Ron Montaperto
I find it difficult to summarize the events of the last thirty years. A lot has happened, but I’m not certain that it would be of very much interest to anybody.
I’ll begin by recalling an event that transpired just before I left for college early in September 1956. One night I and a number of other budding juvenile delinquents painted stripes on the flagpole that stood before the two buildings that comprised our school. (even though the Statue of Limitations has almost certainly expired by now, I remain haunted by guilt. I will not reveal the names of my co-conspirators). Somebody turned me in to Joe, the custodian who played the piano at a couple of our “Nine O’Clock Club programs. Joe called me at home to complain and my parents got wind of the transgression. As a result I almost didn’t get to go to college.
But I did, and much to everyone’s surprise, I had a great four years at what was then called Harpur College (today it is known as Binghamton University). In a most extraordinary turn of events, I became serious, committed, active, and probably a total bore.
That led to a Ph. D. program in political science at The University of Michigan. In an example of what the Freudians refer to as Family Romance, I decided to specialize in things East Asian and Chinese. I spent nearly three years doing language work and research in Taiwan and Hong Kong and then served as Instructor through Associate Professor of Political Science at Indiana University, in Bloomington. There I made a startling discovery, or, as Jack Downing would say, I had an epiphany: I really didn’t like academic political science. Although I loved teaching and writing there was a vicarious quality about “PROFESSING” that kind of turned me off. And so, in search of something practical, I spent a year at the U.S. Army War College in an effort to learn something about national security.
That in turn led me to remove to Washington, D.C. where I spent the better part of ten years working as an analyst of Chinese and East Asian security affairs on behalf of our government. In other words, I became a spook (can I still come to the reunion?). Not only was it not vicarious, it was challenging and fun. Moreover, because I was able to continue teaching and writing, it combined the best of both worlds. Naturally, therefore, I resigned my position and moved on to something else.
That something else was a decade spent at the National Defense University, also in Washington, D.C., where I joined a research institute that did policy planning for the Department of Defense. The work was fascinating and useful and only occasionally frustrating. Planning of any kind is not a strong point of the Department of Defense, or of government in general, but I learned a great deal about politics, policy, security, and strategy. No longer a spook, I also had freedom and the means to travel and discuss things with people. I guess one could say that my life became somewhat internationalized. In any case, I have a lot of frequent flyer miles. Of course it was too good to last. I just had to give it all up and come to my present position in Hawaii.
In an example of what is probably divine punishment for all of my slanders about the vicariousness of the academic life, I am now the Academic Dean of the Asia Pacific Center for Security Studies, a teaching, research, and conferencing center sponsored by the Department of Defense. I do all of the things I vowed I’d never do and find it rather fun. I am probably as busy as I was in Washington but not nearly as stressed. Life in Honolulu is a feast, although much slower than life in Washington, or even Bloomington, Indiana. Sometimes when I just have to unwind, I go to Kauai or another of the neighbor islands. I spend weekends at the beach, riding my “board,” sailing, and just reveling in the beauty and peacefulness of these islands. I don’t know what I will do after this, but I don’t spend much time thinking about it. Is that an example of the Class of ’56 spirit?
For the last fifteen years I have been fortunate in having the constant love and friendship of Bette, my wife. She had two daughters who matched well with my two sons; all in all, starting over was a happy process. The children now live dotted about in various places which is less than desirable, but tolerable. We have one grandchild who is of course exceptional in every way.
There is lots more, but this isn’t the place. I would love to hear from anyone who would care to check in. The web page, the bios, and the news mean a great deal to me and do much to keep my spirits high. We were a good class.
Ron