As this is supposed to be an annual Advent Letter, a line of explanation for its absence last year might be in order. To get over with the question, and the subject: there was in 1984 a change in management where I had been working in financial aid for ten years. As so often happens, the new broom was sweeping clean. Without getting into whether or not all of the changes were indeed in the college's or the students' interest, I took personally the destruction of what I had been working for ten years to build; the resultant stress almost did me in, led to three weeks in hospital, then back to an attempt to work with the new order, off to last Winter's vacation, a return to the increasingly intolerable stress, finally the decision that - whatever value my work might be to the college or to the students - it would be better for me to live without the school than to become totally incapacitated by it. So, I'm now free from that nightmare, and we're all free from that subject. Let's get back to the normal mode of my Advent Letter!

When I last wrote, I was leaving for my Winter 1984 vacation, to Mauritius Island off the South-East coast of Africa, in the Indian Ocean. My stay at the Club Med there validated its reputation for being one of the two best in the world for the quantity and quality of the food. Then a brief hop over to Reunion Island, during which flight I was able to pen the introduction to my Class of 1960's 25th Reunion souvenir book (a cute one: winging towards Reunion '85). Having done the notes up Brown, North-bound to the central Indian Ocean, to Mahe in the Seychelles. There, at the hotel one evening, I was asked by the manager to step into his office. I was greeted bit two tommy-gun-toting soldiers and a security officer who charged that I was making secret transmissions at the water-side to foreign agents. Guess we don t need any proof that the Seychelles are promptly falling into Soviet hegemony. Imagine the chagrin of the agents (and my immense relief) when I played back the tapes of the "secret transmissions": I had spent a half hour at the ocean-side, recording the sound of the languorous Indian Ocean waves as they lapped Beau Vallon Bay.

On my return to Boston in January, 1985, I found that all of the recommendations of the Governor's Commission on Cell-block Suicide had been legislated in the last session of the I984 General court. We thus had the first known legislation in the world on cell-block suicide. As we had recommended, here are three general topics:
1) All 35,000 local police officers in Massachusetts have to be trained in suicide assessment and intervention.
2) All local lock-ups must be retrofitted (lexan plastic over bars, no horizontal pipes or projections, audio monitors which have to be heard, not TV monitors, which aren't watched; and
3) permanent recording in arrestee's record of suicide gestures, threats, attempts.
As a result of the training requirement, spent a frenzied time training 50 people to do the trainning. As a result of the retrofitting mandate, if a person attempts or completes suicide in an unmodified cell, the jurisdiction is de facto liable for negligence. And, due to the recording mandate, the jail now within three hours of an inmate's arrival scans the suicide file for all incoming inmates (7,000/year) to see if any have made a prior attempt/ threat. Thus, in most cases, we have been able to intervene with a suicide-prone person, even before he reaches his cell.

25th reunion at Brown came with a bang in June, was delighted to report to my classmates -who had turned out in record numbers for a nostalgia-filled & stomach-filling four days on the Hill - that they had produced the largest 25th reunion gift in Brown's history, including an unprecedented endowment for a National Scholar's scholarship fund. In humility & gratitude, I must note that the class of '61 has now doubled our record!

So much happening so fast, I finally acknowledged that once a year away from the hectic pace was not enough. So, off to new territories at the end of June '85, and through the New Territories to mainland China. The bizarre juxtapositions of cultures which was to characterize the whole trip had their prototype at Hong Kong, whence I was chauffeured in a Rolls Royce to the People's Republic of China train, thence through the New Territories to Guangzou (Canton), the gateway to a six-city tour of the mainland. A flight to Guilin brought a photographer's paradise, by boat down a gorge-lined river. Scripted perfectly by nature, the trip began early morning with mists caressing the mountains, slowly rising to reveal the grandeur of a landscape punctuated with rural villages, fishermen using herons to snag their prey, sampans overflowing with chubby-cheeked cherubs and their wizened wrinkled watchers, sent by central casting from the last Pearl Buck movie.

Now a flight to Hangzou (each successive flight being further & further delayed, as the meals of up to 24 courses each made passengers able to maneuver chopsticks heavier & heavier). Each evening was filled with ballet, opera, drama, folklore, or acrobatics.

A quick train to Shanghai, where the former British and French zones were clearly delineated by characteristic architecture. Jessica had asked me to bring back a Chinese baby: I did the next best, buying countless paintings on silk with brocade mats. The children, regal ladies, countrysides, warriors, and pandas were so irresistibly painted, I really went wild with purchases. Back in Boston, having the paintings framed cost many times what I had paid for the paintings. So replete are the walls of my home with souvenirs of 31 years' travels, that I'd need Windex rather than paint to redecorate.

From Shanghai, a flight to Xian, where the recent unearthing of millenia-old 1,000's of lifesized terra cotta warriors each with an unique face have produced a wonder rivalling the Great Wall, our next stop outside Beijing. The football-fields of these warriors were overwhelming, further boggling the mind when the guide noted that but 1/14 of the relics have been uncovered.

Now on to the Forbidden City of Beijing. The presence of 1,000's of extras for a filming in the Forbidden City only heightened one's awareness that we were treading on newly found frontiers of human culture.

Now up to the Great Wall. On approcach, I became aware of the immensity of the ancient barrier to Mongolian invasion. Seeing the necklace of Chinese culture snaking along mountain chains, one realizes why it is the only human structure visible from a space ship. To put it in perspective: if all the stones in the 1,600 mile (3,000 Km) wall were made into a footsquare wall, it would circle the world six times. Quite a finale to an aweful trip!

I had spoken of paintings on the walls of my home, where I've been in the Co-op for four years. Having rented for 14 years, it has been a real joy to be living in my own place. Rather than feeling like a tenant in somebody else's place, I have a real sense of my own space. Further, though there have been the growing pains which characterize any society, the residents of the 47 units in the co-op have a developing sense of community. In a world universally characterized by impersonality and coldness, it's great to have a relatively stable population in our little world on Symphony Road.

After a rest in the hospital last November, went out to Camp Pendleton in California, where I was privileged to deliver my suicide seminar to the base chaplains and to all the Marines guarding the base brig.

Back to Boston to do my laundry, then off to last Winter's trip, starting in Manila in the Philippines, getting out of there just before the Marcos chaos. A highlight of Manila was a trip over to Correigador, walking the battlefields where the Alllies finally fell to the Axis powers. As Dad had been in the Philippines during WW II, the trek through the battlefields, along the mile-long tunnel which had served as MacArthur's final headquarters before surrender, and by the quarters where the soldiers had been lodged all brought the Pacific struggle home to me.

As much traveling as I've done, one might think me jaded by hotels. Not so the Manila Hotel! It has been restored to its pre-WW II glory, with the addition of modern gloss. At what other hotel would one find a magazine he had been reading, not only closed and put neatly in place, but also having a note on the cover: 'Sir, you were reading at page 47."? Where else would one find all the shoes in his closet neatly shined without request? Just outside Manila, toured to an unique volcano, active within a lake which was within another volcano within another lake within a third volcano. Then over to Pasanjan Falls, where two passengers were loaded into a dugout manned by two of the most nimble, powerful, courageous boatmen I've ever witnessed. I-1/2 hours up the rapids to the Falls, brief rest there in nature's air conditioning, then 15 minutes back down to our source. I don't wonder that people with a heart condition are not permitted the trip.

Now down to a flight over to Port Moresby in Papua New Guinea for New Year's Day 1986 (where the spectacle was a televising of Anna Russell giving her farewell concert in Sydney). . It's frightening: here was the second time in two years that I saw an idyllic spot of the world where the politics seem to be driving the nation to Russian hegemony. Glad I again got in before that happened. Had a detour from my trip up into the highlands (where some native tribes had had no contact with Western civilization till 8 years ago; fortunate my guide was an Australian graduate in anthropology) to the Federal prison of PNG. Don't think the State-side officers would cotton to the practice there: the officers and their families line within the prison compound. As I learned that the majority of the police work in PNG is capturing escaped prisoners, it's perhaps safest for the officers to live on the grounds.

Thence, after a brief stop in Sydney, over to a visit at the behest of the New Zealand government and the Samaritans of N.Z., to meet with the officials of two Federal prisons. They had noted a recent rise in suicide among their prisoners, wanted me to share our experiences in the States with them. It now appears that the N.Z. authorities will duplicate our training of police and corrections officers in suicide assessment and intervention, and that the Samaritans will start a program modeled after our successful LIFELINE program in the prison there.

Finally up to New Caledonia for a week at the Club Med: such a tranquil and restful preparation for return to the horror scene at the college. Seems, however, that I can't get away from my preoccupation: my last night at the Club Med. the Chef de village approached me, said there was a reporter from a local radio station doing a series on tourism in New Caledonia who wanted to interview me for his show. Noting that I was due to leave the next day, found myself after midnight, beside the Club pool, talking an interview into a tape recorder. That didn't end the idyll, however: on my final day, the Club was having a picnic over at Amedee Island. I couldn't miss that, for on Amedee is the only known postoffice located on an island without inhabitants. Conveniently adjacent to the island's restaurant, the post office is manned for an hour each day, after which a French Postal Service launch comes over to pick up the day's mail. Couldn't miss that, even though it meant I would be cutting very close to my departure.

The Club solved the problem: after spending the morning with fun and games, a final noon-time feast of gluttony so characteristic of C-M, I was picked up by a speedboat, zipped over to the Club just in time to depart, wet, sandy bathing suit still on) for the airport. Got civilized and properly dressed during the flight Noumea-Nandi, Fiji. One of the marvels of jet travel: reached Los Angeles before I left for the picnic!.

Back in Boston, learned that the Sheriff who had been running the jail during the nine years that LIFELINE has been growing and flourishing was not running for re-election. I felt, with some justification, that if some political hack was elected to succeed Sheriff Kearney, my life work might end. Happily, the special sheriff - Bob Rufo - who had been in day-to-day command at the jail for the past eight years ran for Sheriff. Out of absolute self-interest, did some work in behalf of the only candidate for Sheriff in the history of the Commonwealth who would not learn how to be Sheriff after coming into office: Mr. Rufo had had eight years' on-the-job training under the tutelage of Sheriff Kearney.

It's surely no coincidence that Mr. Rufo has always been supportive of the Work of the LIFELINE program (which now appears to be experiencing the lowest suicide completion rate of jails in the North-East - less than 5% of the average rate).

In June, attended Jessica's graduation from UMass: she's now working with a brokerage firm in Boston, will be spending year-end at a friend's wedding in Italy.

It becoming increasingly clear that my job with the college was in jeopardy, zipped off for my second annual (a new tradition?) Summer trip, leaving for Romania at the end of June. Following an introduction to Bucharest, where I found the population to be more tightly controlled by the government than anywhere else I've been in the world, flew down to the mouth of the Danube River on the Black Sea where the Club Med is located at Constantia. What a juxtaposition: the idyllic life of the Club set into the middle of a totalitarian state. A Romanian peasant wedding, and a day-long boat ride through the Delta were high points of that trip.

Had several days at Paris at the end of the trip, staying with a friend whom I had met at Club Med Cairo several years before. Finally got a change to meet her family: how can somebody as young as us have teen-aged grandchildren? I've already detailed to you the circuitous route I had to follow to get first-day covers of the Statue of Liberty stamp issued by France on July 4th, coincidentally with the same issue in he USA.

Back again in Boston, my work at the college ended just as the campaign for Sheriff was getting into full swing. It was gratifying to see the majority of Jail employees working hard to get Mr. Rufo nominated. The effort worked: he was nominated, then elected without opposition in November. Thus, I've got some confidence that the LIFELINE program will continue to flourish at Charles Street, and that we will perhaps have opportunity to assist other jails in the Commonwealth that don't yet have the program to get it started.

In a sense, my Winter trip this year will break a rule I had about never going back where I've been: when I was ion Tahiti 15 years ago, took a day trip over to the island of Moorea, where the Bali Hai raising majestically above Cooks Bay entranced me. That taste continues to titillate me, so I'll be spending the last week of the year at the Club Med in Moorea, then the first week of '87 at the Club Med Bora Bora, and finally a week in at the Bali Hai in the Society Islands.

May I never go two years again between letters: if you've made it this far with me, you probably share my hope. My further hope is that you and yours will have a joyous Christmass and a New Year filled with growth and rewards.