazine, Summer 2004, Volume 5

[NCSSM Magazine, Summer 2004; Other Campus & Student Publications; NCSSM Digital Collection]

Here's what most people know about Joe Liles: He's an artist.  He's been at Science and Math forever.  He has a pony tail that is longer than a young child's arm.  He has an interest in Native American culture. 

Here's what many people may suspect about Joe Liles: he's a hippy, he grew up in a commune with weird parents, and his interest in Native American culture is some deliberate manifestation of his hippy ways. Clearly, he's not Native American, so all this Native American business must be invented. 

This is what you may suspect about Joe, and if you do, this is where you're about as wrong as Joe is genuine. 

211 Woodside Drive

211 Woodside Drive, right in the middle of Wadesboro, North Carolina, was where Joe was raised, in what now seems to Joe as "one of the first brick ranches ever built." His father was a World War II Navy veteran and downtown businessman. Joe's mother worked as a medical technician—the only medical technician, actually—at the local family practitioner's office on Thursdays. The other six days she was busy raising Joe and his three siblings. 

Pine-studded and All-American, Woodside Drive flowed down an incredibly steep hill to a dead-end. It was every child's winter dream and every licensed adult's worst automotive nightmare. "There was a device at the bottom of the street in the dead-end that we called a breakneck," Joe recalls, the slight hint of a smile creeping into the corners of his mouth as if remembering a number of hair-raising adventures. "It's sort of like a concrete cliff. We called it a "breakneck" because, if you went off the road for whatever reason and continued into the dead-end, you would certainly break your neck." 

It sounds idyllic, and it was in many ways - the small town setting, the neighborhood kids riding bikes up and down the streets on humid summer evenings, the mother and father who were known and respected by everyone in town. Joe's childhood was good and pleasant in a postcard sort of way; but, there was more to that happiness than the steep street with all the pine trees. In fact, the other half of the picture may be one that Joe holds even dearer to his heart: 

Cows. 150 of them. 

There were also two mules, endless fence posts, and miles of barbed wire. On top of that, the farm had watering holes for the cattle that doubled as fish ponds, and a railroad track on a raised bed of gravel and timbers that carried the weight of Atlantic Coast Line boxcars. These things were as much a part of Joe's life as was the life in town. In addition to running the family business, his father also carried the responsibility of keeping up the family farm that Joe's great-grandfather built on the outskirts of town. 

"I had the best of both worlds growing up," Joe remembers. "I had the comfortable home in town and all my friends nearby and everything we needed, but I also had this huge family farm of 500 acres that I spent a lot of time on as well." 

On the farm was where Joe felt most comfortable, digging fence posts and stringing barbed wire and fishing for bream and bass and catfish. With Bermuda grass under his feet and the sky overheard, Joe felt at peace. 

Taos, New Mexico. 1967. 

In Taos, on a hot summer afternoon, 17 year-old Joe Liles' life took a significant turn. 

A Boy Scout since he was a small kid, Joe had landed a summer job as a handicraft instructor at the Philmont Scout Ranch in nearby Cimarron. Seeking a change of pace and scenery, Joe often went into Taos on his time off. 

One afternoon while walking through town, he heard the steady beat of a drum and the rise and fall of voices deeply involved in an intricate song coming from behind a motel. Intrigued by what he heard, he followed the disembodied sounds until he came upon a group of tourists gathered in a half circle. Joe made his way to the front of the group. 

Before him were two Native American men, beating out a rhythm on a tight-skinned drum. Around them several dancers kept time with the music. In that moment, Joe's life changed forever. 

"I wasn't so interested in the dancers, [but] I was drawn to the music that those two guys were singing," Joe says. "I just stood there for the longest time, listening, trying to figure out how they could possibly be singing this totally complex music." 

In time the songs ended, the dancers ended their dance, and the tourists melted away. 

All except for Joe. He was transfixed. 

For three more summers Joe returned to New Mexico, where he absorbed as much as possible about Native American music. Eventually, he too began to sing. 

Under his wing. 

"Here's one of the things about Joe Liles," Linwood Watson says. "He can flat-out sing those songs." 

The man I'm talking with is a member of NCSSM's Class of 1993. He is a Haliwa-Saponi Indian, a physician practicing family medicine in Pembroke, NC, and a close friend of Joe. They've been friends since Linwood was a student at NCSSM, where Joe took him and other Native American students under his wing and helped them through their time at the school. 

"I'm not artistic," Linwood says. "Let me just say that. So I never aid get around to taking an art class. But I heard that Joe was into Indian culture and so that's how I became aware of him."  Joe, Linwood, and other Native American students at NCSSM formed an Indian culture group at Science and Math called Akwe:kon, a Mohawk word that means "All of us together." Through the group they hosted NCSSM's first powwow to promote the school to Native American communities throughout North Carolina. The NCSSM Powwow has become one of the largest in the state. For many people, it has also become Joe's signature achievement, the thing most readily associated with him outside of his artwork. 

Today, Linwood, Joe, and nearly 25 others, including additional NCSSM alumni as well as Native Americans unaffiliated with the school from tribes all over the state, participate in a singing group called Southern Sun. The group keeps a busy schedule, often traveling out of state to perform traditional songs. 

"We go to these different events sometimes to sing and we'll all gather around and I'll see these other Indians that don't know us sort of looking at Joe like 'What's he doing here?' And I tell 'em, 'Look, he can probably sing these songs better than you.'" 

At a naming ceremony for a newborn child in a small rural Indian community just outside of Grand Rapids, Michigan, Joe met a medicine person named Eddie Benton. Joe was now in graduate school in Ann Arbor, traveling "all over the place" every chance he got with friends from U of M, visiting with Native Americans in rural communities throughout the Great Lakes region. 

There was an instant connection between Joe and Eddie. Eddie offered him a job teaching art at a school, called The Red School House, that he was starting through the American Indian Movement in St. Paul, Minnesota. Like the experience in Taos, New Mexico, this was a defining moment for Joe. He accepted Eddie's offer and went straight into the job after his graduation from the University of Michigan. Joe stayed for three years. "This was the first time I was full-time in a Native American Community so, you know, there was no longer any of this outsider/insider business. I was a part of that Indian community." 

Though he didn't know it at the time, this progression of events—Taos to Ann Arbor to The Red School House—was part of something larger. It would lead Joe to discover something about his family from generations before that would, in this emerging order of events, make perfect sense to him. 

At a spiritual ceremony in Manitoba that Joe's group was attending, another medicine person approached Joe. "I learned something about you in that ceremony," he said. 

Joe asked, "What was that?" The medicine man replied, "There was something that happened in your family involving Native Americans that was tragic. Some type of accident, but I could find nothing more than that." Joe had no idea what he was talking about. 

Funny you should mention that 

Nearly 300 years ago, Ephraim Liles, an ancestor of Joe's, shot what he thought was a deer while hunting in a stand of trees along the border between North Carolina and Virginia. 

But Ephraim had not seen a deer moving through the woods. Ephraim had seen a Native American man camouflaged by the hide and head of a deer draped across his body. The man Ephraim shot was hunting too, stalking other deer in an effort to feed his family just like Ephraim. 

Ephraim gathered him up into his arms and carried him as quickly as he could to the nearest Native American village some distance away. The man soon died. As best he could, Ephraim explained what had happened and owned up to the terrible mistake he had made.

He left as quickly as he could, realizing that he had done more harm than any good he would be able to do. To stay in the village any longer than absolutely necessary would be to invite possible revenge upon him for the hunter's death. 

As soon as he arrived home, he explained the situation to his family. Fearing retribution, Ephraim gathered up his family and left, heading south for miles until they crossed the Pee Dee River near the South Carolina border. On what is now the Anson County side of the river, the county Joe was born and raised in hundreds of years later, they unloaded their belongings and began to build a new home for the Liles family. 

Joe's father told him all of this as Joe was home visiting family. 

"I told my father about what this medicine man had said to me," Joe says, and my father said, 'It's funny that you should say that because he had recently found an old letter written by one of our ancestors that told the story of Ephraim Liles." 

"Now, as soon as I heard all this, the first thing that came to my mind was that maybe my involvement with Indian people was somehow setting things right in the spirit world," was Joe's response. 

God, the Creator and two cedar trees 

Most Sunday mornings growing up, Joe was with his family in the pews of the First Baptist Church in Wadesboro, singing from the Baptist hymnals, listening to sermons built around passages from the Holy Bible, celebrating traditional Christian holidays. He drew a measure of strength from the church and its message. 

Like devout Christians, traditional Native American people are a deeply spiritual people,. Their daily lives are governed by their connection to the Creator, and to the connection between every living person and every object in nature. "Many non-Indian people," Joe says, "have always thought that Indians pray to rocks, you know. And some people might think that Indians pray to the drum. And none of that is true. What is true is that Indian people believe that everything is alive, that the rocks are alive, that the drum is alive, and that all of these natural living things are conduits to the Creator. So, you're not praying to rocks, and you're not praying to the drum, you're praying to God just like people in churches and temples and mosques and synagogues everywhere do." 

The more involved with Native American culture Joe became, the more concerned he became with the potential conflict between his Christian upbringing and his exploration of Native American spirituality. "I remember being concerned with the essence of that contradiction," Joe recalls. It was during this time, when he was "in the midst" of attending a number of spiritual ceremonies throughout Michigan, Wisconsin and Ontario while in graduate school, that his grandmother in North Carolina passed away. 

For quite some time Joe had "had this prayer in mind, asking about this contradiction. Was it there? Did it matter? And I was asking, you know, for a sign to tell me what the answer was." 

He got his answer, on the steps of his home church, as he emerged from his grandmother's funeral services. 

"Right across from the church were these two cedar trees, and as I came out of the church those two cedar trees just started moving," Joe says, "almost like the wind was blowing them. But there wasn't any wind. I realized right then that that was the sign I was looking for. The Creator, through these trees, was telling me that there was no contradiction at all...that all religion was about understanding your relationship with the Creator, and there was no contradiction with the Christian way of going about that and the Indian way of going about that." 

It's a philosophy he's been adhering to ever since. 

An ongoing spirit 

The 2004-2005 school year marks the beginning of Joe's 25th year at Science and Math. An incredible number of students have come through his class. He has seen students, both Native American and non-Native American, discover talents and passions they didn't know existed. For people like Linwood Watson, Joe's curiosity, acceptance, and easy manner served as an inspiration and safety net. 

'I like to say Science and Math is Short term pain for long term gain," Linwood says, recalling his experience at the school. "Science and Math lets you practice for the real world when the mistakes you might otherwise make in the real world don't count. And Mr. Liles lessened that pain. Through his art, as a teacher, through the Native American group, Joe made it more bearable." 

Not only has Joe continued his work with the Native American community since coming to Durham, he has expanded the depth and range of his exploration of the culture. In addition to the Powwow and the drum group, Joe has also been heavily involved in a program called Dreammakers, designed to bring more Native American students to the School. He, along with a number of his students, has done extensive research on Fish Dam Road, an old Native American trail running through the Triangle region. He has contributed numerous drawings to a multitude of Native American groups all over the country to help promote the programs they run. He's currently in the process of writing "A Drumstick's Story", a fictionalized account of a drumstick that, through its circuitous route through the country as part of various ceremonies and Powwows, illustrates the unique stories of America's Native people. 

Most recently, Joe has discovered what could be "a lifetime of work" among the tribes in California. 

Perhaps most indicative of Joe's commitment to Native Americans is something that occurred not long ago. A fellow singer in Southern Sun told Joe of a dream he had recently had, a dream in which a man was singing a song he had never heard before, a song as beautiful and true as any he had ever heard. And as he came closer to the man singing the song, he saw that it was not another Indian. It was Joe. 

As he told Joe about the dream, the singer began to beat his drum as the first notes of this song he had heard in the dream, which he now dedicated to Joe and called Legends Never Die, flowed up and out and away as it joined on this day a history rich in tradition and spirit.

Alumna Fondly Remembers Jon Miller

As Holiday Story Time Approaches, 

Alumna Fondly Remembers Jon Miller

first published in NCSSM.edu News on November 30, 2018.

Founding faculty member Dr. Jon Miller established a longstanding school tradition of reading Dr. Seuss’ “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” annually for the Science and Math community. Since his retirement in 2015 — and his death in 2017 at age 73 — Dean of Humanities Elizabeth Moose continues the tradition by reading,“'Twas the Night Before Christmas.” As this year’s reading approaches on Dec. 15, many alumni and colleagues remember Dr. Miller fondly. Melissa Brady ’02 was so struck by Dr. Miller’s wisdom and kindness while she was a student that she often wrote down quotations in her British literature class notebook. She now shares the following selection from that single notebook with the whole community, saying, “I hope we can remember his presence. His voice still echoes with me to this day. He is one of the many reasons NCSSM is so special.”

On education and learning

• “Take the great teachers, not the great courses.”
• “You can’t be the expert of a culture until you know the language.”
• “Intelligence is cheap — what makes it worthwhile is perspiration.”
• “Genius works with time.”
• “Our good times tend to be retrospective. The special thing with high school is you know you’re having a good time when you’re having it.”
• “Don’t live life passively. THINK!”
• “Measure yourself against the best.”
• “Class, let’s talk about more pleasant things. Let’s talk about Hamlet killing people.”
• “Shakespeare is more alive today than most people are alive today.”

On life and relationships

• “When we hurt somebody, we tend to want them by our side so everything will be okay.”
• “Love is always based on a certain kind of ignorance.”
• “The more we experience love, the more we realize it’s a real gamble.”
• “Don’t ever do lunch and dinner meetings — that’s the time for family and friends.”
• “Love is something that you give, not something that you get.”
• “Every day for a child is a good day.”
• “Children like whatever they get — that’s innocence.”
• “Each of us as we are faced with a new situation has a little bit of innocence.”
• “Innocence tells us all things can happen; experience teaches us not all things are possible.”

On character and a meaningful life

• “Sometimes you’ll never know if you did the right thing. Finally, there are some things you can’t ponder.”
• “Questions come out of our weaknesses; answers come out of our strengths.”
• “What you do are your values — it’s not what you think.”
• “Live every day with honor, and you’ll have nothing to be ashamed of.”
• “The real test is never the test. The real test is how you respond to the test.”
• “One of the measures of our life is the work we do.”
• “Sometimes people are the least human when they’re the most rational.”
• “It’s very hard to make amends to ourselves.”
• “Imagination has the power to change our lives, to save us.”
• “Beauty is something we possess; money is something we take out of our pockets at night.”
• “Reaching contentment is liking yourself.”
• “Discontentment sparks motivation.”
• “Fame is transient; it’s not as permanent as we used to think.”
• “We must half create what we have.”
• “Most of our golden moments are about 8 seconds.”
• “It is coming into contact with strange things that makes us grow in life.”
• “You should always buy commemorative stamps — it shows your care for detail.”
• “To all the important questions, we don’t have the answers. That’s life.”
• “Tragedy reminds us that the good is good enough to die for.”
• “We can laugh endlessly, but we can’t weep but for so long.”
• “We don’t know anything about death. The question is: how do we live?”

Brady took a break in her class notes to journal in March 2002 at age 17, “Dr. Miller makes me not want to leave Science and Math. His voice, his lessons, his wisdom — constantly reassuring. He always makes me feel good about life. The world would be a wonderful place if all its children had a little Dr. Miller to carry on in them.”

She reflected that “this note followed a quote of him saying, ‘Death becomes closer and closer as we go on – it becomes more personal,’” adding, “As it did for him — as it does for us all.”

Asked upon his retirement about his fame for reading “The Grinch” annually in Bryan Lobby, Miller said this: “The remarkable thing from my perspective is to see the students gathered; they look like they’re 17 going on 27 because, of course, everyone is dressed up. Then all of a sudden they are 17 going on 7, sitting on the floor listening to a story.”

Obituaries of Founding Faculty

Dr. Carl Stephen Davis

January 17, 1945 — August 3, 2024
Durham

Originally published by Hall Wynne funeral website.

Dr. Carl Stephen Davis (Steve), age 79, of Durham, NC, died peacefully on August 3, 2024, after a long battle with an autoimmune disease.

Steve was truly one of a kind. He had a sense of humor and gregarious personality that lifted up all who knew him. He was a sports enthusiast, avid golfer, had a passion for reading, classical music and the arts, and a strong desire to continuously learn new things.

Steve was born on January 17, 1945, in Glendale, CA, to Hugh L. Davis and Evelyn Cooper Davis. He grew up in Burbank, CA, graduating in 1963 from John Burroughs High School where he enjoyed playing baseball and met the love of his life, Nancy Davis. He went on to study mathematics at Occidental College in Los Angeles and earned his Ph.D. in mathematics from the University of Wisconsin in Madison.

Steve and Nancy married in 1968 and ultimately made Chapel Hill their home. Together, they shared many of the same passions and interests. They built a wonderful life together filled with so many accomplishments, joy and great memories.

Steve spent the majority of his career as an educator. He taught math at the University of Hawaii, Durham Academy, and the NC School of Science and Mathematics. He was passionate about education and his students and made a significant impact in the lives of so many he taught. He also spent seven years working at Digital Equipment Corporation as a software consultant.

Steve will be missed by his family and so many others that had the opportunity to know him.

Steve is survived by his wife of nearly 56 years, Nancy Davis, his brother Maynard Neil Davis, and his loving nieces and nephews and their families. He was predeceased by his parents, Hugh L. Davis and Evelyn Cooper Davis and by his brother, David Allen Davis.

In lieu of flowers, please consider donating to WCPE FM - the classical station of Raleigh, NC, Habitat for Humanity of Durham, or Habitat for Humanity of Orange County, all organizations that Steve felt strongly about. Include in memory of Steve Davis in your donation.

A memorial will be held on Saturday, September 28th, 2024, at 2pm in the chapel at Croasdaile Village, 2600 Croasdaile Farm Pkwy, Durham, NC 27705.

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John Alan Kolena Obituary

Originally published on the Clements Funeral Home website.

He was born on November 7, 1947 and raised in Lorain, Ohio, the eldest child of former Lorain Judge John Kolena and Eleanor Kolena. John was an early graduate from Lorain St. Mary’s High School. He received his college education at Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland, Ohio where he graduated with Bachelor’s degree in physics in 1968. John continued his education at Indiana University where he achieved a Master’s degree and a PhD degree.

From approximately 1980 until his retirement from teaching in 2013, he taught astronomy, astrophysics or physics at either Duke University and North Carolina School of Science and Mathematics (NSSM). John was a prolific writer. He wrote many articles and papers and maintained and produced content for web pages at NCSSM and Duke University on physics and astronomy topics. He made time to study and appreciate the beauty and wonder of lunar eclipses, constellations, and the cosmic system and occasionally conducted an impromptu group viewing on the roof of a Physics building.

John was always active volunteer and advocate in general political elections. His interests and hobbies included nature, hiking/walking, travel, sightseeing, climate change and museums His favorite destinations included France and England. But most of all, he loved to teach. He made a special impact on many of his students as an educator, motivator and mentor. He challenged them with unique experiments or complex problems which forced them to think in a logical way which they could apply in their professional careers and personal endeavors. While he was sometimes stubborn, he kept students intrigued with his dry wit, sarcasm and novelty while continually making them comprehend “cultural literacy”. He chaperoned many student field trips, some of which were to the state fair or a scientific competition. He liked to keep in touch with former students and wanted to keep them learning new concepts in their everyday life.

In all things, he carried his scientific and mathematic passion for accuracy and precision and often let students know of his thinking. But it was in some of his more unusual actions that his quirky sense of humor came out, from poking fun at himself, throwing chalk/erasers, to having students make a “I failed life today” button to wear to class. With somewhat purposeful eccentricity, he gave students scientific challenges, such as studying the acceleration of a rollercoaster while strapped in as a rider or sprinting stairwells to see who had the most horsepower.

John was always full of life and looking forward to the next challenge or adventure. He wanted all students to perform at their best and not waive the white flag. John was very appreciative for his interactions with his colleagues which helped make him a better teacher. Though John has passed, those who have had contact with him are better for having him in their life.

Mr. Kolena is survived by his brothers, David Kolena (Linda) of Bloomfield Hills, Michigan, Thomas Kolena (Patti) of Toledo, Ohio and sister, Beverly Kolena Abranovich (Eric) of West Middlesex, Pennsylvania and nephews and nieces, Jeff Kolena, Brian Kolena, Laura Kolena, Michael (Brittney) Kolena, Elizabeth Kolena, Matthew Kolena and grandniece, Emory. He had many friendships with colleagues and students at NCSSM.

No services are currently planned. The family is being assisted by Clements Funeral & Cremation Services, Inc. in Durham. Online condolences may be sent towww.clementsfuneralservice.com.

Memorial donations in memory of John Kolena may be made to the North Carolina School of Science and Mathematics.

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Jacqueline Meadows Dusenbury Obituary

Originally published in the Tribute Archive website.

Jacqueline Florance Meadows Dusenbury, a native of Greensboro passed away peacefully on May 15 2019, at her daughter's home after a 2 year illness. 

Surviving family members include her daughter Susan, her siblings Ann Huggins, Davetta Florance Bristow, David Florance III and Connye Madill, nieces and nephews, Edwin, Anita, Samantha, Emmanuel, Jamie, Nattale, Steffani, Derek and Darryl and several great nieces and nephews. 

The daughter of David and Rosetta Florance and the eldest of their five children, Jacqueline earned her degree in Social Science and History from Bennett College and a Master’s in Educational Administration. A proud Bennett Belle, Jacqueline rarely missed class reunions and alumnae weekends. She cherished the friendships that began while a student at Bennett College. 

She was an outstanding educator, recognized for her enthusiasm and creative teaching style. Jacqueline taught in Greensboro, N.C. School of Science and Math in Durham, Governor’s School, Bennett College, and also in Washington state. She enjoyed additional educational opportunities throughout her career including Harvard University, UNC Chapel Hill and Vanderbilt University. 

Jacqueline grew up in a musically talented family and was an accomplished organist and lover of Opera. Her favorite Opera was Eugene Onegin and she was quite pleased during a visit to her daughter’s, that her son-in-law’s first and only Opera experience (to date) was Eugene Onegin. 

Jacqueline lovingly referred to her only child as “her contribution to society”. She was a wonderful mother to her daughter Susan and they enjoyed traveling together, dining out, going to the Opera, watching Turner Classic Movies and engaging in much retail therapy (especially Nordstrom). 

She was an amazing lady who possessed intellect, grace, wisdom, beauty and courage. She was perceptive, direct and very honest even if it wasn’t what you wanted to hear. She was also hilarious and in her final days still managed to make us laugh. 

When her days were difficult, she found comfort in scriptures such as Isaiah 41:10 and John 5:28. Jacqueline appreciated all of the support from family and friends, especially during her illness. She also treasured those who helped her daughter care for her. 

She received many prayers, visits, cards, flowers and gifts. She was unable, due to her illness, to respond personally to all of these expressions of love, but deeply appreciated them all.

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Randolph Mitchell Foy

April 14, 1950 – May 23, 2018

Originally published in the Dignity Memorial website.

Dr. Randolph Foy (Randy) was teaching professor of music and conductor of the orchestras of North Carolina State University (NCSU) - The Raleigh Civic Symphony and the Raleigh Civic Chamber Orchestra. He held degrees from Oberlin Conservatory of Music and the University of Iowa in organ and keyboards, and a doctorate in conducting from Peabody Institute of Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore.

His teachers have included David Boe and Fenner Douglass in organ; Frederick Prausnitz in conducting; and John Spitzer in musicology. The title of Foy’s dissertation is “Textural Transformations: The Instrumental Music of Krzysztof Penderecki, 1960-73.”

Foy conducted in the Baltimore/Washington area, and has taught at the University of Richmond; the North Carolina School of the Arts; and the North Carolina School of Science and Mathematics, where he was a founding faculty member. For 29 summers, Foy taught and conducted at the North Carolina Governor’s School (NCGS) in Winston-Salem, a summer program for gifted high school students. The recipient of several awards from the school, the NC Department of Public Instruction Division of Exceptional Children, and the NCGS Alumni Association, in 2012 he worked to insure private and continued public funding for the important program.

Foy was awarded the City of Raleigh Medal of Arts for presenting a wide variety of concerts of unusual repertoire that enhance the cultural life of the community. He was inducted into the NCSU Academy of Outstanding Faculty Engaged in Extension (AOFEE).

Randy asked that in lieu of sending flowers, donations be made to: 1) The Governor’s School of North Carolina Alumni Foundation (http://www.ncgsfoundation.org/); 2) The North Carolina School of Science and Mathematics Alumni Foundation, Aldrich Music Endowment (https://www.ncssm.edu/support/ways-to-give/endowments#); or 3) The Raleigh Civic Symphony Association (www.raleighcivicsymphony.org).

He is survived by his wife, Dr. May Louise Bellamy; and his brother, John Maxwell Foy.

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Rufus Dalton Owens

November 24, 1943 – February 2, 2018

Originally published in the Dignity Memorial website

Rufus Dalton Owens was the son of the late Chalmus and Pearl Brown Owens and was born and raised in Pitt County, NC. Following a brief illness, he died on February 2, 2018 in Rex Hospital. Graduating from Rose High School he continued his love of science and entered East Carolina College earning a BS in Chemistry. He received a PhD in physical chemistry from Duke University in 1972. During a summer program at Duke, he met Carolyn Gostin. The following year they were married on June 10, 1972 and made their home in Raleigh.

Rufus was a high school chemistry teacher throughout his life. He taught at North Carolina School of Science and Math, Sanderson High School and at both Ligon and Broughton High Schools in addition to chemistry, he was the wrestling coach. As a young adult he developed an interest in woodworking and became very adept at crafting furniture. Rufus loved music and was a self-taught musician who mastered a keyboard instrument, the harmonica, and for several years enjoyed singing in the choir at The Church of the Good Shepherd of which he was a member.

Upon his retirement from teaching he volunteered at Shepherd’s Table Soup Kitchen and Meals on Wheels. Always a raconteur, Rufus enjoyed people and getting to know new people, especially new friends when Rufus and Carolyn moved from their long-time home to Springmoor in 2013.

Survivors include his wife Carolyn and their son Timothy Allen Owens (Patricia) of Fayetteville; sister, Grace Wilem of Knightdale and brother Wilbur Owens of Swansboro.

The funeral will be held on Sunday February 11th at 2 pm at the Church of the Good Shepherd, 121 Hillsborough Street.

In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to Church of the Good Shepherd 125 Hillsborough Street Raleigh, NC 27603; Shepherd’s Table Soup Kitchen 125 Hillsborough Street Raleigh, NC 27603; Springmoor Endowment Fund 1500 Sawmill Drive Raleigh, NC 27615.

Arrangements by Brown-Wynne Funeral Home, St. Mary's Street, Raleigh.

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Jon Charles Miller

Originally published on the Hall Wynne website

d. Oct. 8, 2017

Jon Charles Miller died quietly of leukemia at his Durham home on Sunday. He was seventy-three. 
A scholar and a teacher, he was a man of books, language, poetry, and music. He was gentle, patient, and kind. His courtesy was old-fashioned and came to him easily. 

Son of the late Mr. and Mrs. Charles S. Miller of Durham, Jon was born in Toledo, Iowa, while his father was in service overseas during World War II. Jon attended Durham public schools and graduated from Durham High School in 1961. He earned his bachelor's degree from Davidson College. 

After college, he served as an officer in the U. S. Army in Korea and at the Armor School at Fort Knox, Kentucky. After leaving the service, he earned a doctoral degree in English from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. 

Jon wanted nothing other than to be a teacher. It was his career for forty-six years. For more than eene years he taught in Durham schools. Later, he was part of the founding faculty at the North Carolina School of Science and Mathematics where he taught English for thirty-five years until his retirement in 2015. His annual reading of Dr. Seuss's How the Grinch Stole Christmas became a school tradition. 

His office door was always open. He delighted in his students' success at school and in their lives afterward. He maintained a voluminous correspondence with former students until very nearly the day he died. 

Jon possessed an unlimited curiosity and was an omnivorous reader; he loved books and readers. He worked for almost thirty years as a volunteer with the Friends of the Durham Library and twice was president of that organization. 

Jon loved back roads, small towns, and out-of-the-way places. He loved long road trips to Iowa and Maine, stopping at dusty bookshops and familiar dives and diners all along the way. 

Jon literally married the girl next door. He was married to Patricia Wilson Miller for fifty-two years. Their marriage cemented the firm bond between the Wilson and Miller families that has continued for three generations. 

Jon was pre-deceased by his daughter Amy and his sister Sue Harlow. He is survived by his wife Patricia, his brother Thomas R. Miller and wife Kimberly, his brother-in-law Walter G. Harlow, his sister-in-law Betty Dayton, his brother-in law Dr. Steve Wilson and wife Dianne, and also by nieces and nephews Doug Dayton, Chris Harlow, Robin Hulbert, William Harlow, Allison Wilson, and Charles Miller, and by a grand-niece Abbey Harlow and a grand-nephew Ryan Harlow. 

Jon lived a life surrounded by a family who loved and encouraged him, by interesting and generous colleagues, by students who often challenged him to be better, and by friends whose company gave him great joy, 

In lieu of flowers Jon's wish was that contributions be made to the donor's favorite charity.

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Rosemary Walsh Oates

Feb. 2, 1929 - Oct. 17, 2014

Originally published in the Cremation Society of the Carolinas website

Rosemary Walsh Oates passed away at Duke University Hospital on October 17, 2014, after a brief illness. 

A graduate of Albertus Magnus College and Yale University, she was passionate about intellectual pursuits, education and social justice. A life-long educator and educational administrator, she resided in Durham for almost 50 years. 

Rosemary was born February 2, 1929, in Danbury, Connecticut, to Gerald Augustus Walsh and Mary Gihuly Walsh. Living through the Great Depression and losing her father when she was young, she experienced the challenge of growing up in tough times and learned to cherish the importance of education. She remembered the whole family reading Shakespeare together in the evenings, which reflects her lifelong passion for reading. She also spoke of historical moments in her past, such as seeing President Franklin Roosevelt driven along the Post Road or watching the Hindenburg sail by overhead. 

Due to her intelligence and hard work, Rosemary was able to attend Albertus Magnus in New Haven, Connecticut, and graduated with a bachelor's degree in Latin in 1951. Following her college graduation, she embarked on a series of adventures, living and working in New York City for a time and crossing the continental United States by train. 

She returned to New Haven to teach Latin at the Foote School. While earning her master's degree in Classics at Yale, she met John Francis Oates, who was also attending Yale (legend has it they met the Classics Library in Phelps Hall). John and Rosemary were married in Athens, Greece, in June of 1957, and the couple had four children between 1958 and 1963. 

Rosemary, like so many of the best of her generation, was imbued with a passion for social justice and service to others. She returned to work in the mid 1960s as a teacher at one of the first high school programs for pregnant schoolgirls, who at the time were not allowed to attend regular schools. She continued this work when John and she moved to Durham in 1967 when John accepted a faculty position at Duke University. For many years she worked with pregnant youth at the Cooperative School in Durham, N.C. 

Rosemary also was active in civil rights activities in the 1960s, working with the local Democratic Party and serving as Triangle area campaign manager for Wilbur Hobby when he ran for governor in 1972. She was active in many church activities and offices over the years at St Luke's Episcopal Church. Later in life, she volunteered for over 20 years at the One World Market on Ninth Street and was an active officer in the Duke Hospital Auxiliary. 

Rosemary also continued to work until she was in her 80s. She left the Cooperative School, where she had taught history and English, to teach Latin part time at the fledgling North Carolina School of Science and Mathematics and was one of the original faculty members there. Her talents were soon recognized and she began filling in a number of administrative roles and eventually became the registrar for the school. She delighted in the bright and inquisitive minds at the school, as well as its purpose in providing excellence in public education in the state. 

For many years beginning in the 1980s and ending just a few years ago, she worked for the Duke admissions office as a reader. 

Rosemary passed on her love of knowledge and respect for the benefits of education to her children and grandchildren. She was always thrilled when someone received a post-graduate degree, as eventually all of her children did. 

She is survived by Elizabeth Woods Oates, MD and spouse John Shin, MD, Emily Oates Wingfield and spouse Alan Wingfield, John Francis Oates Jr. and spouse Mary Ruffin Hanbury, and Sarah Ann Oates and spouse David Cross. She is also survived by seven grandchildren: Catherine and Alexandra Shin, Julia and Henry Wingfield, John Francis Oates III, and Laura and Emma Cross, as well as many cousins, nephews and nieces. 

She was predeceased by her husband of 49 years, John Francis Oates, her sister Alice Walsh Zanzal and her brother Theodore Walsh. 

A memorial service will be 2 p.m. Saturday, November 1, at St. Luke's Episcopal Church, 1737 Hillandale Road, Durham, NC 27705. A reception will follow at the home of John Oates Jr. in Raleigh. 

In lieu of flowers, memorials may be made to a charity of your choice.

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