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Class of 71,

I just wanted to thank the committee for a great weekend. I can’t express how much I enjoyed seeing everyone and reliving our High School days. I will be smiling every time I think of this weekend. It was great to see you all. We’ll do it again.

Thanks, Art Kuehn

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As far as Tim Smock is concerned, Cubberley was only the beginning of a much longer friendship. Actually, I even knew Tim at Wilbur Jr High where we were in McGilvray’s drama class. Wow, that’s long ago.
Already in Cubberley, I began wearing "different hats". On the one hand, I was in the Mr-Buck-drama-department universe, trying to act in plays and musicals with Greg Sagar, Kali Robson, George Neil and Buzz Massahos. We formed a little improvisation club with George Neil, Karen Friburg, Brooke Walter, Mike, Tim and I, meeting after school at our different homes and listening to records.
On the other hand, I hung out with the "nerds" in the Chess club, which met always over lunch and which was headed by our dear Teacher Tom Stamper. The little clubs sponsored by Cubberley were not only a meeting place to pass (or kill) time if home was too far away to reach home during lunch break. In retrospect, I realize they were crucibles where long-term relationships were conceived and interests nurtured. Whether it was chess, soccer, debate or wrestling, these extra-curriculars shaped the student’s characters in ways unfathomable to us at the time. Through Tim I discovered my interest in history and philosophy. We would read books parallel together, mostly Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf, Narcissus and Goldmund and Siddartha. Michael Marks and Tim and I were buddies at the club and from there we embarked on many adventures: once Michael and I, as soon as we got our California driver licenses, drove one night all the way to Big Sur and back, smoking cigars. We couldn't grow up fast enough. The three of us went camping a lot, e.g. Pt Reyes.
Tim was an avowed adventurer. Next to birdwatching at 4:00 a.m., Tim and I went hitchhiking one summer up the West Coast a la Kerouac, staying at the Shiloh Christian Commune in Eugene Oregon, picking beans to earn money. Later in college days, Tim and Mike came and stayed with me in Switzerland. There were many other stories I won't go into here. (I’ll post a photo over at the gallery).
Tim was a bold, witty and humorous philosopher, sharp as a whip and a generous friend.

Contributed by Jeffrey Day

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I dream a lot. Last night (8/1/23) I had a weird dream about Cubberley. It was the dream after that one where I saw the train station flooded under three feet of water. In this dream, my wife said, "honey, it's for you, the phone. Someone says his name is Chris Rich and he wants to talk to you." So, I take the phone, "hello?". "Hi, Jeffrey? This is Mr Rich. Thank God, I've been trying to find you for years." Great balls of fire, it was Mr Rich, my English teacher from Cubberley!
Multiple decades since I've thought about Mr Rich. I liked Mr Rich. He was a sort of a big, good-natured guy, Anglo-American, black-haired and black frame glasses.
OK, but why would I dream about him? I thought about the books we read together in the class, like Golding's 'Lord of the Flies' or Orwell's '1984'. Then another memory came tumbling in. There had been an incident which got turned into a non-incident, thanks to Mr Rich. One day, over lunch, I was making out with another student under a table in the back room of the school library. Mr Rich saw us, rap-rap-rapped sharply on the window, then left. The two of us were startled and put ourselves back together, and left the library. Thinking about it now, I realize he could have chosen to make an example out of us. But he mercifully just decided to neutralize everything and keep it quiet.

Cool guy, Mr Rich.