The career on the federal bench that I’ve enjoyed for more than thirty-three years  had its start in our Freshman year. The preceding Fall Tom Edwards had put John Oliver, Hank Kasson, Gene Lynd (Hank’s roommate) and me as the only four freshmen in Watson Hall – then a Bexley Seminary dorm. Seminarians were upstairs, and the the first floor rooms contained a motley assortment of upperclassmen. Including a bunch of Psi Us – the fraternity having been kicked out of North Leonard following, according to rumor, a particularly ungentlemanly Spring Dance weekend — and other student odds and ends.

One of these was Sam Hough, classmate Bill Hough’s brother. Sam was President of Student Council. One Spring day he asked if I would be willing to be on the judicial board – which was just coming into being. I said sure, and wound up on the board for the rest of my time at Kenyon.

I don’t remember much of what we heard and did. I have no doubt, though, that a good bit of what we did would not pass due process or fundamental fairness muster by today’s (and my own) more enlightened standards. In any event, that experience was one of the factors that caused me to apply to law school. Others being a lack of interest in and/or qualifications for other options – medical school, graduate school in English, German, or education, business school, divinity school – and the draft.

Following graduation from law school, I moved back to Chicago, passed the Illinois bar, got married to Eileen, my wife of forty-five years, and went to work for a Chicago law firm. Did that for two years, then worked in a legal aid office in Evanston, my home town. While doing that I fell into opportunities to teach part-time at Loyola and Chicago-Kent law schools. Decided I liked that, and was able to get a faculty job at the University of Toledo. Coming to Toledo was the second best decision of my life.

Taught, and enjoyed doing so, from 1970-79. For the 1977-78 academic year and a few months thereafter, our family lived in Bonn, Germany, thanks to the generosity of the Fulbright Foundation and the University’s sabbatical leave program. Came home in August, 1978, and learned that a Magistrate’s position had just been allocated to the federal court in Toledo.

I had co-authored a legal treatise with the District Judge who had the appointing authority; when I went to see him about the position, which had yet to be announced publicly, he said, “Jim, if you’re here to talk about the Magistrate’s job, the nominations just closed.” (A few years later Congress adopted a very rigorous merit selection process for Magistrate Judges. Which makes me the last no-merit Magistrate Judge appointed in our District).

In 1994, thanks to Senators Glenn and Metzenbaum and President Clinton, I hopped the fence and became a District Judge. Have served, and continue to serve full time in that capacity ever since. Among other benefits of a lifetime appointment is the ability to keep on working as much and for as long as one wants. I hope that that will be for a good long time.

There are, of course, other ways in which coming to Kenyon has positively and permanently affected my life. But from Sam Hough to today is one of the straighter lines along the way.

There were as well, of course, the teachers. Gerritt Roelofs gave my first paper a D+. The hour I then spent going over the paper, line by line and word by word, and his many red-inked interlineations was the start of whatever ability I have to write well. Denham Sutcliffe, aided by then-Sophomores Fred Kluge and Perry Lentz, made getting to English Literature class at 8 a.m., even on Saturday mornings, always deeply instructive and greatly enjoyable. A few weeks ago I downloaded a reading of Moby Dick on the Iphone, and Professor Sutcliffe will be on my mind as I listen. Professor Robert Baker introduced me to history generally and English History in particular, and left me reading little else but history for the past fifty years.

Not that anyone cares, but I’ll answer the question, “Why did you come to Kenyon?”

I first saw the place on that lovely early May pre-freshman weekend with lots of our soon-to-be classmates. A former swim team Captain, the late Herb Ullman, ‘52,  had driven me and a couple of other guys down from Chicago. Bill Russell was also on that trip.

Herb had arranged for me to meet Coach Edwards Saturday afternoon. I went down to Shaffer Natatorium. Coach was in his office, so I waited and looked at the record board. My times in my events were better than a couple of the records. So my head was beginning to swell.

Tom, no doubt seeing this (as of course, as we all came to know, all things seen and unseen), asked me my times. I told him. He looked me in the eye and said, “If you’re that slow in the 100, you can’t be that fast in the 200.” And turned away back into his office. End of recruitment effort.

Halfway up the gravel path from the pool, just by Bolton Theater, I turned, pointed my finger at the pool, and said out loud, “I’m going to show you, you bald headed son of a bitch.”

Great recruiter. Great Coach. Great friend. Great memories, not just of the hours spent with Tom and teammates and the teachers I’ve mentioned – but also of so many classmates and others whom I came to know during four splendid, long-gone years.

I wish they all would be there Reunion Weekend.