Where Are They Now? Janet Youngholm, Director of Athletics, history teacher, rowing coach, dorm head, 1979-1989

It’s hard to believe I left Groton almost three decades ago—1989 to be exact. I spent the next twenty-one years teaching history at a couple schools in the Boston area, Rivers and Winsor. I served in several administrative positions at each. I must admit I found myself most happy and engaged in the classroom, although the opportunities presented to me to design curricula and to mentor younger teachers inspired me as well.

Today I live in Casper, Wyoming—a place that became dear to my heart over four decades ago. I feel blessed to live here in the Rocky Mountain west where, truly, the deer and the antelope roam. I met my spouse of thirty-seven-plus years, Kathy Davis, here, and we’re fortunate enough to be able to retire in her hometown and, at this stage of our lives, help with the care of her parents.

The dry, crisp air of central Wyoming seems to suit me and energize me. I resumed running in 2013 after a long hiatus due to back problems (incurred mostly due to commuting five hours a day to Boston from southern New Hampshire). Now I enjoy running half-marathons on occasion with my "baby" sister, who lives in Missoula, a mere ten-hour drive from Casper. Biking and fishing and golfing, the latter two which I do poorly and passionately, keep me active and mostly out of trouble.

I volunteer with hospice and with a local nonprofit, Wyoming Food for Thought Project; the latter feeds school kids whose only reliable food source is available when school is in session. So we pack bags for over five hundred students so they can eat on weekends and vacations. Inspired by Food for Thought's efforts to promote community engagement in developing healthy and sustainable food sources, a friend of mine and I formed a 501c3 whose mission is to enhance an underserved city park in a mixed-use neighborhood of Casper. I'm learning a lot about gardening, playground design, landscaping, and neighborhood resources, and I enjoy meeting with city folks who share our desire to improve this little corner of land for the kids, families, and businesses in the neighborhood.

When I arrived at Groton in the spring of 1979—a raw teacher with one year of experience—I was excited by the opportunities [former Headmaster] Bill Polk offered me. I have so many fond memories of my ten years there—the intensity of relationships with students and colleagues invigorated me. I remain deeply moved by the trust placed in me by students' parents and students, by Bill Polk and colleagues.

When I think back on Groton my memories turn to the incredible people I met there—I knew virtually nothing about teaching or history and drew on the uncommonly generous support of John Tyler, Roggie (David Rogerson), Jake Congleton, and Warden Dilworth. Joan Holden, the only other woman in the department at that time, demonstrated savvy, honesty, strength, and wicked humor. I treasure having shared some early days of coeducation at Groton with her. We had a rowdy group of young’uns during my tenure, just ask Andy Anderson for confirmation. We all helped each other during Saturday night dorm duty responsibilities and still found time to head over to the Wagon Wheel for sustenance from time to time. We worked and played hard. I couldn’t imagine a better place to learn and grow as a teacher. My hearty thanks to all who supported me and helped launch my professional career in private school education.

The Stolen Car Caper: One memory I recall involves my first and beloved car—a 1972 red VW bug named Bette (for Bette Midler, of course). It occurred in my first year, 1979–80. I ran a dorm in Hundred House and parked my baby car behind it, between Sackett's Dorm and mine. One morning, I think it was in the spring, I went out early to walk Jenny, my dog, and to my horror, my car wasn't there. Now this occurred in the days when it just might have been possible that I "forgot" where I parked my car. I wracked my brain wondering where it could be, my stomach in a vise and my heart racing. No, it must be STOLEN! I think I called Ann Tottenham or maybe Jake or maybe both to report the disaster. Whoever it was pledged to follow up and asked, could I hold off on calling the police. Well, very soon I received a call inquiring whether I indeed owned a red VW bug.

"Yes, I do!"

"Ahhh, I think we've located it and there's no need to involve the police."

"Ok. Why not? Where’s my car? Is she ok?!"

"It's in the Schoolhouse . . ."

I think I might have uttered some expletives at that point. Next to my dog, my car was all I had. Some very clever and resourceful seniors decided to use their considerable talents and execute a great prank: to take my car and put it in the Schoolhouse before classes began. Unable to recall that in my high school days I'd committed a few pranks at least commensurate with theirs, I was adamant that it was NOT a prank—it was a criminal act. Lacking all perspective and even an ounce of humor at the time, I think I kept insisting that my car had been stolen and the nefarious culprits needed to have the book thrown at them. The police had to be called! It took hours if not days to calm me down, and I'm pretty sure I was not gracious to the culprits, er, students when they apologized. So let me use this venue to shout out a hearty "well done" to all involved. I’d like to think I’ve lightened up a bit since then, but who am I to say?

The invasion of technology! Perhaps a few will recall, likely with an involuntary visceral response, the first time we teachers were told we couldn't handwrite, in triplicate no less, our term comments. I think we threatened a mutiny and uttered aloud and to ourselves profanities not heard since. I have vague memories of having to punch cards or some such dastardly act that threw me, for one, into panicked griping. Please remember that these were the days of mimeograph machines—though "copiers," as we called them at the time, came in during my Groton tenure, ushering in more anxious coffee drinking and handwringing in the faculty room.

Fast forward thirty years and I am so grateful for (almost) all the advances in computer technology and cyber communication. Doing historical research is vastly different in the twenty-first century than in the late twentieth. I was fortunate to be able to end my career as an educator by getting my MA in history from the University of Wyoming in 2012. Primary documents at my fingertips while I sat in my apartment in Laramie complemented on-site research and trips to multiple archival collections from Iowa to Washington, D.C. Currently I give great thanks for all the technologies that allow me to maintain intimate connection with my beloved Boston professional sports teams. It has not been easy being geographically distant from Patriot Nation, especially during the trials and tribulations of Deflategate. And, no, folks out here in Broncos land do not understand the Ideal Gas Law. I still live and die with the Sox, especially in their post-Papi incarnation.

I hope it's not profane for this recovering Methodist, non-Christian to take this moment to say that one of the lasting and fond memories I cherish from Groton is morning chapel. I treasured the time carved out for quiet reflection before the busyness of the day. I’m grateful for the honest, funny, and poignant chapel talks generously shared that invariably gave me something to treasure and ponder. And I loved hearing Craig Smith play his beloved organ—often soulful, sometimes rousing, always beautiful.

My ties to New England remain sturdy. I share responsibility for a seasonal cottage on the Cape with one of my brothers, I return occasionally for my high school reunions in northern NH, and I'm most fortunate to have kept in touch with a remarkable group of women rowers, the members of the NEIRA winning 1980 first boat. With those memories in my mind and heart I say thanks to all the students, colleagues, and parents who made my Groton experience so special. I'm forever grateful.