Farewell to the Oddens Farewell to the Oddens - The Taft School

INFLUENCE AND IDEALS
Patsy with Jill Bermingham ’82, just one
of the many long friendships Lance and
Patsy form with parents and advisees.
Lance Odden, in his second year as head,
escorted retiring math chairman Ed Douglas
to an alumni gathering in Detroit in 1974.
As a young faculty member at
Kingswood Oxford School, I first knew
Lance Odden as a remarkably animated
coach observed across fields
and ice rinks. I was delighted when,
at an impossibly early age, Lance was
named head of The Taft School. Over
the last twenty years, no one who has
ever engaged Lance in discussion of
academic or ethical values has
emerged without a sense of the intensity
with which he holds his
convictions. The leadership he has
demonstrated has energized his colleague
school heads as well as his
faculty and students.
—Ty Tingley
headmaster, Phillips Exeter Academy
A Canoe Trip with Mr. Odden
Late one spring, about thirty years ago, Lance took my seven-year-old son and
me up the White River between New Hampshire and Vermont. His canoe, a
veteran of rougher trips, was happy just to be out of the garage. While he and I
stroked the flat water, Clay sat like a chief on the gear. He liked the way our
paddle swirls came up to the gunnels in places and no farther. I liked the warm
brightness under our chins. But by the time the sun had left the mountaintops,
I had had enough of the silence and the river. Of course, Lance and Clay could
have followed the river all the way to its source. They were wilderness men.
In near-darkness we pitched the tent on Bear Island as planned, then built
a fire. (I’ll never forget the first beer.) Clay loved the way we cooked the “chow”
and quickly ate it, talking like trappers around the hot coals. Before long it was
sack time. But Clay wouldn’t close his eyes. He kept asking Lance about bears.
After Lance rebuilt the fire, Clay was out in minutes.
The morning came fast through the trees. The sky was as blue as the underpart
of a flame. I made the coffee; Lance fried the hash, then topped it with eggs
kept whole in a jar. The coffee was strong enough to clean a rifle with, but the
heat went down nicely. Soon, with nothing left to see on the island, we broke
camp and shoved off.
A mile or so downriver I felt Clay behind me twisting back and forth.
“Hey, Dad...Mr. Odden,” Clay whispered hard. “Indians!”
“How many?” I said, stroking through some kind of reverie. Lance was
busy in the stern, trying to keep us off the rocks. We hadn’t seen a living thing
for two days, except birds and fish.
“They’re getting closer,” Clay insisted.
When he wouldn’t give up, I brought my paddle in and corkscrewed around.
“Hey, Lance. Take a look.”
Lance smiled back, then glared, as this war canoe overtook us. The braves,
all painted up, began whooping and waving many paddles. But their canoe, a
shiny helmet green with white lettering, gave them away.
It must have been tough for a Princetonian to wave back to the Dartmouth
Outing Club.
—B.G.J.
I was asked recently to explain our
community to someone unfamiliar with
independent schools—what they
stood for, their value, relevance, direction,
and future. I decided that the best
reply was to describe the head of one
of our members who epitomizes what
we are all about: Lance Odden.
—Jefferson G. Burnett
director of government relations, NAIS
Lance knew kids and he knew schools.
He trusted young teachers with responsibility
unheard of in peer
institutions. He made us believe in
Taft’s mission to serve students. It was
an exciting time and place to live. Everywhere
there was a sense of purpose
and vitality. He mentored a whole generation
of teachers and headmasters
(and one headmaster’s wife). All of us
have been shaped by his example and
deeply influenced by his vision of education.
Always there is a sense of
following in his long shadow.
—Monie T. Hardwick
Taft faculty 1977–89
Taft Bulletin 19