Canaan
The two were, in fact, one in the same.
Clark was Cardigan, and Cardigan was Clark. He was the compassionate, ever-present voice in the junior boarding school of about 215 students in Canaan that gave Cardigan its soul, using an uncanny ability to connect with the people around him to shape the world around him. He volunteered his time outside the classroom to almost anything and everything — delivering newspapers in town, driving the Zamboni during hockey games, retrieving lost lacrosse balls in the woods, walking dogs, washing dishes in the kitchen, passing out mail to students, driving the school bus, selling donuts to students at lunchtime, driving students to medical appointments — all with a piece of advice and a smile.
Clark, died at age 76 on May 26 in Canaan, 37 years after arriving at Cardigan with a job teaching algebra and a love for education. He never married, never had children of his own. The school became his home, its students became his children, the faculty distant relatives.
Those who met him felt like they had known him for years. Those who were taught by him — in the classroom, on the tennis court, on the sidelines at a lacrosse game, in the penalty box at Cardigan’s hockey rink — had their lives changed for the better.
“He had this humility that came with this massive amount of generosity. His clear interest in people was very genuine,” said Philie, who had Clark as an advisor before he graduated from Cardigan in 2010 and later played lacrosse at Dartmouth College. “You can still feel his presence in the essence and the character of that school. It’s special. That place often goes through a lot of change. Kids are there for only one or two years, and there’s lots of faculty turnover.
“His presence there was so lasting. I can’t mention going to see Cardigan without imagining Dudley ripping on his scooter full speed or digging through the woods with the faculty dog.”
Added John D’Etremont, a former student and faculty member at Cardigan who now works as the principal at Lebanon Middle School: “I never felt like there was the same type of person at (other schools). There were definitely the mainstays, the people who had been there a long time, people who were institutions. There was never a Dudley Clark. There wasn’t a person who did everything. … That person didn’t exist for me in high school.”
Clark was honored during a celebration of life held at the school on June 16, a moving ceremony that packed the Cardigan Commons.
Months later, Clark’s presence can still be felt. Those who remain at the school have done their best to continue the traditions he started.
“His presence is certainly missed,” said Jeremiah Shipman, who attended Cardigan from 1996 to 2000 and later became the school’s director of alumni programs. “People have stepped up to fill his presence. He used to sell donuts on Tuesday mornings. Three or four of us have gotten together and picked up that tradition. … People walk each other’s dogs now, just like he did. What is fascinating is yes, his presence is missed, but what’s really neat is that it’s been filled by 25 or 30 people. It’s like, how did he do all of these things? I suppose that speaks to how much he did do is that one of us can’t replace.”
Clark was born in Princeton, N.J. in 1941, the son of a wealthy educated family. He attended high school in New England, two years at St. Mark’s School in Southborough, Mass. and two years at Proctor Academy in Andover, N.H. He attended Trinity College in Hartford, Conn. for college and graduated in 1963, determined to be a teacher.
He got his wish upon graduation, spending a year at the American School in Switzerland, splitting his time between teaching and a professional hockey career. He returned the United States and taught at the Garland School in Chester, N.J from 1964-66. He then took a job at the Fay School, a private boarding school in Southborough, Mass. from 1966-70, all while earning his master’s degree from Northeastern University. He graduated from Northeastern with a degree in guidance and counseling.
He then took an administrative job at the King School in Stamford, Conn., as head of the middle school, and realized quickly the office was not for him.
“I never came through a cheating or other discipline issue feeling very good,” Clark told the Cardigan School magazine in 2010. “It was as though I had committed the crime myself. It was the ‘70s and kids were doing amazing things — and breaking my heart on a regular basis.”
Burnt out, Clark took a job at Rippowam Cisqua School in Bedford, N.Y. to coach and teach math for three years. He found Cardigan during spring vacation, perusing a paperback catalog of summer jobs that listed job openings for summer school teaching positions in Canaan. Clark was hired for the summer, loved it and asked the assistant headmaster at the time, Joe Collins, to keep him in mind if anything more permanent opened up.
He got the call, spent another school year at Rippowam and, by February of 1981 was under contract with Cardigan to teach algebra. Over the next 37 years, Clark made himself an invaluable part of the school’s community with his work outside the classroom, injecting a level of formality into the school’s culture that took almost everyone by surprise.
“That respect, he would continually give respect,” said Alex Gray, an English teacher at Cardigan since 1993, referring to Clark’s insistence on referring to students and faculty by the prefix ‘sir’ or ‘mister.’ “So formal. I think the boys appreciated that. He’s coaching them on how to conduct themselves just in simple conversation.”
In the classroom, Clark’s math classes could vary with lessons from algebra to literature to just a reading session of a book he thought the students would find interesting.
“I will say, in good humor, that he was an awful math teacher because he wasn’t a math teacher at all,” Shipman said. “It’s sixth grade math — multiplication tables and a little bit of division. He’d say, ‘All right, guys, got it? There’s three minutes, what do we do with the next 37 minutes of class?’
“He would sit on the front of a desk and pull out this beaten paperback. I don’t know if he was on a sci-fi kick at the time or if this is what he always read, but I remember him reading us H.G. Wells, War of the Worlds, The Time Machine, Ray Bradbury. Fascinating stuff to a sixth grader, but also not math. … We were getting this very broad, liberal arts education. I loved it. I ate it up. I was hooked.”
Clark’s ever-present passion for teaching, understanding and learning was what set him apart.
He ingrained himself in the Cardigan community by volunteering his time, picking up chores and responsibilities here and there. He touched countless lives with his selfless demeanor.
“The place would light up when he walked into a room,” said Rick Kahn, a longtime friend and chef in Cardigan’s cafeteria. “He did everything and wanted no recognition for it. He loved helping people out. … His presence, I can personally feel the difference with him gone.”
In truth, the partnership between Cardigan and Clark became one of mutual benefit; Clark was passionate about teaching middle school boys, an age group that at times can be embarrassingly awkward, stuck between the child-like elements of a student’s elementary school years and the college preparation of his high school years.
At Cardigan, that sometimes uneasy transition into adulthood can be amplified under the pressurized confines of a boarding school.
“In middle school, the kids are just beginning to become thinking, kind people,” Gray said. “The scientists say their emotions run high, they feel emotions stronger. … He was always willing to do the basic life teaching that’s going to help the kids. He was the ‘separate-the-math-unit-from the bigger picture.’ ”
Added Shipman: “There was no better place or environment to address the foundation of someone’s character or build them a foundation to be able to learn for the rest of their lives than you have with sixth- to eighth-grade kids. … I think this was his niche. This is an assumption, but I think this was right in his wheelhouse, he saw a place where he could have the most impact .”
Cardigan turned out to be the ideal environment for Clark to leave his mark.
And the school evolved into a better place because of it.
“It’s the people who have been here for a long time who keep that consistency, that culture. They’re the keepers of the culture,” said Chris Day, Cardigan’s head of school. “When you arrive here as a new student or faculty member, you get to know the culture of the place … There’s people like that that give us that tie to the past. We’re constantly evolving.
“Dudley makes everyone who was ever connected to them a better person. At donut time now, people jump in because that’s what Dudley did. … It’s about being that much more patient with kids, a little bit more friendly, spending a little more time helping out. That’s Dudley. That happens here.”
Clark never left Cardigan, finding his purpose on its campus and with its students.
Clark will also never leave Cardigan, as faculty still there are determined to keep his volunteer traditions and his way of teaching alive.
“He was so humble, he didn’t want his name anywhere,” Shipman said. “There’s no Clark Field. There’s no Clark House. … There certainly could be. Most of the dorms are named after Cardigan benefactors. He never wanted that recognition.
“The fact that we are recognizing him through continuing his good work I think is our way of saying, ‘We are going to put your name on something, like or not. Like it or not, we are going to remember you in a way that honors you.’”
Josh Weinreb can be reached at jweinreb@vnews.com or 603-727-3306.