TaylorNancy_20161220_Transcript_pt1.pdf

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Part of Nancy Taylor Oral History Interview

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Nancy Taylor
Interviewed by Sam Schrager
The Evergreen State College Oral History Project
December 20, 2016
FINAL

Begin Part 1 of 3 of Nancy Taylor on 12-20-16
Schrager: Okay, Nancy. Here you are sitting at my kitchen table, in my home in Olympia. Thank you for
making the trip down.
Taylor: Good. I’m excited to be doing this. Been thinking about it a lot. Didn’t do any preparation in the
sense of writing anything, but I read things over, and I relived, and nostalgia. That was fun.
Schrager: So can we start with a little background about your parents, who they were and how they got
together, and then how you fit into the picture?
Taylor: How I fit into the picture. Well, I am a Washingtonian. I am steeped in the State of Washington.
My grandparents on both sides were here when Washington became a state in 1889. One set of
grandparents came from Denmark; homesteaded, or sort of homesteaded, in the Renton area. And my
father’s parents lived in Kent, and my grandpa was a doctor. So the families were part of the KentAuburn-Renton Valley from 1889.
So I’m from here. And in fact, when I was hired at Evergreen, I was one of the few people that
was local. Almost everybody that was hired came from somewhere else. But I came from here. I was
born and raised in Kent. I think Susan Fiksdal was another local. And that mattered. That mattered to
me, I think, in coming to the College.
My parents—I was thinking about it today in terms of what they cared about, and what they
taught me. Education was primary. My mother was one of seven children from a dairy farming family.
She was in the middle, and she went to Washington State College, and her father sent her $10 a month
to go to school. That was all he had, and education mattered more than anything. Mom got a job, and
she managed to get through college and became a teacher.
My father went to Stanford. His father was a doctor, and Daddy went to Stanford Medical
School. The story goes that my grandfather sold his life insurance in order to put him through school.
So education was paramount. I think I decided to be a teacher when I was in fourth grade. And
I never changed. It was clear what I was going to do from fourth grade on. I changed what I would

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teach and where I would teach, but that I would teach was never in doubt—I mean, I used to teach my
cousins. We used to set up school in the house, and I was always going to be a teacher.
The story about that, I still remember Miss Masanga, my fourth-grade teacher. I wanted to
teach math. I wanted to teach fourth grade, and then, every year, I wanted to teach the next grade. But
at some point, I wanted to teach math in high school. And when I went to Stanford—I think I told you
this story—I was required to get my advisor’s signature on anything to take a class. I had taken all the
math I could at Kent-Meridian High School, which didn’t include calculus, because it was just an ordinary
high school. It was an okay high school, but nothing special.
And I got to Stanford, and I said I wanted to do math, and my adviser said, “Girls don’t do math.”
And I said, “Well, I want to do math.”
“I won’t sign it.” I was furious. So then he said, “You should do French,” because I had had Latin
in high school. “You should do French.”
“I don’t want to do French, I want to do math.”
Then he said, “Well, you should do German.”
I said [laughing], “I don’t want to do German. I want to do math.”
And then, I went to some places, and I couldn’t get into the math classes without the signature.
Then I was going to do Russian, but I couldn’t get into Russian without a signature. I could get into
German, so I took German.
But I will never really forgive Stanford for that. It changed the way my life went. In retrospect, I
think, well, I wouldn’t have been an expert in math. I wouldn’t have become a mathematician. I would
have taught math, and that probably would have been boring. So it was all right. But it’s funny that
that’s the way they did things in 1959. I’m sure that’s not true today. [laughing]
Schrager: Speaking about Stanford—you went there, your father had gone there?
Taylor: My father had gone there. My sister had gone there. Kent-Meridian High School was a little, I
guess not so tiny, but I think 13 percent of our graduating class went to college of any sort, not counting
beauty school. One person went to Whitman; one person went to Scripps; a few went to the University
of Washington; a few went to Washington State; a few went to Western.
When my sister, who’s four years older, when she went off to Stanford, my father had to go to
the high school and help the high school figure out what she had to do. The idea of taking the SAT exam
was foreign, nobody did it. They didn’t know anything about it, and yet, Stanford required it. And so Pat
got the school beginning to do that sort of thing. That was in 1955.

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When I was applying, our class was known as a pretty good class, there was some help. I
thought I would go to Pomona. I applied to Pomona, Stanford; and they always said you needed a
backup, and my backup was the University of Colorado for some reason, I don’t know why.
And I got the acceptance from Pomona first, and I called up my father and I said, “I’m going to
Pomona.”
And he was excited, but he said, “Wait! Wait till you hear from Stanford.”
And I was going to Pomona, but by the time I got admitted to Stanford, I was going to Stanford.
And it was a good decision, but there was a lot of subtle pressure. But my sister was there. She was a
senior when I was a freshman, which was wonderful. That helped.
Stanford was hard for me. I mean, my dad said, “You don’t have to be a giant, colossal olive.
Just be a large.” [laughing] That was his comment about going to Stanford. Because, you know, you
meet smarter and richer people, and more sophisticated people. I was a little girl from Kent. It was a
shock to the system. I did all right. I didn’t do brilliantly, but I did all right. I made good friends. It
served me well.
I knew when I was there, I always knew I was going to teach. That never wavered. And I went
four years to Stanford, and then I went a fifth year and got an MIT, to teach. I was in a very smart
teacher education program. I went to school for the first summer right after I graduated—full-time—
and then I started teaching in the fall.
It was an internship program, and I got paid. I got paid $2,000 for the year, which covered the
tuition, about. We had classes at night. It was mostly an internship, where you had a seminar to talk
about what in the world was going on, what you were teaching. It was sink or swim. I had a super
master teacher, who I credit with—that’s how I got through.
I was teaching seniors Government in Fremont High School in Sunnyvale, California. The
students were 18; I was 21. It was terrifying. Stanford didn’t give me that much support, but the man
that I taught with was super. There was another student from Stanford in the same high school, we
both lived in Palo Alto and we drove together to this school; he was teaching U.S. History and I was
teaching Government. It was a team-taught program. It actually prepared me pretty well for what I
ended up doing. It was one of the things that, when I started teaching at Evergreen, people said, “Well,
you’ve had some experience.” Because I had. It was a team of three people teaching Government, and
a team of three people teaching U.S. History, and we all were in the same sort of pod. So that worked.
I did that for a year, and got my master’s degree in teaching. I taught one more year at that school after
getting my teaching credential.
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I was a history major almost by default. I was a history major because when I became a junior, I
had taken so many history classes that I’d almost satisfied the requirement, so I took a couple more
seminars, and that was it. I fell into it. I didn’t decide, particularly.
Probably the most influential thing that happened at Stanford was going to Stanford in
Germany, which was a program started about 1958 or so. It was the first one of the Stanford overseas
programs. Eventually, Stanford had programs everywhere, but Stanford in Germany was first, and then
Stanford in France and Stanford in Italy. It was six months at a Stanford-based site. The one in Germany
was in a little town called Beutelsbach, by Stuttgart. We didn’t have anything to do with German
students. Now, they’re very different. Now, they’re at the Sorbonne, they’re in Berlin.
And you applied, and you went to this program. You paid normal Stanford tuition, normal board
and room and everything, and that covered it. Scholarships applied, so students that were worried
about the draft, all of that didn’t matter. You were a regular student. So it was a way of going to Europe
without jeopardizing that sort of thing. I think there were 60 in the class. It was a funny thing for 60
students to go 3,000 miles or something to make friends.
We had German professors and we had Stanford professors—mostly Stanford professors. We
all took the same classes. There was quite a bit of travel. And those are the Stanford people I’m still in
touch with. That was significant, that six months. It was my junior year.
The funny thing, Stanford originally admitted students to this program based on grades, and
they got the totally wrong people to come. Because they’d get people that would go, and they would
just sit in their room and study. They wouldn’t do anything, and they didn’t take advantage of it. So the
University learned that they had to do something; they had to choose different students, because it
didn’t work. By the time I went, there was a special application. I was in Group Eight, so that would
have been the fourth year, because it was a six-month deal.
Schrager: What year?
Taylor: ’62. January of ’62.
Schrager: Let’s talk a bit about this period after college, and before Evergreen. You were right on the
cusp of the ‘60s.
Taylor: Mm-hm.
Schrager: A little before the dam broke.
Taylor: A little before, yeah.
Schrager: But you also were there afterwards. And since you were—what?—you were in California for
much of the time?
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Taylor: Some of it, yeah.
Schrager: And you were back in Washington sometimes?
Taylor: Certainly ’63—isn’t ’63 Mario Savio in Berkeley? I graduated in ’63, and certainly civil rights was
in the air. I remember reading a book called [The Negro Revolt by Louis Lomax, black man—about civil
rights. And Soul On Ice, by Eldridge Cleaver; we all read those books as a senior. I can remember that
much.
Then I was teaching. I taught for two years in high school. I certainly remember the Vietnam
War and the assassination of President Kennedy. I remember feeling a responsibility to my students. I
remember going to Berkeley. There was much more action in Berkeley than in Stanford—certainly
there, and in San Francisco. But I remember going to Berkeley. My brother-in-law was in the Business
School at UC-Berkeley, He was married to my sister, they lived in Berkeley, so I would go there. So that
was the consciousness about it.
In terms of women, that wasn’t an issue. I don’t remember anything about women that early.
There were issues about women when the College opened, when Evergreen opened. But that’s 1970.
Was there much talk in 1963?
Schrager: Betty Friedan, The Feminine Mystique.
Taylor: Yeah. Well, yeah, I remember Betty Friedan. I remember . . . who else? After the Fall. Arthur
Miller; Susan Sontag. There were others, but I wasn’t very conscious of it until the late sixties. I was
certainly aware of NOW and the women’s movement by then.
Schrager: You were a young woman.
Taylor: I was, yeah.
Schrager: You were in your twenties . . .
Taylor: I was in my twenties.
Schrager: . . . and figuring out what you were about, then.
Taylor: Yeah. I don’t know if it’s at that stage, but certainly by the time I got to Evergreen,
opportunities for women were growing. I mean, Joe Shoben, the Vice President for Student Affairs,
went through the files of people that had applied to Evergreen and pulled out all the women, because
he wanted to hire women. So there was definitely a recognition that the College needed to hire women,
and that they needed to hire African Americans, and they hired . . .the first minority person they hired
was Native American.
Schrager: Was this Pauline?
Taylor: No. Mary Hillaire.
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Schrager: Oh, Mary Hillaire. Of course.
Taylor: She was the first one. I guess Rudy was hired before she was, but she was one of the first
faculty. She didn’t come the first year, she came the second year. But she had been hired and deferred
for a year.
Schrager: Why don’t we go to your first contact with Evergreen, and how you wound up being in Joe
Shoben’s file?
Taylor: Okay, so after I taught high school for a couple years in California—I don’t know why, it’s just
that opportunities were everywhere—I decided that I wanted to move to Boston. Where that came
from, I don’t know. But I got in my car, and I said, “I can’t stop anywhere where there’s not water.” I
drove from Seattle. I’d finished the school year in California; had gone home and spent the summer
with my family; and then I got in the car and I drove to Boston to look for a job.
I didn’t have a job. I didn’t have an idea. I had applied to some schools to teach in Boston, but I
didn’t get a job, but I got some leads. So I drove to Boston to look for a job, and I applied around at
schools. And I applied at WGBH television, which is the educational station there, and they had a
program for teaching in the schools. It was a big consortium; it was Massachusetts, Rhode Island,
Connecticut. It was a whole thing. They taught via television in the schools; everything from French to
science to field trips to whatever. It was a huge thing. It was called the “21-Inch Classroom.” This was
in 1964.
I got hired to do something called the field representative of “21-Inch Classroom.” So for two
years, I drove to every school district in Massachusetts, Connecticut and Rhode Island, and helped them
set up how to use these programs on television, and find teachers. So I did the research to find
somebody that would then come back and be at Channel 2 and do the programs.
It was great. I was super-enthusiastic. I drove all over the place. I talked to lots of people.
Some of the programs were really good; some were really horrible. The program was sponsored by the
school districts, so they paid into it. And Channel 2, the Boston station, was particularly good. That’s
where Sesame Street started. A guy by the name of Chris Sarson was doing lots of stuff for kids. Julia
Childs was there, and we used to go and eat her food when she cooked it. It was a great job. I met lots
of people, and it was sort of leading-edge at that time. And it was an opportunity.
I did that for two years. I lived in Boston. Loved it. Made good friends. People said Boston
people would be standoffish. It wasn’t true. I have godchildren, the children of friends from that time.
Boston was a wonderful place to live. I lived right downtown, because of the Channel 2; it was an
exciting place. So I did that. Probably that had something to do with my getting a job at Evergreen,
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because it was the kind of experience that put me out in the community. Then, you know, you could
just do—I think kids today have no idea of how—I think, especially for women—how much opportunity
was there.
So then I came back to Seattle with a friend from Boston. And we came through San Francisco,
and then I went on to Seattle; my friend stayed in San Francisco, and about a month later—it was
Christmastime, I guess—I went to California, just looking for a job, you know? You just could do that.
It’s just amazing when I think about it now. And I was hired at a place called the Far West Laboratory for
Educational Research and Development. I think there were 13 of these labs in the country. They were
sponsored educational research places. And there was one at Berkeley. It was housed in the Claremont
Hotel. It probably had 30, 40 people working for it, and they did research.
I was hired to do model, in-service teacher training for K through 12. It was televised programs.
We did everything from how to improve discussion teaching in the fourth grade—I remember that was
one. How to get kindergarten children to accept delayed gratification. We had all these programs, and
we’d have classrooms, and we’d teach. And then I would take these programs out to the school
districts, and we would sample them. We would teach teachers—it was all in-service teacher training
stuff. There were some parts of it that were boondoggle, and some that were good. But, again, I was
the liaison with the schools; I was the one that was finding teachers, and going out and teaching.
I would take these huge—I mean, this is real simple—I would take gigantic video machines that I
barely could lift, and bring them into the classroom, because we would video record the teachers; and
then, we hired Berkeley students to code the tapes to see if the teachers were improving. I remember
this one, it was: Could you improve a discussion format in junior high school? The coders had to count
how many times the teachers redirected a question, or how many times they called on different people,
or they didn’t call on people, or how many times the discussion went from one student from another. It
was all coded, and Berkeley students coded these things.
Anyway, so that’s the sort of thing—I did that for two years. Lived in San Francisco and
commuted to Berkley, which was good. It was the right way. It was fun. And it was while I was doing
that that I applied to Evergreen. This letter from Joe Shoben is when I was living in San Francisco, and
working there. We met in Berkeley.
But in 1970, my father got sick. He had cancer, and it was not good. I wanted to be home. So at
that point, I learned about Evergreen from articles in the newspaper. Dean Clabaugh was the only
person, and maybe Malcolm Stilson—maybe those two were the first people working for the college. I
don’t know. I knew about it from the newspaper that there was going to be this new college. There was
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this argument about whether it would be in Longview, whether it would be in Olympia. But then it was
settled that it was going to be in Olympia. The state bought the land, and the college was run out of the
Legislature, I think. I think Dean Clabaugh’s office was in the Legislature, and Malcolm Stilson’s was in
the old brewery. I think McCann was one of the early ones, and probably Dave Barry and Joe Shoben,
the three Vice Presidents. Dave Barry was the Academic Vice President; Joe Shoben was the Student
Services Vice President; and Dean Clabaugh was Finance Vice President.
That was all in the spring of 1970, and this letter is dated April 22, 1970. Joe Shoben went
through the files looking for applications. And I had just written a general application: “I’d like to come
work at this new college.” I mean, I wasn’t talking about teaching. Wasn’t thinking I could teach. I
didn’t have a Ph.D., I didn’t have an academic discipline, but I thought I wanted to be involved in the
College.
So he found these letters, and there were a couple people that got jobs this way. I mean, he just
went through the files. And the story goes that somebody—I think you’ve probably heard of this
woman from Larry, too—her name was Claire. Claire was the person in charge of faculty hiring; not the
person, the paperwork person. Claire Hess was her name. There were 9,000 applications for faculty for
the first year of the College. Nine thousand. They had put an ad in the New York Times, so Claire was
processing these 9,000 applications.
But my application, I was not in that pool because I just had sent a general application: “I’ll do
anything you want.” And so Joe Shoben came to Berkeley to meet with me. Listen to this convoluted
sentence—I have to read this sentence, because it’s just so bizarre. He’d sent a letter, or called me, and
said that he wanted to pursue me. I don’t think I had a job at this point, but maybe I did.
Dear Miss Taylor,
Wanting very much to capitalize on the talents that you could bring to Evergreen, I have been troubled by our
difficulties in appointing the appropriate kind of senior administrative officers who should play a considerable role in devising
the initial policies for our Office of Admissions, and in staffing it.

Do you know what that means? I have no idea what that sentence means. But then it says:
I should like very much to discuss some of these matters with you, and to outline for you the circumstances under
which we are presently operating in this crucial planning phase.

Then he goes on to say:
As it happens, I’m going to be in Berkeley and I’d like to meet you at the Durant Hotel.

Which I did. And then he offered me a job—this is in April—and he says, “Come in September. I
don’t know what the job will be.” But he’s in Student Services. And he talked about things like Financial
Aid, Registration, Admissions, Dean of Students. All that. But he didn’t have the team at this point. He
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was looking for a group of people, and then he was going to decide. One of them was Larry Stenberg.
One of them was Dave Brown, who ended up to be Director of Admissions. I think Perrin Smith might
have been there. I think he was Registrar. And Larry Stenberg was not called Dean of Students, but he
was the closest thing to that. So, by September, he had put together those people. But I don’t think in
April he knew who he was hiring.
And I ended up being Admissions Counselor. In 1970, I was 27. So my job was going to be—and
you can see from the things I’d done before, it made sense—I was going to be the traveler, the traveling
salesman, which, I mean, if you looked at my resume, it fit. So in September, I arrived to be Admissions
Counselor.
Dave Brown, who came from Howard University in Washington, D.C., was Director of
Admissions. He was a very nice and supportive man who never understood the College. I read—in one
of the things in here, that I collected—a description of what I did when I went out to the schools. And I
talk about Dave Brown—we went together a lot. And I had to sort of mop up after him because he
didn’t know how to describe the place. He didn’t have an instinctive feel for what he was doing. He was
nice, he was supportive, but he wasn’t the right person for the job. And he quit, or was eased out—I
don’t know how, what the story is; it was smooth, whatever it was—in like not even two years, and he
became head of the United Way in Thurston County, where he was perfect. I mean, he had no
educational crusader in him. That’s not what he was. So he couldn’t describe the place in a way that
made sense to people.
Schrager: I want to hear about what this world was like for you. But before we talk about that, I’m
curious about what the place seemed like to you when you first arrived at that particular juncture, in the
fall of ’70.
Taylor: Fall of ’70.
Schrager: When you got here, what were your first impressions, and what sticks with you about it?
Taylor: Yeah. Okay, so September 1, I arrived. Well, maybe I had driven down one time in the spring
before, but I arrived. There were three trailers. There was a lot of mud. You came in off of . . . I don’t
know what the road is, I can picture it.
Charlie McCann’s office was in an old industrial building of some sort. It was blue tin. And he
was there, and Rita Sevcik, Rita Brackenbush, was her name then. And then there was a trailer for the
faculty—there might have been three trailers there; these were temporary buildings. The trailer for the
faculty had offices for the 17 planning faculty; then there was a smaller trailer that had the three deans
and some other offices; and then there was the Admissions/Registrar trailer.
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But there was a funny belief—probably a Joe Shoben belief, but it was shared—that they
shouldn’t isolate people in the right place. I mean, like you shouldn’t put all the Student Services staff
together, and you shouldn’t put all the deans together. They did put all the faculty together, but the rest
of the people were all mixed up. So my office, at the beginning, even though I was working in
Admissions, my office was in the Deans’ trailer. And the Librarian—one was in the Deans’ trailer and
one was in the Student Services trailer. What they wanted was mix-up. They wanted—deliberate—
people to be mixed up. That didn’t last too long, because you had to be near the people you had to
work with. So eventually, I moved over to where the Admissions was.
As I say, there were the 17 planning faculty already hired by the time I got there; and there were
probably 20 other people, in Business and Student Services; and the three deans; and Charlie; and Dave
Barry, the Provost; and Joe Shoben. Those are the ones that were there.
Schrager: Did you feel welcomed? Did you feel embraced? Did you feel distant?
Taylor: I felt incredibly excited. The spirit was—people were running on adrenaline. There was
tremendous excitement. The faculty were meeting. There was this one sort of conference room; the
faculty were meeting every day to try to figure out what in the world to do.
And the faculty was a funny mix because the Deans—Merv Cadwallader, Don Humphrey and
Charlie Teske—had hired people that they knew. They hired some people that just showed up. I mean,
Dave Hitchens just was driving around, and he showed up, and they hired him. I remember that one.
Jack Webb, I think Charlie sort of picked him up out of a list of people. He was not known to anybody.
There was the Old Westbury group. There was a small Reed group. There was a San Jose State group.
There was an Oregon group because of Don Humphrey.
So the planning faculty was sort of cobbled together by who they knew. They might tell you a
different story, but when I looked at them, they didn’t represent disciplines or departments or anything.
They represented educational excitement. So, like the biologists, they were all environmental kind of
people. I mean, they had Larry Eickstaedt and Bob Sluss. If you were going to only have 17 people, and
you wanted a range, you wouldn’t hire those two. But they did, because I think they were looking for
people that had their eyes open and wanted to do something different; and it didn’t matter about what
they knew so much as what they wanted to do. So there was these groups.
The first thing that I did that was part of it was to figure out the admissions criteria. We sat in a
group with the President, the three Vice Presidents, the faculty, a few other people, talking about who
should come to this college. We came to the conclusion that it was to be an all-comers’ place. It wasn’t
to be exclusive. You had to be in the top half of your class, and you had to write a letter saying why you
10

wanted to come. I don’t know if we even used the formal State application. We might have, just to
collect information. But you had to write this letter, and you had to be in the top half of your class. That
was it.
Schrager: Was that an easy decision to come to, or did that take a lot. . .?
Taylor: I can’t remember much argument about it. I can remember arguments saying that they wanted
it to be first come, first serve; they wanted people that wanted to come. If you wanted to come, you
should come. And you had to come on faith. You didn’t come because you wanted to be a biologist or a
dentist or a forester. You had to just want to come to this place. And it was very easy, even to get over
the top half of your class rule. If you weren’t in the top half of your class, but you wrote a good letter,
you’d get in.
So we were full by, I think, December 15. What that did was it meant that it favored people that
heard about it. It favored [chuckling] a group of experimental college junkies. So we got people from
Prescott, we got people from Reed, we got people coming—I don’t know if it’s true, but the story was
that the biggest cadre of students were faculty brats. People heard about this place, so we got a lot of
kids whose parents were teaching somewhere. I don’t know how many, but there was some of that. So
we made these policy decisions, and I don’t remember there being much argument about that. It was
labor-intensive, because we read all these applications, because the main thing was this letter that you
had to write. I can remember endless reading.
I tell this story—I think I told you before—about this meeting that we were in. I was the only
woman in the circle, because I was the only woman—there were no women on the planning faculty, and
no other women in Student Services. The only other women in the whole college were secretaries and
administrative people, like—I don’t know what Rita was called then, but she was certainly recognized as
a woman that was significant. But there were no others.
So the men were talking, and that’s when Charlie McCann looked right at me and said, “The
trouble with these meetings is that there’s no one taking notes.” He looked right at me. And I think it’s
the first conscious obstruction thing I’ve ever done. I took my clipboard and I put it under my chair.
Very unlike me, but—there was something that didn’t sit right. I think it was the first recognition that I
wasn’t going to make coffee, and I wasn’t going to take notes as an obligation. So somebody else took
notes.
I grew to really respect Charlie a lot, but there were lots of issues about Charlie. He’s pretty
conservative in some ways; other ways, not. But anyway, in terms of women, he was not a leader in

11

recognition there. I don’t think he was a leader in recognition of affirmative action either. That wasn’t
where he came from.
So we had these meetings. The faculty had meetings. But very early on—I mean, right away—
we wrote this catalog. So we had a document. I think you probably have seen that first catalog. I think
it was green, and it said something about “A College for Change” was the line, and it just described the
place. It had no curriculum. It just described this place, and it was small. And it said, “Take a risk,”
basically.
And that’s what I took out to the schools. Right in September—I mean, I barely knew what I was
selling—I was out in the field, because applications were going to come in, soon. I went to every high
school in the State; I went to every community college in the State; I went to shopping malls; I went to
Indian reservations; I went to Yakima to the community centers. I went everywhere.
And then I joined what was called the Admissions College Team, which is made up of all the
colleges in the state. We would go together, and present at schools. Ordinarily, schools in the State
only open up the school for an admissions team that’s coming from all the colleges at once. If you’re at
Yakima High School, you don’t want Western coming, then Eastern coming, because it just makes it
hard. So we went as a group, and then they would have little meetings, and students could choose
which schools to go to. They made an exception for Evergreen allowing us to go alone. So I went on
those joint ones, but I did everything alone as well. And every day, I would do two or three schools, and
I would take a member of the planning faculty. There were 17 faculty, and all 17 went out.
The fun thing was that we didn’t know what we were doing. Nobody knew what they were
doing. But everybody had a dream, and everybody’s dream was different. So for instance I went with
Bill Aldridge, who was spectacular. He had a wonderful voice, and he had a kind of charismatic thing
about the way he presented a pretty free-for-all kind of college. I mean, you can come and do anything
you want here. That was him. And he just had people eating out of his hands.
And then, I would take Beryl Crowe, and he would do something totally different. And Richard
Jones, and Bob Sluss, and Byron Youtz, and Will Humphreys. All these guys would—Rudy Martin, Dave
Hitchens, and Bob Barnard. Do you remember him? He did technical stuff. He was doing self-paced
learning and science stuff. Richard Brian. Richard Brian was one of my favorites. I probably traveled
more with Richard Brian than anyone, because he loved it. And he saved Admissions in a lot of ways.
He was a wonderful guy.

12

That’s how I got to know the faculty. And it’s because of that that I was included. It was
seamless between staff and faculty in the terms of how I was treated, because I got to know all the
faculty, because we did all this driving, and all this crazy description.
And it was 17 colleges. Maybe by April, there was a clearer sense. In September people didn’t
know. I think maybe the decision about Coordinated Studies—maybe Larry told you when that
happened; it might have happened before I got there, I don’t know—the famous line about “If it’s good
for 100, it’s good for 1,000.” But we didn’t know. Nobody knew how it was going to be. Nobody knew
about requirements. We knew about the admissions criteria, but that didn’t really separate anybody for
who should apply.
Schrager: So was your rap about the College—you must have had your own.
Taylor: I had my own.
Schrager: And did you—was it a corrective, or a supplement to the others, to the particular person you
were with?
Taylor: Well, sometimes. My view was probably closest to Merv’s, because we spent a lot of time
together, and because he had a model in his head based on what had been happening at Old Westbury
and San Jose. And Bob Sluss had that same model, and Larry Eickstaedt. So there was a group that had
a more clarified view of what they were presenting; that it was non-disciplinary—it wasn’t even
disciplinary, it was non-disciplinary; it was team; it was what Merv would have called “moral
curriculum.” It was about citizenship in a way, about being solid citizens; about what you needed to
know to function in the world.
That was in contrast with Fred Tabbutt, Byron Youtz, Sid White maybe; some other people that
didn’t really have that same notion of non-disciplinary. They were seeing interdisciplinary, but they
weren’t seeing non-disciplinary. And then, the Richard Jones and Bill Aldridge, and a group that was
much more individualistic.
I don’t know if I corrected anybody. They just told what they imagined. And the consequence is
big. You can see the consequence is big, because September, the next year, when students come,
they’ve had a different entrée, they’ve had a different story. I was just reading something of a student
who lives on Bainbridge Island, who I now know, who was in, I think, my second program. I went to
Bainbridge High School, and she remembers my coming to school. And she says, “I came to Evergreen
because I understood what you said and I wanted it.”
Faculty didn’t go with me all the time. A lot of times they did, but a lot of times I was doing it
myself. And I suspect what I described was the most logical. [laughing] Because that’s the way—I
13

mean, I made it clear—I probably made it up, but I made it clear—I could see that this is what you’re
going to do. And I’m sure I didn’t say it’s a free-for-all. But I talked about personal attention; I talked
about integration of subjects; I talked about close faculty-student contact; I talked about evaluations; I
talked about wanting to learn. All of that, I’m sure, is what I did, because that’s the way I think.
Schrager: But multiple stories, each reflecting the vision of the individual faculty member makes
complete sense to me.
Taylor: Well, yeah . . .at that time. And, because it was so possible. There was license to create
something new. And everybody was sincere about—well, educational reform is too formal—but
everybody was sincere about believing that the university system had gone awry, and that we needed to
make it better. They just had different ideas about how. But every member of the planning faculty was
a crusader. I mean, everybody was excited about doing something that they thought was going to
change the world.
That’s why that year was so exciting. It was—and the first year of the College, that came home
to roost. Because when you’re just talking about it, anything’s possible. And it didn’t turn out to be
possible, and I think Merv particularly, he got really soured by about the second year, because he saw
that his dream was going away. But everybody saw their dreams going away, because there was not
one dream. And it turned out to be more Merv’s way than I think he would have ever imagined, but it
was a lot of compromise; and the compromise meant—whenever you have compromise, you know, you
don’t get the best, but you get something that doesn’t die. [laughing]
But that was fun. And the way the faculty and staff—I mean, Larry Stenberg was very much a
part of this. Some more than others. Larry was. I was. Dave Brown wasn’t so much. Dave Barry wasn’t
so much involved. But the social life was non-stop. I mean, people were talking the College 24 hours a
day. And very few people—I don’t know when Oscar [Soule] came; he probably came the second year—
Oscar was one of the first that really cared about the community of Olympia; and Russ Fox, and Carolyn
[Dobbs]. Even though their kids were in school, most of the faculty were absolutely wedded to the
College. They may know their neighbors, but there was just no reach-out.
There was a group called ECCO, Evergreen College Community Organization, which was made up
of people in Olympia that were in support of the College. It included people like Bernice [Youtz], Jess
Spielholz. Do you remember him? There were some people that were just solid citizens in Olympia, and
some people that were associated with the College; mostly not people that worked at the College, but
people that were associated somewhere. And that group was pretty active.

14

But other than that, at least the way I saw it, it was pretty isolated. There were a couple of
faculty—Jack Webb, who made a point of spending time with the high school. He was kind of isolated in
that, but he did it. He went off to the high school and got to know the teachers. Very few people did
that. So that was kind of funny, I think.
End of Part 1 of 3 of Nancy Taylor on 12-20-16

15

Begin Part 2 of 3 of Nancy Taylor on 12-20-16
Taylor: Okay, so here’s one more story. I was in Spokane. It’s cold, so it must be February, because I
can remember there was snow on the ground. And the story was, even then, that the College was not
going to be ready. And there was already a tanglement in the Legislature. I think maybe the Boeing
crash had happened? I don’t know. But anyway, the big ambition—we were going to grow; we were
going to have 1,000 students a year for 10 years. That was the original idea. And they built the
underground heating system for 10,000 students. I mean, they had all this underneath. They had all
this planned. One thousand students a year, we were going to grow. So the first year, we had 1,000;
the second year we had another 1,000; and then we leveled off in growth. I think we’re now to five
[thousand] or something, but we never could have done 1,000 a year. And we knew we couldn’t do a
1,000 a year in terms of faculty hiring even then.
But I’m in Spokane talking to Spokane high school kids, and the word is out that the College is
not going to open at all. It’s going to be closed before it starts. And Merv goes down to some button
shop, and he gets green buttons that say “Evergreen Lives.” And he FedExes me 500 buttons, and I go
down to the bus station, and I pick up the buttons, and I spread them all over. “Evergreen Lives.” And
some of those buttons are still around. I remember saving them, and giving them out very judiciously.
That story, about not opening, kept going and kept going. And in the fall, when we finally did
open, the story was we were not going to open. And Charlie McCann was adamant: “We are opening.
We are opening on time.” And in order to open—the buildings weren’t finished. The offices were still in
the trailers. The library wasn’t finished. The dorms weren’t finished. Nothing was finished.
And so every team—and the teams were bigger; they were five people, six, maybe even seven—
Individual in America had seven on its team. I was on a team with six—Human Development had six. I
think the smallest one was probably Rudy’s Contemporary American Minorities. I think there were only
three in that.
But every team had to be rental agent and house mother. And we had to find housing for all our
students; we had to pick them at the airport. We had to do everything. We had to figure out where we
were going to meet. So I can remember just being on the telephone saying, “Well, what time is your kid
coming in?” And, “Where?” And, “I’ll take him to this house.” And so people all over Olympia housed
students. They were spread everywhere. And every team was doing this.
We decided to take Human Development—I’ve jumped way ahead on the stories—but we
decided to take Human Development to a sixth-grade camp outside of Walla Walla in the Blue
Mountains. And it turned out, the very week that we needed to be there was the opening of hunting
16

season, so we issued every student a bright vest and a hat, so they wouldn’t be shot. [laughing] That
was just one of the things.
Bob Sluss, who was famous for doing crazy things, hired a chef, who was an alcoholic, and he
cooked horrible food. And we got over there, and it was freezing cold. We went by buses—and the
students, they had been in private houses for a little bit, but then we took them all over. And we had
class, and it was freezing cold, and so I remember Ranger Rick said, “Boys over here, girls over here,”
and that didn’t work. And then it was so cold that the kids just went and got the mattresses out of all of
the cabins, and brought them to the central area, where there was a cook, and there was food in there.
It was just wall-to-wall mattresses, and that’s where they slept, because it was cold. This was a sixthgrade camp, and it was October. [laughing]
I remember, we were reading; we had seminars; but I would say instead of being a bonding
experience, it was pretty disastrous. At the end of the year, the students had put that out of their
minds. It wasn’t a good thing. We survived, but it wasn’t a good thing.
And we came back 10 days later, and the buildings weren’t open yet. Still nothing open. The
student dorms were not finished, but they took the furniture that was going to go in the dorms and they
put it in the Villa Capri, which is that housing development on the corner of Division and Harrison, right
near there. And they just took over most of those apartments. It was pretty new, and they weren’t
rented, so they put in the College furniture. We arrived back from that camp, and that’s when the
students that were going to live on campus moved into the Villa Capri, and they were there for a couple
months.
But the big deal about that was a girl by the name of Velena Whitman, the only AfricanAmerican in the group, was not allowed to move into the Villa Capri because it had a restriction. Merv
lived in the Villa Capri at that point, and he screamed. It was a big deal. And, of course, she moved in to
the Villa Capri. But that was just one more telling incident.
So then we met for about several weeks; we met at the Legislature. We sat at the Legislative
desks in the House of Representatives. And the faculty sat up in the front, and that’s where we had
classes for, I think maybe a month. Different programs—Willi Unsoeld’s group did trailblazing, trail
recovery, up at Mount Rainier. I think they had 140 students, because that was a seven-member team.
Other people went to churches; they went to other camps; they were everywhere, all around. And the
faculty was responsible. We did it.
The college opened on time, but it didn’t open with a building. It’s just hard to describe,
because there was so much energy, and people were working so hard. And not that everything worked
17

beautifully. I mean, that business of going to Walla Walla, people just blocked that out of their memory.
It was horrible. It was cold. It was unpleasant. The food was bad. Everything was bad. The students
didn’t talk about it as this wonderful time.
I think, Willi’s program did. I mean, that was a good one. And Larry Eickstaedt’s, his program
was called Experimental Design or something like that. I don’t know where they went, but I think that
was older students, and I think that was a success. Some of them were more successful than others.
Okay, but I need to back up because—
Schrager: Yeah. You want to back up to how you got involved with Human Development? How you
became a member of the faculty.
Taylor: Yeah, that’s it. See, I got to know Richard Jones pretty well, and I got to know his wife, Susie, I
became friends right early on, and I would travel with Richard. Each program had a sort of a key
designer. This was Richard’s program, called Human Development. And Richard recruited Bob Sluss
from the planning faculty--so it’s kind of unusual to have two planning faculty on one team—and he
designed it for, he thought, five people. Sort of the model was five, but then it didn’t turn out exactly
that.
His idea was Human Development. He wanted a practical part of Human Development, so he
wanted every student to have an internship of one day a week that they wouldn’t be in class on campus.
They could be working, or they would be volunteering in some human service agency in Olympia. And
there would be what was called a “self-study seminar” that would go along with that internship, where
they were observing; and then the next day, there was a seminar of students to talk about that as part
of the program. There was also a book to be read, and writing. As I remember, that first year we had no
lectures. We had a night of film, but we had no lectures. It was all just reading a book, and writing, and
this self-study seminar and a seminar based on the internship.
So Richard wanted to hire me to locate all the internships. He just wanted me to be sort of a
half-time staff person to do all that. What else I would do, he wouldn’t know. But for the life of him, he
didn’t think I was going to be on the faculty. He just needed—he watched what I did, and he said, “Well,
she can do that.” And so that’s what he proposed.
And I think it was Don Humphrey that said, “We’re not going to have second-class faculty.” The
whole idea was you were either on the faculty, or you weren’t. There was no rank. You got paid by
experience years. That was it. There were no divisions. And so if he wanted me to do the internship
administration, he had to accept that I would be a member of the faculty on the team.

18

I think Richard said, “Fine,” not thinking for a minute that I would make it. But I was hired as a
member of the faculty because he wanted me to do that. And the covenant for the program is that I
would teach half-time. I would have one seminar. In those days, you had two seminars of 10 students
each, and you doubled up on the work. But I only had one. However, the only thing I didn’t have was 20
evaluations. I had to read all the books. I had to do everything for that, and participate in everything in
the program, and locate, supervise and troubleshoot 125 internships. So that was my job. And the idea
was that the other faculty would help, but they never did. They never did anything with internships.
So I found the internships. And it was only sort of a good idea on Richard’s part. Some of the
internships were good. A lot of them were in schools; police stations; Morningside; Buckley. Some were
a little bit far away; with social workers; with a funeral director. I mean, it was everything, because I had
125. That’s a lot to find. And you had to get people that would buy in to do this, and it was work for the
people, the supervisors. And it wasn’t really clear what in the world they were going to do. But that’s
what I did.
And some of them were very good, and some of them weren’t so good. And they lasted all year.
And there was some trading around, but basically, they all had to have an internship, and they all did.
And we did this, internship seminar and a self-study seminar once a week. And I think we had a book
seminar just once a week, and we had a writing piece.
But I know I did the internship well. The rest of it, I was really a fish out of water. I mean, it was
painful. I mean, it was not successful, in my mind. I was terrified. I didn’t have any training. Here I was
teaching a program that’s basically psychology, and you know me well enough to know, I don’t have an
awful lot of affinity or respect for psychology. I mean, it’s just not where I am. And so, when I was
reading all new stuff that I never had any training in, and didn’t really connect to—and I was 28 years
old, and I was incredibly intimidated by Richard Jones.
Bob Sluss was my savior. Bob was terrific. Chuck Pailthorp was sort of a puppy dog around
Richard. He just sort of worshipped what Richard was doing. I don’t think now he would say that And
Eric Larson didn’t have a clue about the program or what he was doing. He was an anthropologist, and
that’s what he was wanting to do. And then Nancy Allan and I were thought of as one person. It was
sort of Dick, Bob, Chuck, Eric and Nancy. But there were two of us. And to this day, Nancy and I are
confused by people.
Two easy names—Nancy Allen, Nancy Taylor—we’re one person. And we were timid, and we
were women, and we were not paid attention to, and we were not helped, and we didn’t help each
other. We talked about it even after that one year—that there should have been a kind of sisterhood,
19

but it didn’t happen. We were just so much struggling. I mean, Nancy didn’t know what to do. She’d
had more experience, but her academic training was in Spanish and in literature. She didn’t have it
either, in terms of what we were teaching.
And I remember she had Willi Unsoeld’s son, Reagan, in her seminar. And she had a horrible
time. It was a very difficult program. I remember people didn’t want to be in my seminar particularly.
They loved Bob. Bob, you know, just his sort of gnome-like way. I had his students, we shifted seminars
after the second quarter, I guess. And everybody wanted to be in Bob’s. That couldn’t happen.
So it was a big struggle for me. And I don’t think the team was all that—it wasn’t so good. I
probably said two sentences in faculty seminar for the whole year, and Nancy Allen said maybe three.
And the guys just didn’t—just passed us by. They didn’t know; they didn’t pay any attention.
Schrager: Insofar as what works well in programs at Evergreen, the idea that everybody gets to
contribute their expertise, and it is the different fields that come together around these questions and
themes, that notion of the relationship of interdisciplinary and disciplinary study seems to have been
absent in that program.
Taylor: In that program, the only way it was present was the psychology and biology, because of
Richard and Bob. It was Richard’s program. It was absolutely his design, and Bob bought into it. Now, it
was non-disciplinary in the sense that it wasn’t a psychology major. If you look at the books—we read
literature, we read evolution, we read psychology. I remember we read Erik Erikson, we read Loren
Eiseley, we read [Joyce] Cary, The Horse’s Mouth. I can still remember. We read some good stuff, and
we were supposed to put it together, but that first year, in my mind, isn’t what we began to call, in a
year or two, “Model A Coordinated Studies.”
Because what you’re talking about is called Model A Coordinated Studies. And it is a program
that has a theme, and a question. And it takes multi-disciplines to address the theme and the question.
And you need disciplinary range in the faculty in order to ask those different questions. So there had to
be a theme. And if you jump ahead, the person that is absolutely the best one of anybody, I think, of
anybody I’ve ever taught with, is Hiro [Kawasaki]. Because Hiro goes into a program with a question
that he doesn’t know the answer to. It’s genuine. And it’s big. And it’s interdisciplinary. And it’s there
every day. That’s Hiro. And I don’t know anybody else that does it as well as he did.
That was always in Merv’s idea, but it wasn’t across the board. And it came to be known as
Model A. Have you ever heard that phrase?
Schrager: No, I’ve never heard Model A. What was Model A?

20

Taylor: Model A was just the primary one. This is the seminal program. This is the way it should be.
And Richard Jones stood up and said, “And it should have four”—at least four faculty.
Schrager: But he [Jones] was not talking about Model A.
Taylor: But he’s not talking about Model A. Merv was talking about Model A.
Schrager: So you’re saying, then, that there were different ways of approaching planning a program and
conceptualizing a program.
Taylor: Yeah.
Schrager: So maybe we should back up a bit, and just go over what Merv’s conception, as you
understand it, was. Because you alluded to the story of the acceptance of it.
Taylor: Yeah.
Schrager: And I’d like to hear your version of how that happened.
Taylor: Yeah, and . . .
Schrager: And why that became Model A.
Taylor: Well, I think it must be Merv’s name, Model A. But Merv Cadwallader had done a program in
San Jose, and probably at Old Westbury, and it was called Athens and America. And it was a nondisciplinary moral curriculum that dealt with the ancient Greeks and modern America. And it was about
political obligation and duty; and it was about understanding community; it was about your role in the
world, as a citizen. And you come to that by reading Great Books—philosophy, history, literature,
religion. And it’s almost a Great Books theme. That’s what he did in San Jose.
When he came to Evergreen, he had the dream of having some programs to do that, that would
be basically social sciences-humanities programs. They could have history of science, but that’s what
they would be. He thought maybe 200, 300 students would do that, and the rest of the College would
have departments, and would just be like any other place. But there would be this little, special thing.
And then there became a kind of a conversation about, “Well, that makes that special, and what
about the rest?” And at that point, Don Humphrey says, “If it’s good for 100, it’s good for 1,000.” As
soon as he said that, he changes everything. Because all he does is accept the structure. He doesn’t
accept the content. He says, “Okay, we’re going to have teams; and we’re going to have
interdisciplinary programs; we’re going to have full-time; we’re going to have no grades; we’re going to
have narrative evaluations.” All those things. But what you do within the frame of that team is anything
you want.
Well, it turns out some things can be taught that way better than other things. And we’ve been
struggling with that ever since, because that structure was accepted, but the content wasn’t. And the
21

content couldn’t be, because the content was limited to social science, maybe; or it was a Great Books
curriculum, basically. And as soon as you started doing Human Development or . . . whatever . . . Time,
Space and Form—that was Sid White’s one. Or Causality, Freedom and Chance—that was Will
Humphreys’s first program. There were eight programs at the beginning. Man and Art was one. The
Individual in America, that was Will Unsoeld’s, with seven [faculty]. But people then, they had a design,
and some of them worked like Model A, and some of them didn’t.
Schrager: Interesting. So when Larry talked to me about his thinking, coming out of Old Westbury, in
part, it’s clear that he saw ethics as a central dimension of science.
Taylor: Mm-hm.
Schrager: And in that sense, he differed from a number of the science faculty, who viewed it as an addon. Maybe Sluss was similar. . .
Taylor: He and Bob. And Byron [Youtz] and Fred Tabbutt were not there. I think Larry and Bob were
the ethical part, and they were not coming as scientists. Byron was both. Fred Tabbutt was definitely a
scientist, and Fred Tabbutt was the earliest one to have trouble, I think. And then people like Bob
Barnard, I don’t think they bought into it. And I wonder where Don Humphreys was. Because he’s
instrumental in all of this, because he’s the one who says—but he just sees the structure, I think. I don’t
know. What did Larry say about that?
Schrager: He spoke about a split between most of the science faculty, who had their own retreat to
plan, I believe during the planning year—he was describing it—and himself and Sluss as two who didn’t
want to join that discussion . . .
Taylor: Yeah.
Schrager: . . . because they felt it was in conflict with, and maybe even intended to undermine
interdisciplinary studies as the heart of the College.
Taylor: Yeah, I think that was true. And Byron was the leader of that, I’m pretty sure, because one of
the early, early papers that Byron wrote was “Can we do upper-division science at Evergreen?” He
wrote a paper on that. “And to do upper-division science at Evergreen, you have to have lower-division
science taught. And can you teach lower-division science in Coordinated Studies?” And there was a big
argument about that.
And people like Bob and Larry didn’t care particularly—but other people were saying, “Well, Bob
isn’t teaching science,” or, “Larry’s not teaching science. They’re teaching science as ethics, or science
as practical, but they’re not teaching chemistry.”
It’s an honest argument, and it’s never been solved. It’s never been solved.
22

Schrager: I asked Randy Stilson for Richard Alexander’s writing, at David Marr’s request, because David
remembers Richard wrote a significant piece in terms of the arguments about the curriculum. And what
Randy came up with was a piece by Richard about upper-division literature. An extended argument
about how you could have upper-division literature at the College. I don’t know if that’s an attempt to
bridge this difference?
Taylor: Maybe. Maybe it was. I don’t know. I know I remember that with Richard. Yeah, I don’t know.
But it never got solved.
There was also, very early on, this argument about full-time, or rather, how do you teach foreign
language? How do you teach music? How do you teach a skill, a definable skill, within these Programs?
And early on—early, early on—there was a 12-4 proposal.
And there was the thought of two colleges. You’d have the Coordinated Studies College and
then you’d have the Course College. That was second year, maybe. There were those discussions.
Schrager: And so there were challenges to the coordinated studies model, the full-time approach, from
the beginning?
Taylor: Oh, yeah, I think so. I see the College as proposing this ideal, and people bought into the
structure—not the content, but the structure—and tried to fit round balls in square holes, or whatever.
And that from the beginning to today, it’s been a struggle to, “Can you hold onto it?” You know, you get
proposals. “Oh, it’s too difficult.” “Oh, it doesn’t work.” “Oh, that means I can’t do this.” And it’s a
struggle, and it has been a struggle since October of the first year. And it’s amazing that it stayed, and it
stayed because the structure still works. And the full-time—well, the full-time, that’s what’s really being
tested right now, I think.
I think the fear that if you do the two colleges, you’ll lose it. It’s sort of a slippery slope
argument. If you stop doing the full-time, if you start having courses more than we do. That’s why they
started the thing about you had to have an umbrella contract. You couldn’t take four courses; you had
to have a contract that embodied—embedded—four courses. I don’t know if that happens still, but
that’s what you had to do, because they didn’t want somebody, without advice, just being able to do
four isolated things with nobody trying to make them make sense together.
Anyway, I don’t know where we ought to go from there.
Schrager: How about we talk about both the question of student-faculty relationships, and student
experiences of the first year? Which then, of course, continue in the second and third year.
Taylor: Yeah.
Schrager: That seems important to me.
23

Taylor: Some things about that. You know, it starts with faculty having close connection with students,
because the first thing we did was we housed students. [laughing] We take care of students. And, early
on, it’s everybody’s first name. I mean, that, in 1970, was big. Charlie McCann was Charlie. Everybody
was first name. I don’t know how that decision happened, but that’s the way it was.
The first week of the College, when people came, I remember we had a party at Eric Larson’s for
all his and my students. Richard Jones had parties for all his students at his house. We were [snaps
fingers] pretty tight. And I had potlucks at my house four or five times a year with the students.
Seminars—the seminar would come to the house. We all did that.
And it was all first name. And there was a lot of talk and tension about what the relationship
should be; about the younger faculty wanting to be friends with the students. And I remember having
conversations with Chuck Pailthorp about that, because he was pretty young, and there was friendship.
And Richard Jones, he was sort of a leader in this, and this was significant to me, because he was the
one that talked about natural authority. It’s not friendship—and I understand it in terms of it’s what
happens in high school, or any teacher. A second-year teacher is better than a first-year teacher
because they have a different eye. [chuckles] It’s about being able to be respected and have authority
from students, and somehow, making that happen. It’s not about friendship, it’s about natural
authority, about respect. And that’s the relationship that should—I remember Richard talking about
that endlessly.
But the students and faculty —there was a lot of friendship, and a lot of on-the-borderline
relationships. [chuckles] I can remember, we went off—this would be the second year, when I was
teaching what was just called Western Civilization, and I was teaching with Mark Levensky, Thad Curtz, a
woman who’s wonderful, whose name was Karen Syverson, who was a classicist—and in a wheelchair—
and she taught Greek. But we went off to Spirit Lake, before Spirit Lake blew up, to this wonderful cabin.
We had to go there by boat, so everybody was captive. I don’t know how good a retreat it was, but
there was a fair amount of marijuana there, and faculty were involved. I wasn’t. I was too naïve; I didn’t
have anything to do with it ever, and never have, but that was just me. But it was widespread.
Widespread. And I think that was common across the campus. I think it was everywhere. I don’t know.
But, I guess that was the ‘70s. I don’t know. I don’t know if that was unique to Evergreen.
Schrager: No, it wasn’t unique to Evergreen, I’m sure.
Taylor: I don’t think it was unique to Evergreen.
Schrager: But the reduced distance between faculty and students surely was unusual, the degree to
which. . . .
24

Taylor: Yeah. And I read a lot of student evaluations of me that are in these books, and they all talk
about friendship, and they all talk about it in glowing terms. There’s some about “You were more of a
friend than a teacher,” there’s some of that. But it’s mostly about “I felt closer to you when I . . . .”—and
I can remember so many, so many cases where we were counselors as well as teachers.
One of the students, I wonder what’s happened with her, she was super-strong student. She
was from New York City. She’d had a tough life. And she was raped on the trail going from the Library
to the dorm the first year by a total stranger. And she came knocking on my door, 1 o’clock in the
morning. And that’s who she turned to.
And that was not unusual. People turned to faculty because we knew the students. So you
were expected, and mostly wanted, to be involved in that way. So you were on, it was 24 hours a day.
And everybody knew your telephone number, knew where you lived. And you were there. At some
point, people would say, “No.” But that was a couple years, I think, a couple years down the line. At
least, all the teams I was on, there was a close relationship, and that was what was expected, and that’s
what the students expected. I don’t know if it was good, but that’s what happened.
I look at the names of these students, and I know them all. I mean, these are students from
1970 up to ’75. I know them all. I knew the ones in my seminar best, but I knew everybody in the
program. And I read about those students, and I can picture them. I know. That still happened, but the
first years, it’s clearer in my mind. The best seminar I ever had was two years before I retired, and I
remember all those students. So it does go on. But the first year—maybe it’s me, but I bet that’s true of
most people.
Schrager: The characteristics of the students who were coming to Evergreen at the beginning?
Taylor: I think there is some difference in the sense that the students that came at the beginning agreed
to a risk. What’s happened now is just because of the culture. They didn’t come for a career or for a
job. They came here because they wanted to learn, I mean, in a passionate way. They would all say
that. And I think it was true.
The consequences of that—I think I told you once about the March breakdown the first year.
You know, the students came and said, “I want to come because I want to learn, and it’s going to
wonderful”—and then, they’re faced with themselves saying, “You know, I’d rather go to San Francisco.”
Or, “You know, I don’t want to read that book.” Or, “I’m not doing it.” And then saying to themselves,
“It’s all my fault.”
So the students got in a position where, because the burden to learn was all on them, and then
they got—at least this is the way I saw it—they couldn’t get themselves out of that rut, because they
25

wanted to learn and they didn’t think anybody should require them to learn. But they weren’t learning.
And the whole notion was widespread, because there were no requirements, and faculty couldn’t figure
out how to change that. So students weren’t writing papers; they weren’t reading; they weren’t coming
to class; they weren’t doing anything. There was a significant number. There were some, of course.
And there were students that were upset with other students. And there was nastiness.
I mean, it was unhealthy. And come March, we were going to have a big college-wide airing.
And it was all set up, and it was going to be in the Library lobby, and people were talking about it. And
then it snowed, and the College was closed for three days, because of the snow. You couldn’t do
anything.
So, at that point, the College opened up again, and I say it’s like Shakespeare’s idea of “time
out.” That three days had sort of gotten people to think. And I know in Human Development, when
they came back, they were required to write papers. I mean, we made program-wide requirements.
You didn’t have a choice. And I think that probably was across the board, but I know it happened in
Human Development. And that helped.
And from then on, you don’t have requirements across the College, but programs had
requirements. They even had tests. And up until that time, you couldn’t do anything like that. It was
just a common acceptance. So that was kind of funny.
Schrager: With the first cohort of students to come, they had to go through this process of facing
themselves and their learning. I associate that with what we want students to do at Evergreen.
Taylor: Yeah.
Schrager: But this is a deeper level, because it sounds like the faculty hadn’t figured out how to do this
themselves.
Taylor: Well, the faculty—everybody was too idealistic. It was a philosophical position. Everybody
thought—or people thought—that if you made it possible, if you gave them the opportunity, they would
come. And they did. It’s not that you have to have grades or competition, but you do have to have
structure and expectations. You can see that evolving in the College, where you start naming
expectations; you start naming covenants; you start setting out, “This is what you need to do.” Because
at the beginning, it was so wide open, and I think that’s the Dewey in the philosophy. The tension.
Schrager: Explain that.
Taylor: It seemed like the tension between the individual and people will learn what’s necessary to
learn at the time that it becomes necessary. Dewey—kind of you give people the opportunity, or
something comes up, and the curiosity will be there because of the situation, and then they’ll learn, and
26

then you just follow that. And I think Richard Jones represented that more than anybody. And that in
contrast to what the moral curriculum people were saying, was that it needs to be prescriptive, and
clear. Not that it needs requirements, but you need to have goals and expectations, and set them out.
The College has moved, I think, further away from Dewey. I’m not sure, but I think, in most programs.
We want students to be self-motivated, and to come because they want to learn. But that
doesn’t mean that you just give them a blank slate, and assume that they’re just going to figure it out.
Schrager: It sounds like there was an enormous leap for the faculty in the first year of teaching having
to do with the realization of the importance of requirements within programs.
Taylor: I think so. There might be other programs, that talk about it differently, but that certainly was
true for Human Development. Maybe Chuck Pailthorp would have a different idea, or Nancy Allen. But
I’m sure that was true for Human Development. And you can hear it in the self-evaluations that the
students write.
Schrager: Do they realize the faculty were learning as well?
Taylor: They do, and some of them resent it. Some of them blame the faculty because that’s who they
turn to. They had two choices. They blame themselves and said, “I came here to want to learn, and
now I don’t want to and it’s all my fault.” And it’s much easier to say, “Well, you know, it’s their fault.”
Schrager: Right.
Taylor: Which, in a sense, it was. It’s a huge risk. I mean, I think the early students were asked to take a
huge risk, and a lot of them were willing, and a lot of them did really well. But it doesn’t work for
everybody. And that used to be the line when you talked to students, you’d say, “Evergreen isn’t for
everybody, so figure it out and it might be for you. But Evergreen isn’t for everybody.” And that used to
be a common—in high schools—“Evergreen’s a good school. Evergreen’s a great school. But it’s not for
everybody. You’ve got to be self-motivated. You’ve got to know what you want.”
And we used to argue that that wasn’t the case, but you have to have a bit of blind faith that
you join something that gives it the structure. You have to have that faith. And then you have to throw
yourself into it. It’s not that you had to know what you wanted. We used to argue that. And I think
that’s still true.
Schrager: In deciding what you were going to do the second year, and putting together the program
that you did the second year coming off the first year, can you talk about that?
Taylor: Well, yeah. And it’s not a good story.
Schrager: That’s fine.

27

Taylor: It’s not a good story. The first year, I had this internship hook. And I think if you’d have talked
to Richard, I think he would have thought I was nuts; I would be gone. Human Development was a twoyear program, but I left after one year. I left on the grounds that it wasn’t content that I was
comfortable with. I am much more wedded to content than process, I think. I want to teach something,
not just teach. And Human Development was teaching, it wasn’t teaching something. And the best
thing I did in Human Development was teach writing. That’s where I felt I had the most confidence,
because I was willing to spend the time. I don’t think the other faculty were willing, but I really spent
time with students with writing.
So the second year, Richard Brian originally was going to do a Western Civ program of some
sort, and I joined. And then something happened that he left it and I don’t know what he did, but he
didn’t do that program. And Mark Levensky was a new hire, and was hired to do that, Thad Curtz, Karen
Syverson and me, and it was called Western Civ.
Well, when I think about it, even then, but when I think about it now, to move from the model
of Richard Jones as teacher, which I never could really connect to, to the model of Mark Levensky as
teacher—and here, no matter how you see this, I am an apprentice teacher. I mean, I’m thrown into a
world that I don’t know. I’ve done teaching. I don’t have a lot of self-confidence, and I certainly don’t
think of myself as a university teacher. So I’m in a training situation, at best. But Richard didn’t do any
training. He didn’t take that responsibility. Bob Sluss did a bit, but Richard didn’t. And Mark Levensky is
totally in another world. And his style—I remember the first seminar with him, we were reading The
Iliad, and he came out at the break and he said, “We’ve spent the whole hour on one word—‘wrath’.”
And I just looked at him, and my eyes rolled, and I said, “Oh, I’m going to have trouble with this one.”
[laughing] And I never felt confident, although at least I was reading. There was content in the
program.
But, I was only in that program for one quarter, fall quarter. The program was actually pretty
good; it did some wonderful things. At the end of the year, it did something called the “Mother
Project,” and they had all the mothers come. I mean, they did some fantastic things. But by then I
wasn’t in the program.
Second quarter, a group of students that were interested in the local Legislature in Olympia, had
formed what was called “Citizens Action Network,” called CAN. In those days, curriculum was generated
on the spot. We didn’t have a catalog published ahead of time. Every year was planned for the very
next year. And this was a group of 18 students that wanted to understand local government. And the
deans said—they needed a faculty advisor. I don’t know how I was named—Ed Kormondy maybe, I
28

don’t know, or Merv or somebody—I was asked if I would do it, because probably enrollment in
Western Civ was not full. I don’t know.
So I did. And it was fantastic. I spent all my time in the Legislature working with these 20
students, whose mission was to understand local government and to involve Evergreen students in local
government. So they had news reports; they lobbied; they had students go to the Legislature for
different things. It was a pretty good program. And a couple of those students ended up being elected
officers. I remember Eleanor Lee, she was a Senator for a long time. Anyway, that’s where she started.
They were slightly older, but they were interested. And I knew almost nothing about it, but I
learned. When I’ve talked about my career at Evergreen, and thinking about it, I was an apprentice, and
Evergreen was my teacher. I mean, I just could never have imagined being able to do what I did,
because people trusted me, and I did it. I didn’t do it well at the beginning, but that program I did well,
and the students were just delighted that they got somebody, because they couldn’t do the program
without somebody. So they accepted me absolutely, and then we figured it out.
And we read good stuff. I found things that we should read. I don’t know if you know the book
called The Dance of Legislation, or something. It was written by, not Magnusson, but a clerk working for
Magnusson, and it was how a bill becomes law, but it was the case of doctors getting their tuition paid if
they would offer to work in rural Washington.
Anyway, we read good things, and the students worked hard, and it was a big success. So that
was winter quarter. I don’t know what I was going to do. But spring quarter the second year, there was
an admissions crisis. We didn’t have enough students. Dave Brown must have been fired, or left—I
don’t know how—but Ed Kormondy came to me and said, “Will you be Acting Director of Admissions?”
Addendum: Spring 1973 there was big upheaval at the college. Enrollment was down, there was a
budget crises and the legislature was talking of closing the college down. Dave Barry (Provost) and Joe
Shoben (Vice President for Student Affairs) were both laid off. Ed Kormondy was appointed Provost.
Both Byron Youtz and Merv Cadwallader were considered for that job. Charlie McCann made the
appointment with no college wide involvement.
So spring quarter the second year, I moved back to Admissions, and I ran Admissions for the
next six months because they needed me. Richard Brian and I basically did it. I don’t know how; Richard
and I were together. We read all the applications, I managed the office, and it was a mess, and the
morale was horrible, and things were all fouled up. And I straightened it up. So that was the spring
quarter.

29

Then, at that point—you might have heard this story of the rotations of deans? There was a
group of faculty that believed that the power structure of Evergreen was too set. And it was led by
Chuck Nisbet—early faculty, insecure, whatever, I don’t know, but the dimensions of power. So the idea
was the deans had too much power, and so the deans should rotate into the faculty. And so Merv said
he would be the first to rotate out of dean. Actually Don Humphreys was going to leave the Dean’s Area
first, but he had a heart attack and Ed Kormandy became Dean. This was before he became Provost.
And LLyn DeDanaan, I think she might have been the one that rotated in. Or Oscar? Correction: It was
Oscar that rotated in first and he was especially responsible for faculty hirind. And soon, Rudy, and
Willie Parson. Charlie Teske was the third one to leave, so Merv left first. Each year, one would leave.
And that’s how the rotation of deans started.
So then, the third year, I taught with Merv, and Richard Brian and Linnea Pearson. So there
were four of us, and we taught Democracy and Tyranny, which was a program based on Merv’s old
Athens and America idea. And it was a Model A Program, and it was good. It wasn’t as good as it should
have been. I became more confident, and Merv paid a lot of attention to me. Richard Brian got
divorced that year, and fell in love with a student, and was pretty absent during the whole program. We
sort of covered for him. He was . . . somewhere. So Merv and I were working double time because we
were covering for him. And Linnea Pearson, who was a linguist, and was hired—I don’t know, this is not
the sort of stuff that needs to be on the record, maybe—she was hired because of Leo Daugherty. They
had been a couple, but by the time she came, they were no longer a couple. And she had a real difficult
time with authority, and with Merv. And she was very, very unhappy. She left shortly thereafter.
You know, teams matter. Teams matter. But the content was clear, and the students were
good, and we did have a community, and we did work hard. And if you read through, you can see how I
became much more confident in what I was doing. So that was the third year.
And then the fourth year, Merv and I taught again—that was Two Cities of Destiny—with Carol
Spence—who’s a psychologist, who’s a friend of mine in Seattle; she’s still around—and Gil Salcedo.
And that program was one of the best ever, I think. That one had a strong theme; we had good
readings; I was much more confident. I was the coordinator of that program.
And by the fourth year, I had recognized, and proven, that I could be a teacher. But it took that.
I mean, it was iffy. They first two years were pretty iffy. I wasn’t confident; I wasn’t happy; I was in over
my head; I didn’t have confidence.
Schrager: How do you understand what changed you from a novice to a confident teacher over those
years.
30

Taylor: Well, it was an apprenticeship. I credit Merv a lot, because he had confidence in me. And I
credit that I was teaching with a theme that I could buy into and understand, and learn. In a sense, the
students that were having trouble in Human Development because it was all over the place were like
me; and the students in Two Cities of Destiny knew full well what we were doing, because we knew
what we were doing. And my sense, my tolerance for chaos is not as great as some other people’s. To
the extent that I have an academic training, it’s in history. And one thing does happen after another.
[laughing] And when I was teaching once with Bill Arney, who said, “Well, it doesn’t matter that Homer
came before Aeschylus.”
And I said, “Yes, it does.”
But when people are willing to just say—as Richard Jones says, “Well, it doesn’t matter that
Elizabeth was not Catholic.” Queen Elizabeth was not Catholic, and it does matter.
“Well, you know, I don’t necessarily know truth, but I know when something’s false.”
So, when you have a program that’s based not on content, it drives me crazy. I can’t do it. And
so I think finding that out, and then being in a place where I could do it, and explain it to students, and
that students got it, that made it. I just gained confidence. And I just always loved seminars. And once I
figured it out . . . . And I think, as I read back on what was going on in these notebooks, you could see
that I got better and better at it. And I was better at it than somebody like Mark Levensky, or Merv, or a
lot of people that didn’t know how to be in a seminar. They only knew how to tell people stuff, and be
too directive. And I figured that out.
Schrager: Is that inability to reach students where they are with the questions that they’re asking—is it
about being responsive to them that makes the seminar work? You can look at this one way and say,
“Well, it’s because you are bringing your sense of history to your teaching in a very non-dogmatic way?”
Or it’s something else that has to do with your interpersonal relations, but not necessarily psychology.
Taylor: Well, turn this off for a minute, and let me see if I can find this, because there’s this one
statement that’s clear what I say. . . .
End of Part 2 of 3 of Nancy Taylor on 12-20-16
Begin Part 3 of 3 of Nancy Taylor on 12-20-16
So this is about Nancy Allen coming to the program—it must have been Democracy and Tyranny—and
what context, I don’t know, but she came to give a guest lecture. And her guest lecture was about
mothers and daughters. And Richard Alexander had come the week before to give something, and he
gave this sort of authoritarian, big-picture, sort of know-it-all. Richard’s presence is always really strong.
And Nancy came the next week, and I have this entry in my notebook about how worried I am.
31

It’s about teachers as entertainers; and that Richard had been entertaining, and Nancy had been
heartfelt and timid. And it was about gender roles. It was about, would the students be able to see
what Nancy had given, or would they want entertainment? And the students were sort of 50-50,
because the students all respond. And it was about gender, and it was about women, and it was about
teaching. And the students grappling with what they saw in Nancy, and wanting to value her, but not.
So there’s an interchange between my writing, and then the students writing back to me about what
they think about that issue.
And then I write about the difference between my mother and my father as a result of that—
and I looked to my father as the guide, and my mother as the support. And we go through all of that; so
then the students start writing back about mothers and fathers. So it’s a fascinating exchange, but it’s
about gender only in the sense it’s about tradition; it’s about dealing with the stereotypes.
Schrager: It’s also you raising it for the students. You’re bringing them to a level of awareness, and
maybe many of them wouldn’t have been thinking about Nancy’s presentation in this way if you hadn’t
called their attention to it.
Taylor: Yeah, I think that’s true. But I’m defending Nancy, and I’m feeling . . . You can see that I’m
defending, and worried about how she’s going to be perceived, and how she’s going to be treated. And
having some of the same feelings myself, although [laughing] at one point, one student says, “Well, if I
really want to know something, I’ll go talk to Richard Alexander, but I’d just as soon not have him in my
seminar.” [laughing] So they could see through it. Some of it.
But I think that was an issue, women in teaching. I think that’s an issue about whether women
can have authority. And that was in my mind, and it was certainly in Nancy Allen’s. Nancy and I talked
about it a lot.
The beginning, there were eight women hired in the first year to teach out of the 40-some
faculty, or 50. There was Linda Kahan, Carolyn Dobbs, Carol Olexa, Peggy Dickinson, Betty Ruth Estes,
Nancy Allen, me, and LLyn DeDanaan. I think that’s eight. And there were none in the planning faculty.
Now, there is a story that I really need to get fleshed out. When LLyn Patterson—LLyn
DeDanaan—became dean, which was probably to replace Merv—I think it would have been the third
year—she had a lot of support to start with. And then she didn’t have a lot of support from the other
deans. Life was tough for her. She was going through a personal change. I think she maybe came out
at that point, and she changed her name, and she was having, feeling no support. And the women
faculty—at that point, there were more, maybe there were 30—we all got together, and we met at
Nancy Allen’s house, I think. And there was this huge women’s solidarity meeting with LLyn DeDanaan.
32

I’m sure she remembers it. I don’t have the full story of it, but I remember it being a pretty big turning
point.
Because women’s consciousness-raising stuff started, I think, probably about 1972 or 1973.
Somewhere in there. And Gloria Steinem is somewhere in there. And it was felt pretty soon on the
campus, but I don’t think there was much done. But LLyn being the first dean was a breakthrough. And
her not getting support, or not feeling support, from the other deans and from the College, and being
stuck, and there was this big meeting, and all the women came. The women on the faculty—might have
been 30—were all there. I just remember that as a time that everybody saw the need, and was there. I
think maybe Betsy [Diffendal] was involved. Maybe Maxine [Mimms].
That’s a story that should be . . . I would like to hear what LLyn De Danaan—because it was all
around her. It was around giving support to LLyn. And it all had to do with women, not harassment
necessarily, but, recognition and empowerment.
Schrager: You talk about Nancy and you being on the same team, and not being able to connect as
women at that first year.
Taylor: Yeah.
Schrager: But in the interim, between then and when you were describing this event with LLyn, things
must have changed, the more women who were on the faculty . . .
Taylor: Yeah.
Schrager: . . . the more sense there would be.
Taylor: Yeah, but see, now, I didn’t teach—well, I taught with Carol Spence—the interesting thing about
that is she’s a psychologist. She works for the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research. She left the College
after about six years and she’s worked at Fred Hutch ever since. But she was a psychologist that taught
in psychology programs. She taught with Maxine.
And she was a wonderful person, but I called myself the “little girl from Kent” and she was the
“little girl from Ohio.” And she had not much sophistication. She went to Ohio State. She was well
trained. She had a Ph.D. in Psychology, but she didn’t have confidence either. We taught Two Cities of
Destiny, and I know that by that time, I knew what I was doing, and felt comfortable enough that I could
help her. And so we had a bonding that lasts to today, because she hadn’t read this stuff, she talked
about the “little girl from Ohio getting cultured.” She hadn’t read Shakespeare. She didn’t know it. So
she was in the same boat I was in, a little more willing because she was a little older by that time, a little
more confident. But there was support. I could give her support. And I was really conscious about that.

33

And then I didn’t teach with women for the longest time; and then, at the end, I only taught
with women. It’s sort of interesting that way. But I taught with Leo [Daugherty] and Gordon Beck for
several years.
Schrager: Larry [Eickstaedt] mentioned, I believe the second year, there was a gender studies program.
Taylor: Oh, yeah. Nancy Allen and Ron Woodbury. It was called Sex Roles.
Schrager: Was Betty in that?
Taylor: Betty Kutter, Ron Woodbury, Bonnie Greenhut, and Nancy Allen, and Nancy was the
coordinator.
Schrager: And Larry said that he got a lot of flak for that from male faculty. “What are you teaching this
for?”
Taylor: Was Larry in it?
Schrager: Larry was in it.
Taylor: Larry was in it. Oh, okay. Well, yeah. There were some women that were more on that edge.
LLyn DeDanaan was, certainly. And Nancy Allen would have called herself a feminist before I would,
probably. Because Nancy was involved in that. Huh. I didn’t realize Larry was.
Schrager: He’s proud of it.
Taylor: He’s proud of it. Yeah. I think it was a pretty good program. “Sex Roles” and something. It had
another title to it. [chuckles]
I did Social History of Women the fifth year—yeah, after Two Cities, I did a group contract called
The Social History of Women. The big battle was whether men should be allowed in it. And they were. I
think there were two men and 20 women, something like that. And it was all right. It was a good
program.
Schrager: When you say “battle,” this was among the students?
Taylor: Yeah, whether they should be allowed; whether the men who wanted to sign up for it should be
allowed. But they were, and they were fine. It was okay. But that was a time of conscious-raising
groups all over the place—1974, I think, or ’75.
Schrager: So you were responding to these interests among the students and in teaching this.
Taylor: Yeah. And you also see—I mean, in the Democracy and Tyranny, we have two books by women
in the reading list. We have Sappho, a poet from Ancient Greece, and we have Ariel, a book by Sylvia
Plath. Those are the only two books by women about women in the curriculum. That’s 1972. And I
don’t think there’s any program that would do that now. Even the next year, there’s more—I mean, you

34

worked harder, and Social History of Woman, was almost all books by women. So that happened pretty
fast. There was a recognition.
Schrager: In terms of the difference of female and male students in the way that they responded to
Nancy Allen or to the women’s issues, and with each other in terms of seminar?
Taylor: Yeah, I don’t know. I mean, you could find out quite a bit from what these students say. And
that Democracy and Tyranny program, the two seminars that I remember the most are those two on
Sappho and Ariel. I could play back those seminars.
I remember, the Sappho one, we divided the seminars, we divided the men and the women to
read the poems. And the men were furious, and the women were absolutely over the moon. And the
women’s seminar was so heartfelt. And that’s ‘72—and the men were mad, they were jealous, they
were “Why couldn’t we be there?” And the women students just [laughing] said, “Do your own thing.”
I remember there was one fragment of Sappho’s—have you read her poetry? It’s pretty
moving; it’s pretty wonderful. And there’s a Mary Barnard translation of it that’s the best. She’s from
Vancouver, actually. And there’s this one fragment “Pain penetrates me drop by drop.” Well, the
students figured out—the women figured out—that that was menstrual pain. And when they figured
that out, they just thought that it was the best thing in the whole world! [laughing] And they told the
men this, and the men didn’t get it. [laughing] I mean, I could play that back as if it were yesterday.
And the other one was with Ariel. There’s some absolutely powerful Sylvia Plath poems, and
they’re hard. And I can remember that seminar going on like three hours, because they wanted to stay.
I don’t remember if we split women and men on that or not. But there was a hunger that I can sort of
name as being about women.
Schrager: Well, that’s a good place to stop.
Taylor: Should we quit?
Schrager: Yeah, maybe.
Taylor: It’s 4:00.
Schrager: Yeah. I think it’s good to stop when—
Taylor: Yeah, it’s good to stop now. And I don’t know if you want to look at any of this stuff, but I wish I
could find that one piece, but I don’t know where it is.
Schrager: We’ll find it.
Taylor: I’ll find it.
End of Part 3 of 3 of Nancy Taylor on 12-20-16

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