Still Purple After All These Years

When Morty Schapiro announced he’d be leaving Williams after nine years as president — and a total of 20 as an economics professor — good wishes and remembrances flooded in from every corner of Ephdom. There were also more than a few jokes about the weather (worse than Williamstown’s) and school colors (still purple) at his new gig as president of Northwestern University. With his departure for Illinois on the horizon, we asked members of the Williams community to share their own stories about Morty.

Alexandra Roth ’08

My senior fall, I was lucky enough to nab one of the six spots in Morty’s tutorial “The Strange Economics of College.” During discussions — often of his own work — Morty would stop one of us and say, “Sure, that’s my argument, but

isn’t there a chance that I’m wrong?”

Questioning each other’s ideas was a two-way street, and the product of that openness was a challenging tutorial that I remember for its vibrant discussions and comfortable atmosphere.

What added even further to our class — and what certainly isn’t captured in a course catalog — was Morty’s easy sense of humor. He poked fun at himself as often as he did at anyone else, and he pushed us to think seriously and engage in debate, but not to take ourselves too seriously.

The Rev. Rick Spalding

chaplain to the College and
coordinator of community service

One of the first things that struck me about Williams as I arrived in the summer of 2000 was the remarkable collection of sacred spaces that dot our campus. Before long I began to think we should consider another site a part of that collection: 936 Main Street [President’s House].

It quickly became clear that the Schapiros’ annual invitation to the extended family of the Jewish community into their home to break the Yom Kippur fast would be just one of countless occasions of hospitality we’ve all come to associate with that house — and with Morty’s and Mimi’s embrace of the extended family of Williams itself. But when, in December of 2001, Muslims at Williams marked their first Ramadan fast since the catastrophe of 9/11, the Schapiros hosted not just an iftar (the joyful meal that comes at the end of each day of the month of daylight fasting) but also the maghrib, the evening prayer.

Since that evening, religious communities that had to wait a century or more to be welcomed into the Williams family have feasted on the bounty of the Schapiros’ soul-warming hospitality. We’ve almost, but not quite, come to take for granted the sense of welcome that Morty and Mimi embody.

But I think

the image of Muslim prayer rugs
spread out in the president’s house

— in the family room of a Jewish home — deserves to be remembered as a giant step that Williams took, following the lead of a faithful servant of this institution, into a very new century.

Sura Tilakawardane ’07

I have seen firsthand Morty actively listening to students on many different occasions. During College Council meetings, he would call out students by name and knew at least one activity each was involved in. While sitting on the floor of my entry with some freshmen during Sunday snacks, he listened to their suggestions on how to improve college initiatives. In his tutorial, when we were presenting our papers that he seemed ever so interested in,

he would always ask us our opinion,
even on research that he is an expert in.

Jeremy Goldstein ’09

Last fall the president sent a message to students about the financial crisis’ toll on Williams’ endowment. The next day, my College Council co-president, Peter Nurnberg ’09, and I decided the issue warranted a town-hall meeting in which students could ask questions about the College’s financial situation. We e-mailed President Schapiro at 11 p.m. asking if he would lead one. He responded within a half hour saying he would.

At the meeting, not only was he willing to go off script and take questions on a difficult topic, but

he was able to reduce the complicated
economics of college financing
to a 15-minute explanation
that was clear, informative
and surprisingly entertaining.

A friend on the school newspaper warned me that President Schapiro would never share the exact amount the endowment had shrunk with students — let alone with an entire assembly of them. He was wrong. The president gave its current size without a flinch and mollified concerns about how the College would respond. Without a doubt students left that meeting considerably calmer and more assured than when they came.

Arthur L. Lafave

former Williams custodian and
longtime owner of the B&L Service Station

I first met Morty in 1980, when he came to teach at Williams. He and his family settled into a home on Prospect Street, which placed them as our new “back door” neighbors. They proved to be very friendly and cordial, and we were sorry to see them leave the area in 1991 for bigger and better things in California.

In 2000, when I sold my business on Spring Street and my wife planned an open house to thank our customers,

lo and behold there he was
on his very first day as president,

with other Williams presidents, to pay his respects, wish us well and express how sorry he was to see the business close.

When I joined the College buildings and grounds crew, I decided to make an appointment with him right away to solve a problem that I felt he might be able help me with. His secretary informed me he was leaving town for a week and was probably too busy, but she would give him the message and get back to me. I got a 15-minute appointment with him the next day. He and I ended up talking for an hour — with me answering many questions about his old neighborhood. I told him I ought to leave because I was only to have 15 minutes. He said, “Art, we don’t take the time to just talk, and I enjoy it, so do not worry about it.”

Typical Morty.

Adam Grogg ’04

Walking into President Schapiro’s office the first day of my last semester at Williams, I wasn’t sure what to expect from my tutorial with him on the economics of higher education. Prior coursework had posited colleges as key to opportunity. How, though, to maximize their social value with effective admissions, financial aid, curricular, and community policies? We were slated to address such big issues with an expert who also had the chance to put his views into practice. But Williams was a privileged place: would we critique its role?

would we criticize Schapiro’s decisions?

I’d taken a class from Schapiro once before. During our mutual first years — he returned to Williams when I started there — Schapiro taught the large Econ 101 lecture in Bronfman Auditorium. He relied on examples from the higher education context frequently, to our delight. Williams was a “firm” we knew, or were getting to know, and the insider’s perspective was exciting. I particularly remember a class in which we discussed Williams’ decision the year before to freeze tuition. In an open discussion, he acknowledged that higher education was too expensive, but worried whether the College shouldn’t focus its resources on financial aid rather than giving everyone, including those who didn’t need it, a break.

Imagine exploring that issue in Schapiro’s Hopkins Hall office, among four — three students and the College’s president — proceeding as colleagues. It was exhilarating. Granted, we ribbed Schapiro for only assigning his own writings — okay, some articles were co-authored — but our discussions moved seamlessly between the general and the specific-to-Williams, the theoretical and the practical. We quickly grew comfortable questioning Schapiro’s arguments and, yes, even his policies. Indeed, he encouraged our criticisms, although no one who knows him will be surprised to hear that he defended his viewpoints vigorously. The debates were fun, and

our studies were informed
by the more private deliberations
behind Schapiro’s public decisions.

The latter were announced with an open attitude but a firm resolve; the former, then, were surprisingly far-ranging. Schapiro retained his academic curiosity even while exercising executive authority. The College will miss his considered leadership.

Skip Martin ’58

Morty is very special to me for all sorts of reasons. Most involve serious and constructive things for Williams and for those of us who love Williams — reaching out to the parents of a Williams girl who was killed in the World Trade Center attack being the most memorable.

However, this story is the one I choose to remember him best, because it is serious, with a touch of Morty’s unique humor. It involves the great tradition of athletics at Williams, which I believe should continue and prosper. I was not present, but it was reliably reported to me by a close friend of mine and Morty who was there.

A distinguished alumnus returned to the campus to receive an honorary degree early on in Morty’s presidency. They were old friends from their faculty days in the eighties and early nineties. The recipient good naturedly questioned his friend on the continued dominance of Williams athletic teams. Hadn’t Williams won enough championships? How many Directors Cups did they need? Didn’t he think it unseemly for such a well-recognized academic institution to win some eighty per cent of the athletic contests it entered? Morty thought for a few minutes and replied, ”Steve, you make an excellent point. I should be concerned, but after all I guess

we can’t win them all.”

Drew Newman ’04

When I entered Williams as a freshman, I expected the new Williams president to be some ancient, pipe-puffing scholar who contemplated abstract theories of the world in an ivory tower and was detached from the everyday lives of the student body. Much to my amazement, I quickly discovered that Morty Schapiro was the complete opposite.

It seemed that barely a day passed that Morty and Mimi did not open up their dining room table to legions of students. Each semester, Morty invited all of the students in his classes to his home for dinner. On other nights, he welcomed JAs, leaders of campus activities, a cappella groups, athletic teams, religious organizations — and even random students that he would meet at the Baxter Snack Bar. He hosted students who wanted to watch basketball games on his satellite TV. On Thanksgiving, Morty and Mimi invited the international students who remained on campus to join their family for a traditional turkey dinner.

Morty did more than just open his home to Williams students;

he also opened his heart.

He was fixture on the sidelines of athletic fields. Whether it was women’s soccer, men’s tennis, football, basketball, or one of the other dozen sports on campus, Morty was always there, cheering (and probably worrying) about his teams and his students. He could be found chatting with students late at night in Goodrich Hall, listening to an a cappella performance in the Dodd Living Room, or watching a dance production in the Adams Memorial Theater. He was always very accessible to Williams students. Morty would quickly reply to e-mails and was happy to meet with students.

Morty’s actions also sent a message to the entire Williams community reaffirming that academics were the College’s top priority. Despite the time-consuming task of running Williams, Morty made it clear that teaching was his most important job. He purposely chose to teach his Econ 101 course in the largest classroom on campus in order to accommodate every student who wanted to enroll. Each week, Morty cleared large blocks of time from his schedule to conduct intensive tutorials on the economics of higher education. Morty was so engaged with our tutorials that he would frequently run over our allotted time.

As a student, it seemed that Morty was everywhere — genuinely engaged and interested in the lives of Williams students. His involvement made a significant, positive impact on all of us and set an example for how college presidents should be involved in the lives of their students. He will be greatly missed and I sincerely hope that the 17th president of Williams College will build on Morty’s

great legacy of student engagement.

Abigail Wattley ’05

When I walked into President Schapiro’s office for a tutorial my senior year, little did I know that the next four months would be one of the most defining and pivotal moments of my time at Williams. His probing questions truly challenged me, his thoughtful comments on my writing enriched me, and his interest in my entire experience at Williams was refreshing. He had a flawless memory for the results of my crew race from the weekend before, and he was always eager to know how it was going to go the coming weekend. He valued the education of the whole person, as he encouraged my academic and athletic pursuits with equal enthusiasm. His passion about his subject matter, the economics of higher education, was so infectious that I sought out opportunities after graduation to work in the college endowment investment industry. What I most remember is that during those afternoons in his office it felt as if there was nothing more important to Morty than the paper in front of us and what the four of us were going to learn. And in that way,

Will Dudley ’89

philosophy professor

People reveal a lot about themselves on the golf course, and Morty Schapiro is no exception. The first time we played together, he greeted me with a broad smile and happily announced: ”I’m terrible at skiing, but

I’m much worse at golf.”

Morty played with determination, but the ball stubbornly refused to bounce his way. Nonetheless, his spirits remained high throughout the round, and on the 18th tee he declared, with firm resolve: “I’m getting it done.” Before I could ask what he planned to accomplish, he answered my question: “I haven’t made a par yet. I’m making a par.” He promptly launched his best drive of the day and strode down the fairway as if the U.S. Open were at stake. His second shot left him with a chance, but a wayward third dashed the dream. Disappointed but undeterred, Morty insisted,

“Let’s play again next week!”

A few days later, I saw him taking a lesson from the pro, and afterward I congratulated him for getting advice on his game. “Oh,” Morty replied, “I won’t be doing that again.” “Why not?” I asked. “Because I don’t like being told what to do!”

And he burst into laughter.

Morty the golfer is a lot like Morton Owen Schapiro, president of Williams College: focused, optimistic, resilient, proud, enthusiastic, independent and quick with a laugh at his own expense.

Rachel Ko ’09

Having Morty as our president really means having the entire Schapiro family as part of our Williams experience. As Morty and Mimi open up their house to the College community, whether through hosting dinners or Halloween trick or treat, we have the privilege of getting to know his family and playing with their dog Cha Cha.

Their hospitality has a trickle-down effect that has made Williams
a more open environment.

Another thing that I love about Morty is how real he is. Perhaps that is why we feel at ease calling him “Morty.” When he agreed to speak at Story Time last fall, he opened up to us. When I accidentally arrived late to my first day of class with him, he did not hesitate to send evil stares my way and poke fun at me for the rest of the semester. And yet when someone made a good argument in class, he also let that person know immediately and encouraged more. When I approached him with College-wide or personal concerns, he always responded with compassion and a great deal of faith and support.

K. Scott Wong

history professor

Although I was already tenured when Morty was brought on as President of the College, I grew into being ”a tenured professor” during his time here. His sense of commitment to the College while maintaining his sense of self was an example that I absorbed through my professional and personal interactions with him.

While I was chair of the Faculty Steering Committee, we would meet once a month to set the agenda for the upcoming faculty meeting. Once the business of the meeting was out of the way, he always took the time to ask what else I was doing, how my family was, and then we chatted about any number of things such as iPods, Bob Dylan, and growing up in New Jersey.

Morty also went out his way to invite a large group of Asian American faculty, staff, and students to his house for dinner to celebrate the Lunar Year. Asian Americans often feel overlooked on this campus, but those dinners were a nice way to let us know that we were indeed appreciated.

But nothing exemplifies Morty’s moral character and wit better than his response to calls from some alums, who in the wake of the events of 9/11 insisted that Williams stop accepting foreign students. He said to me “Scott,

they don’t pay me enough
to listen these people.”

Sergio Espinoza ’02

A classmate and I were in President Schapiro’s office for a Williams Record interview. At the conclusion of the interview, I remember asking, “Mr. President, how do you feel about Krispy Kreme?” At the mention of the donut chain, Morty looked straight at us and said,

“Kripsy Kreme will kill you!
In-N-Out will inspire you.”

Which begs the question — why hasn’t In-N-Out (a California-based burger chain) come to campus yet?

Stacy ’81 & Eric ’82 Cochran

It’s flat on a hillside in Williamstown, staring up at the Perseids with the kids all around. That’s a favorite image. We all know Morty at the front of a room. But on this night he was in the audience, and the show was in the night sky over Poker Flats.

We went first to Cole Field and that was a mistake. It was mid-August 2007, the night of the greatest Perseid meteor shower since 1972. We flopped down on our backs and looked up at a murky view. A fog was rolling in just as we arrived and we found ourselves under a billowing layer of mist, like a bunch of convicts from Dickens.

Then came the bats.

Let’s get the hell out of here was the immediate consensus.

We headed for higher ground, a grassy patch at the top of a hill, and spread out in an imperfect line, everybody looking up. A fabulous and enormous light had shot across the entire sky as we had trudged up the hill, and we waited for more like that one.

And in those increasing yawns of time between heavenly incident, we became just as interested in the flight path overhead. Rachel, who was 7, called out to the airplanes in the night: “Come back, you forgot your toothbrush!” “Come back, you forgot your sister!”

And that is Morty and Mimi too, holding hands on the wet grass, waiting for comet dust out in space, shouting up to distant passengers, and everybody yelling for their dog ChaCha as she considered wandering off. We’ll think of that time, that summer night, of

having re-arranged ourselves
higher than the fog,

whenever we look up and see the light of small planes traveling between the stars.

Scott Lewis

director of the Outing Club

One of the first times I was able to spend some quality time with Morty, was during his initial year as President of Williams. I had invited his family to join me, my wife Bernice, and some friends on a day canoe adventure on Somerset reservoir in Vermont.

At that time, getting on his schedule was not a Herculean feat! He agreed eagerly, and brought his daughter Alissa.

When we arrived at the water’s edge, it occurred to me, that Morty might not have paddled before. I inquired, and with full confidence he said, ”No, not really, but

I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it!”

With that reply, I would have normally put someone a little more experienced in the boat — especially on a windy lake. However, his confidence was so convincing, and he was the college president, and I was his “underling” — I decided to ignore my intuitions and GO with the flow, so to speak!

If memory serves, we set out on a three-hour tour … a three-hour tour. The weather started getting rough … the tiny ship was tossed … if not for Morty’s courage … he seemed to have walked on water as he ran or swam to rescue all the other flipped canoes and paddlers, bringing them and all the gear safely ashore. Much money was later raised to hire rescuers to bring us all back to campus.

Afterwards, Morty shrugged his shoulders on his shivering body. With a broad smile, he confided in my wife that he liked Vegas better, but that he’d had fun.

We’re not sure if we have all the details correct, but that’s how Bernice and I remember it.

I never did get him “out” again over the years, but I did often run into him on the ski slopes, and once I got him to a party at Hopkins Forest. However, Morty has always been a great supporter of The Williams Outing Club. His “bell ringing” proclamation of Mountain Day, which cancels classes and starts a day of celebration of place and community, has always set Williams College apart and made that day a very special time for the whole campus.

I will sincerely miss Morty, his wonderful enthusiasm, genuine support and his inspiring leadership.

Our best wishes to him and his family in their new Midwestern home.

Phil Swisher ’01

Morty has an enormous passion for and knowledge of Williams athletics. If someone were to overhear Morty on the sidelines of an athletic event, they would think that he is a very involved parent of an athlete.

My favorite memory with Morty was a trip to track nationals in 2003, at St. Lawrence, which is just about in southern Canada. We drove the six hours from campus and spent two days cheering in the pouring rain. At a dinner with the Williams contingent, parents were amazed that Morty would travel so far and spend the entire weekend at a track meet. Morty spent most of the dinner speaking with the athletes

all of whom he knew personally,

congratulating them on their performance and wishing them well in the finals the next day. On the last day, we witnessed Ephs win national championships and Morty do Directors Cup point math in his head, as he had the standings and point totals memorized.

John Barrett

mayor of North Adams

My first real understanding of who Morty Schapiro was as a person was at his inauguration in September 2000. I will never forget his words and the spirit he invoked to those gathered in Chapin Hall. He encouraged all in attendance to seize the moment, as it was an opportunity to move the College and community forward. Morty seized that moment and every moment for the next nine years as he opened the doors of Williams to the entire Northern Berkshire community.

His fingerprints are on so many great things

that have happened in my city of North Adams.

Peter Murphy

chair and professor of English

It was midsummer; the sun hot in the sky, a perfect July day. My son was going to camp, and so was Morty’s. They were born a month or so apart. Their moms had bonded over the exhaustions of babyhood; the boys had been friends their whole lives. What could be more innocent fun, piling in Mort’s car and taking them to camp?

Here is the lesson:

the Mort Effect is a Powerful Effect,

and it turns out the Mort Effect is amplified to positively overwhelming levels if it is encountered in an enclosed space.

The trip over there, about an hour and a half, was just a warm-up.

On the way back, Mort stealthily advanced his secret agenda. “Gee,” he said, “I was talking with our mutual friend Nancy Roseman the other day about the possibility of teaching a class together. Kind of a neat idea! It would be about society and disease.” What did I think of that?

“Oh,” I said, not really focusing. “Sounds great! A lot of work, though … ”

“Well,” Mort said, his voice getting that special Tone, his eyes developing that special Glint, “would you like to get involved?”

The rest of the trip is a blur. Suffice it to say that when we arrived back in Williamstown I was not only team-teaching a class called “Culture, Society and Disease” with the president and the dean of the College, but I had also — and I swear I have no idea how this part happened — volunteered to be secretary to the faculty, a position which is way less impressive than it sounds.

The Mort Effect! That’s how all this great stuff happened at the College over the last nine years.

It’s irresistible.

Morty personified what he loved most about Williams:
the power of a professor at one end of a log and a student at the other.

See the original story that ran in the June 2009 Williams Alumni Review
Williams College, Williamstown, Massachusetts