1975 Kirkland Class Annalist’s Letter
Kirkland Class of 1975: Never Static or Finished
Martha:
I’m Martha Freymann Miser, and this is my co-annalist, Shelley Gertzog Cowan. We’re here to tell the story of Kirkland’s Class of 1975 — who we were and how we shaped Kirkland’s short, dynamic life.
Shelley:
Kirkland began as a big idea. In 1961, Hamilton College faced times that were a changin’: impending waves of baby boomers, threats from the Soviet Union, and the rumblings of a cultural revolution. Fewer bright, young men wanted to spend four years at a small, all-male college in the middle of… here.
Visionary president Bob McEwen had other concerns: Hamilton’s rigid curriculum, an aging faculty, and a social scene that revolved around binge drinking and “rolls” — road trips to Cazenovia, Skidmore, and Wells.
Luckily, Hamilton’s need to step it up happened in abundant times. America was ready to invest in higher education. The breakthrough came in a grant from the Ford Foundation. But there was a catch. To get the money, they needed to produce a long-range plan.
The stars aligned. Hamilton saw the chance to THINK BIG. Their solution was bold. They proposed a cluster of independent, coordinate colleges, starting with a college for women. Why women? As Sam Babbitt, Kirkland’s one and only president, would say, they believed that “women, with their charm, would soothe the savage beast.”
Now, they also figured some would become wives who would have careers. So their curriculum would need a bit of creative tweaking — but more on that later. The point is, Hamilton imagined the future and said, let’s build THAT college!
Martha:
Kirkland College was chartered in 1965. The work of creating it fell to President Babbitt and his board, led first by Walter Beinecke and later Fran Musselman — Hamilton men, tirelessly dedicated to the Kirkland vision.
Kirkland also benefited from the wisdom of women — indomitable women who served as trustees during its formative years, including Millicent Carey McIntosh, the first president of Barnard College; Annette Baxter, Barnard professor of women’s history; and Iola Haverstick, a Barnard trustee. As Sam recalled, each fought with “fierce determination” against the tendency to design women’s educations around “simplistic grounds related to gender.” As they worked, ideas about women were changing fast. The Pill hit the market. So did The Feminine Mystique. Whatever Kirkland was to become would be very different than originally imagined!
The trustees deliberated. A philosophy emerged. It was built on their understanding of the realities of women’s lives — lives that likely would include marriage, children, and careers. Lives that would not move in a straight-line progression. They landed on a flexible, interdisciplinary curriculum meant to foster lifelong learning, so that we could reconfigure our lives over and over. THAT was the idea of Kirkland.
Where was Hamilton in all this? As Sam recalled: “Once [they] turned us loose, they didn’t pay too much attention. Kirkland was well down the road before they realized just how innovative it would be.”
The first class arrived in the fall of 1968. Ours was the fourth to enter. We arrived on a sunny September day in 1971. We made Kirkland complete. Knowing this was our claim to fame, Shelley and I met in the archives of Burke Library on a beautiful day last fall — it wasn’t raining; it was sunny and beautiful — eager for evidence of our momentous impact. What did we find? A whole lot about the Charter Class. Us … not so much! Just a single line in the 1971 board notes saying we “completed the product.” Ouch.
That night, Shelley and I reflected over a bottle of wine. And we got to know each other. Like Kirkland women who’ve connected over the years, we shared the tapestries of our families and careers, our achievements and contributions, our successes and sorrows. In the process, we discovered we’re both middle children — just like Kirkland ’75! Three classes before us; three that would graduate after. We felt like the middle kids we were. Nope, not neglected. The good part: self-reliant and scrappy.
Shelley:
Think about it: Parents make a big deal about the first kid’s milestones, like learning to ride a bike. But the middle one? Mom says, “Good for you. Go ride over to Martha’s.” So that’s what we did! As Susie Lowry says, “I knew I was the architect of my Kirkland experience. If it fell short, it was my doing.”
Back to that September day in 1971: Kirkland was still under construction. As “Wake up Maggie” blasted from an open window, we lugged our suitcases into Major, Minor, McIntosh, Root, Keehn, and “B-dorm.”
So, what brought us here? The open curriculum. The emphasis on the arts. The idea that Kirkland valued curiosity, creativity, and independence. Heather Brindle Wolfe speaks for many of us, saying, “independent studies ... suited my independent nature.”
And no grades! That was a big one.
By the time we applied, word was getting out. We heard it from guidance counselors, uncles, family friends, or, in my case, guys with girlfriends in the Charter Class who said, “Trust me, Kirkland is the place for you.”
Some from the city liked the idea of a small, open-minded college in a rural area. Some liked the coordinate relationship with Hamilton. Some just liked the vibe. Phyllis Cohen, Marianne Udow-Phillips, Julie Weinstein, and Catherine Cluett Belden all grew up with strong, educated, trailblazing moms. Catherine says, “I was raised by an entrepreneurial mother who succeeded at each career she chose; it never occurred to me that I couldn’t do something, so Kirkland seemed ideal for me.”
But my personal favorite? What Beth Martin said: “They had no rules, and I didn’t like following rules.”
We came from public schools, private schools, and boarding schools. From Upstate, Central and Western New York. From the city and surrounds, and a long swath of the East Coast. A few from out west and a few from abroad, like Toshiko Takeuchi from Kobe, Japan. Most of us were from well-educated, upper-middle class, or wealthy families. Just under half of us were Jewish. Most of us — 96% to be exact — were white.
Martha:
We may have looked homogeneous, but we were not. We were young women with a wide range of personalities, life experiences, and emotional needs — at a college that was isolated and small. Some of us felt like strangers in a strange land. More than a few mentioned a sophistication divide, especially with those from the city.
And here’s to our sisters of color, of which there were so few. In his account, Sam often reflects on the unique challenges faced by Black and Latina students, quoting one who said, “I know it has been hard. We struggled, but we have to keep moving on in peace.”
In any case, it took a certain kind of grit to make it. Compared to peer institutions, Kirkland had a high attrition rate, our class included. If Kirkland didn’t work out for some, they were gone by sophomore year.
Making friends was important. While some found it tough, others fell into instant friendships, like Kathryn Livingston-Kriegler, who said: “I met my best friend my freshman year [and] we’re still best friends today.”
We forged bonds through groups like theater, sports, committees, and choir. The Black and Latin Student Union. And Sappho, the support group founded by gay students during our senior year. We debated in the Assembly, the hallmark of Kirkland self-governance. Thanks to Maggi Landau, who ran the Assembly and, later, the first Kirkland Alumni Association.
We saw noteworthy speakers. We watched movies. Susan Lewis Kaye recalls the auditorium in the old Science Building where she met her husband, Gordon, one frigid winter night. The film was Andy Warhol’s Trash, which opens with a naked couple dancing. “We started exchanging quips and ended up holding hands,” she wrote. “I remember saying, ‘You might regret this when the lights go on.’”
We fondly recall waffle ceilings, walk-in closets, and Marimekko prints. Big windows and colorful blinds. The art studios in List. The rock swing and late-night peanut butter raids at McEwen.
And across the road? Carnegie, the light in Sage Rink, the stacks at the old library, and the chairs upstairs at Bristol where you could look out over the quad.
Shelley:
The great outdoors figured large: riding bikes, cross country skiing, skinny dipping in the reservoir. Walking in Kirkland and Root glens. The sharpness of the air in winter. And sliding out of dorm windows on plastic trays because there was SO MUCH SNOW! We spent evenings at the Pub. Utica Club, 25 cents a beer. And that jukebox — be still our tender hearts.
Off-campus life included trips to the Cider Mill, the bakery next to the firehouse — best brownies ever — Don’s Rok, and the Shoe. For some, social life included frat parties. Now I’m pretty sure I never missed a Gin ‘n’ Juice. Martha never heard of Gin ‘n’ Juice!
In our full array, we reveled in our independence, our outspokenness, and boho style. We were each unique. As Annie Halvorsen from Kirkland ’76 told me, “Everyone went to her own Kirkland.”
By our time, deep integration with Hamilton was well underway. Many of us found common ground and lasting friendships, even marriage, with guys across the road. And KH’75 has lasted. We’ve planned reunions together from the start. Still, as Carolyn York says, our memories are different from the guys. Theirs are shared: chapel, required classes, and, of course, Dunham. Most of ours are individual or shared with just a few friends.
But in the end, our common thread was music. It was everywhere. In the dorms we played Joni Mitchell, Stevie Wonder, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, Jim Croce, The Temptations, The Grateful Dead, The Doors, The Beatles, and The Stones. Paula Behrens says Jeri Jones played Frank Zappa on repeat for an entire year. We also played Judy Collins, Roberta Flack, and, of course, Carol King. The Folk Festival. Fanguitos. The music. The weed. Concerts by Seatrain, Billy Cobham, David Bromberg, Herbie Hancock and The Headhunters! Loudon Wainwright III, right here in the Chapel, so drunk he fell off his stool!
And at Kirkland, we had the coffeehouse. Quite a few of us recall the night we packed in tight to hear the feminist folk group Lavender Jane. But the best music, and the EXCLUSIVE distinction of the Class of 1975 was, and is, Steak Nite. Jeb, Bobby, Ace, Don. Often, Jeb’s brother Jock. We saw you open for Taj Mahal. We danced to you at Bundy and Chi Psi. And tonight, we’ll all be “Goin’ to Cuba” right over there!
Martha:
For all the challenges, we seem to have found our friends — or enough to get by. Some, maybe most, friendships faded over the years. Some of us report still-strong bonds. Catherine Cluett Belden and her suitemates started a savings account to help each other out in hard times. And they kept it up. Years later, one used the money for a train ticket to care for another suitemate after her surgery.
Others found sisterhood through reunions. Reconnecting with old friends, meeting new ones, and finding the joy of sharing our eventful, winding lives with each other. As Julie Weinstein said, “The shared experiences and touch points are amazing.”
Social life aside, we were here for an education, Kirkland-style. It stressed flexibility and personal responsibility. Many of us designed our own concentrations, combining separate disciplines into coherent wholes. Political Science and Philosophy. Psychology and English. Asian Studies and History. Dance and Anthropology.
And no surprise, our academic journeys ran the gamut. Some arrived with a passion and stuck with it, especially those in creative writing and studio arts. Many of us changed our minds. Like Valerie Krall, who said, “I was a math major with an idea that I’d like to be an architect. One math class was enough to make me realize it was the history of architecture that interested me.” Or Doctor Becky Johnson, who said, “I thought I would be a music major. But … while I loved making music, I found I wasn’t really drawn to studying it!”
For many, the journey was the point. Tzipora Reitman said, “I was curious. I had interests and talents, but there were many fields I’d never explored. I came to Kirkland without a clear academic destination, but once I developed a more specific path, Kirkland’s flexibility was so helpful.”
And Mary Byrne, who said, “My academic journey was simply a matter of following my instincts, finding what was most exciting to me, and honing my intellectual abilities.”
Many of us, like Jane Fisher Hamilton, were hooked from the start. “Before Kirkland,” she said, “I was a mediocre student; school was something I had to do. My first semester was a sea change. I learned to love learning. I learned to … succeed because I wanted to.”
We also had some amazing off-campus adventures. Tami Aisensen, Joanne Rappaport, and Shelley each spent a semester doing true, Margaret Mead-style ethnography. Tami said, “My time in Sri Lanka shaped my outlook on the world.”
Other academic journeys included some bouncing around. Beth Martin and Tracey Stephens transferred out of Kirkland and then transferred back. Catherine Lyons said Kirkland just wasn’t the right school for her — that she needed more structure and left feeling “totally unprepared.” Soon after, she completed a second BA, two advanced degrees, and spent 30 years working with HIV and AIDS patients around the globe.
Others needed more structure as well. Kirkland alone wasn’t enough to fuel their careers. Only a few of us talked about bad faculty advisors, but a lot of us mentioned the all-but-useless career center.
Shelley:
Yet, like Denise Moy, many of us felt ready for the real world. “I attended Kirkland to learn — and learn HOW to learn,” she says. “While I had no professional goals, I knew I was prepared for any[thing].”
So was Abby Johnson. She started as an activist, helping to scrap the MX missile in Nevada. But after her son was born, she says, “I cobbled together my management skills, writing abilities, and knowledge of rural communities and nuclear waste [into] a consulting practice. I found niches and filled them with my skills.”
Marianne Udow-Phillips added this: “Kirkland provided tremendous opportunities for women to be in leadership.” Years later, Michigan’s governor appointed her to the state’s Public Health Advisory Council.
Our academic journeys also took us across the road. Hamilton classes were conventional but often as challenging and stimulating as those on our side. As Susie Lowry said, “We embraced the friction.”
Luckily, any friction from Hamilton’s faculty was mostly gone by our time. Here’s what Professor of Religion Jay Williams said when I interviewed him in 2010: “Kirkland students were bright and charming and on to new things. They were not inferior in any way. You taught a group of men, and they were good; they wrote decent papers. You got a few Kirkland students in the room, and they [asked], ‘Well, what about this angle?’ Well, I never thought about that. It was a different kind of challenge and I really liked it.”
Also, by our time, fewer Hamilton advisors were discouraging students from taking our courses. And guys who did quickly learned that Kirkland classes could be plenty tough. We credit Kirkland and Hamilton professors alike for making lasting impacts in our lives:
Kathryn Livingston-Kriegler came here knowing she wanted to write; Bill Rosenfeld helped her see writing as a career.
Grant Jones showed Joanne Rappaport she could be a serious researcher, a stimulating teacher, AND an inspiring mentor.
Other professors who made a difference include Jose Tato, Carol Rupprecht, George Bahlke, Peter Marcy, David Locke, Sybille Colby, Bill Hoffa, Fred Wagner, Nadine George, Doug Raybeck, Bruce Muirhead, Bill Salzillo, Jay Williams. And Ed Barrett. He’s why I’m a writer.
One hallmark of a learning organization is relentless self-examination. True to form, Kirkland engaged in vigorous debates throughout our time, about identity, innovation, and coordination. One question kept coming up: We were a college OF women. But were we a college FOR women?
Martha:
At a 1972 conference, trustee Annette Baxter asked what Kirkland was doing to prepare women for the emotional “obstacle course” of “new opportunities … and social pressures” we’d soon encounter. That same year, the Middle States accreditation team said Kirkland was not addressing our needs as women; that our curriculum, while innovative, would equally benefit men. As a result, Kirkland’s board formed a committee on Kirkland as a College for Women made up of trustees, faculty, administrators, and students. They tackled key issues, brought in gynecological and mental health services, and integrated women’s studies into the curriculum.
They also learned of the heart-wrenching issues our women professors faced. A scathing 1975 report attributed their 67% turnover rate to “an academic model built on male-based expectations … and subtle forms of discrimination that led [women] to feel isolated and excluded by their male colleagues.”
This begs the question: how did we see ourselves as women?
In our senior survey, very few of us said we chose Kirkland because it was a college for women. “On the other hand,” Sam reported, the longer we were there, “the more [we] seemed to appreciate the special environment that supported [us] as women.”
At the same time, the feminist movement was gaining momentum. We claimed our sexual freedom and reproductive rights; we prized our copies of Our Bodies, Ourselves. And many recall a life-changing 1973 winter study, “Feminism: Past and Present.” It led Tracey Stephens to declare Kirkland’s first concentration in Feminist Studies. And it inspired me to write a paper, “Why Hamilton is Sexist,” which landed me in President J. Martin Caravano’s office. OOPS! Maybe Martin’s Way is my fault!
Shelley:
But we were a long way from MeToo. We still thought of date rape as not real rape. And professors who “dated” students? What was that about? Yes, our identities as women were works in progress. But, today, most of us credit Kirkland with the belief that we could be and do whatever we wanted. In preparing us to do significant work in the world, Kirkland was doing exactly what it was supposed to do.
All the while, a sea change was happening. Vietnam. Roe v. Wade, Watergate, the 1973 recession. Remember the gas lines? The heady abundance of the early ’60s was long gone — in the country and on the Hill. Fundraising had always been a challenge for Kirkland, and in 1973 it only got harder. As Sam wrote, “Kirkland, while still on its feet [was] on the brink of having to make some new [financial] arrangement with Hamilton, [and] the thought of some kind of redefinition in our status was never very far from my mind.”
Martha:
Here’s our take: From the early ’60s, when Kirkland was an idea, to the bitter days of 1978, there were men at Hamilton who championed our existence and men who just weren’t fans. It depended on which ones were sitting at the table in any given year. As long as those in power appreciated the benefits of coordination, and saw Kirkland as co-equal in a mutual, long-term venture, the experiment worked.
When both the presidency and board chair of Hamilton were assumed by men who had, frankly, never fully bought into Kirkland, everything shifted. When Kirkland had to ask for money during the recession, it was unsurprising they found an opportunity to shut down the experiment as a matter of efficiency.
What might have been an amicable merger between coordinate colleges — a humane ending — was not. Instead, Hamilton cut off negotiations with Kirkland’s administration and faculty, and seized unilateral control. For some, the wounds have not healed. Many alumnae severed ties with the College. Yet for others, the anger faded. They moved on. Today, many embrace Hamilton as alumnae, wives, parents, donors, and faculty. And many note the positive ways Hamilton has changed over the years.
About a decade after Kirkland was gone, we began to hear “Hamilton is the best of Kirkland.” It is. But we are more than a myth, more than a memory. We helped shape Hamilton’s DNA. And our spirit remains a living part of the College today.
Shelley:
Yet we had those years. And what emerged from our breathtakingly innovative pedagogy is a cadre of women whose work is a testimony to that BIG vision. And even though the early planners held old-fashioned views of our lives and ambitions, they expressed a confidence in our capabilities and futures. And we did them proud.
We are artists, entrepreneurs, pediatricians, lawyers, dancers, social workers, activists, architects, therapists, volunteers, writers, and nurses. We’re change agents and public servants. We’re musicians, cartoonists, filmmakers, and sailors and clergy. And teachers — lots of teachers.
We have honors and advanced degrees. We’ve worked and lived across the globe. And we learned to pivot to factors beyond our control, like the economy, health, or a loved one’s needs. Or by choice. Many of us completed one career and then moved to another — often unrelated — because that’s what we wanted to do.
We shaped our careers just as we shaped our educations — with agency. Agency. We didn’t know that word back then, but we’ve lived it. We are independent, creative learners. Women who continue to know the joy of learning.
Martha:
A half-century ago, we didn’t know Kirkland’s history would be so brief. After us follow the last three annalists for Kirkland ’76, ’77, and ’78. We hold a hope that each will find what we did: evidence of women and men who believed that students should be responsible for their educations and said, “Let’s build THAT college!”
That night last fall, when Shelley and I shared a bottle of wine, we joked about our similarity to the Shakers, another community with lofty ideals, always dwindling in numbers ... fewer and fewer until … yep.
In some respects, the comparison fits. We confront the reality that our memories will go with us. Someday we will be remembered as names etched on glass. And yet, as Natalie Babbitt’s everlasting Tuck has taught us, that’s the way humans are designed; immortality is an illusion and a curse if you actually find yourself there.
What we have is more powerful — we have legacy. The people we’ve loved. The contributions we’ve made. When Sam greeted the Class of 1976, he told them they’d be forever marked as the class that missed “the good old days” of bulldozers and mud. Days we got to taste. But then he said: “Take it with a grain of salt. Because we are not through building by a long shot. And furthermore, the kind of college we want is never static or finished.”
That’s the women WE are. We’re not static, and so far, not finished. We ARE Kirkland ’75. Scrappy, smiling, and proud.
Thank you.
Shelley Gertzog Cowan
Shelley grew up in Rochester, N.Y., where she often hiked through the woods to Lake Ontario. She discovered comparable beauty on the shores of Lake Michigan in the late 1970s while scouting film locations, and returned to the area with her family every summer. Today she and her husband call northern Michigan home.
Shelley learned about Kirkland from friends of her older brothers who had girlfriends in the Charter Class. She landed in Anthropology 101 her first semester on College Hill. The discipline became her concentration. Hamilton and Kirkland anthropology professors operated as a single department, so she took classes at each college from the start. She replicated the “both sides” pattern with literature classes at Kirkland, English at Hamilton, humanities, arts, and a smattering of science.
Shelley spent half of her junior year in the Colombian Andes conducting ethnographic fieldwork. Her interest was food — people’s beliefs about the healing properties of what they ate — at a time when medical anthropology was an emerging field. Although she’d already decided against an academic career, she accepted a fellowship at the University of Kentucky and completed her master’s degree in anthropology.
In 1977, Shelley landed in Ann Arbor, Mich. Having been a photographer since childhood, she began work in commercial film production. In typical Kirkland fashion, producing led to writing, first as an advertising copywriter, then as a writer for business leaders. When scripted speeches gave way to deliveries that felt more authentic, she turned her focus to face-to-face storytelling. Because she had volunteered on many documentary film crews, she was able to apply both ethnographic research and filmmaking to much of her work. Self-employed for most of her career, Shelley’s (so far) last business card reads: Anthropologist. Writer. Communications Strategist.
Shelley’s first visit to Kirkland was in 1974, the day after the Kent State killings. She’d been involved in protests about Vietnam, civil rights, and labor issues for several years by then, so the students protesting in front of Bristol made her feel at home. But she wouldn’t “be political” again until the 1990s, when she helped organize against a factually incorrect sex education curriculum in her children’s school. She became a dedicated organizer and lifelong door knocker in the early 2000s; in 2008, she was an Obama Neighborhood Leader. From 2016 to 2024, Shelley has worked as a full-time, volunteer political organizer.
Martha Freymann Miser
Martha graduated from Farmington High School in Connecticut and discovered Kirkland College through her mother, who sang in the church choir with Charter Class member Lisa Sinclair. At Kirkland, Martha majored in American studies, combining anthropology and history. Her senior project, a study of urbanization in Chicago in the late 1800s, propelled her into her first career in city management. Martha also served on the Trustee Committee for Kirkland as a College for Women and was active in advancing women’s health care on the Hill.
Martha went on to earn a master’s in public administration from the Maxwell School of Citizenship and Public Affairs at Syracuse University and a Ph.D. in leadership and change from Antioch University. She spent 12 years with the City of Hartford, Conn., serving in key roles including director of operations improvement and assistant city manager. She then spent 14 years in financial services, holding senior leadership roles at Aetna Financial Services and later, in the Netherlands, as global head of leadership and change for ING.
In 2006, Martha founded Aduro Consulting, a firm focused on leadership and change for purpose-driven organizations. Over two decades, she and her team worked with a wide range of domestic and international companies, providing executive coaching, leadership development, and team coaching. Today, Aduro is owned and led by her daughter, Christina Miser Batten.
A seasoned educator, Martha has taught at several universities, including Hamilton’s Levitt Center and George Washington University’s Executive Leadership Doctoral Program. She also serves on the editorial board of the UK journal Coaching Perspectives. She lives in New Hampshire with her husband, Andy, and is the proud mother of three and grandmother to six grandsons and one granddaughter.
