As a Bowdoin student I never expected to befriend an alumnus from the Class of 1937. For starters, I was focused on creating friendships with students from the Class of 2012. Then I left the McKeen Center one afternoon in the fall of 2009 with a name and phone number. An elderly couple wished for a Bowdoin student to come to their home and just…talk.
The first afternoon I visited Norman Seagrave and his wife, Mary, I awkwardly navigated the lobby and hallways of Thornton Oaks, perhaps postponing the initial interaction with a member of Bowdoin’s old guard. The retirement home felt hot. Women with walkers and men with canes greeted me with, what I thought, were curious glances.
I knocked on Norman’s door and waited for the hello. First impressions, despite their importance, are not my specialty. I shifted my feet and hoped first impressions were the Seagraves’ specialty. Mary opened the door and motioned me into their apartment. They sat me down, offered me drink and food, and immediately ushered me into their lives.
“Now, I don’t know about you, but we’re Democrats,” Norm stated right off the bat. They were also what my family would call well-heeled. Here I was, a 20-year-old from the sticks of New Hampshire, now expected to discuss current events and read aloud articles from the Harvard Law Review. My worn corduroy pants and grass-stained shoes suddenly felt improper. I feared, but maybe hoped, that they would recognize the unqualified candidate they welcomed across their threshold and request a different Bowdoin student.
No luck. Instead, Norm and Mary were incredibly patient with me. They never minded my stumbling over legal jargon Law and Order had somehow omitted. They pronounced words I could easily gloss over in a professor’s assigned reading. Here, I had a captive audience, there was no escaping. Every Friday afternoon I would bike back to campus from Thornton Oaks and scribble down the vocabulary and literary references they used. Bowdoin classes are rigorous, but interacting with a couple who amplified their college learning with decades of living abroad, attending law school and reading erudite publications was a whole new ballgame.
Norm and Mary always wanted to hear about my life at the College, and I in turn became fascinated with their lives. I learned about their four daughters, their affinity for Mary’s ancestral summer home on Cliff Island, and Norm’s inspiring swimming regimen (even in his mid-90s, Norm tried to swim three times a week). As the years passed, I left their apartment feeling increasingly educated, further edified and more fortunate than ever that Bowdoin’s bubble extended well beyond College Street.
Two distinct memories stand out when I think about Norm. One year into our Friday meetings, Norm and I took a walk outside. His steps were as deliberate as the conversation’s message: Mary was the absolute best part of his life. Norm told me that I would do well in life to find someone who was a fraction of the caliber of Mary. I was to surround myself with someone who was better than me. Even if that person happens to graduate Swarthmore, he jested.
Shortly thereafter Norm invited me to one of his swim meets. I sat with Mary as anticipation mounted for Norm’s 95-year-old frame to enter Greason Pool. When the buzzer went off, Norm slid into the water and began his favorite backstroke. He was slow. In fact, I looked to Mary for some assurance that he wouldn’t start sinking to the bottom of the pool. How could someone stay afloat while practically crawling across the water’s surface?
I foolishly expected Norm to crush his competition; after all, he had so much experience. It took some time for me to comprehend the reality of the situation. The audience was not cheering for Norm because of his speed, they were cheering for him because of his love for swimming. In every shouted form of encouragement were the audible sounds of wonder and the quieter prayers that we, too, would be able to follow our passions until the age of 95.
The fall of my senior year, the Seagraves moved to Sante Fe in order to live near one of their daughters. My correspondence became limited to occasional letters and phone calls. Last spring, I received a phone call from their daughter informing me that Mary had passed away. I knew that Norm would not be far behind, and indeed, on August 24, 2013, he joined his wife in a land where I can only hope the ocean swims are warmer and the commencement processions involve less walking.
My afternoons with the Seagraves taught me the power of generosity and the value of bridging generational divides. If I can wish anything upon present Bowdoin students, it is that they find a relationship as meaningful and serendipitous as the one the Seagraves shared with me.
Andrew Cushing is Bowdoin’s Sustainability Outreach Assistant and is a member of the Class of 2012.