Family in Galicia - Amelia, Andrea, Mercedes Portela , Bill, Maruja Portela, Paul Bill and Paul Bill, Andrea, Amelia, Gonzalo Portela, Paul, Gonzalito Portela Madrid - Andrea, Bill, Renee, Paul Barcelona with friends - Marie-Jose Evers, Bill, Bernard Evers, Rita Zimmerman, Carle Zimmerman Ice cream in Sevilla Sevilla - Bernard Davies, Mary Davies, Juan Landauro, Bill, Pauline

How do I describe the relationship between Bill and John? It was totally unique among John's friends. Amelia and I always knew who our husbands were talking to on the phone from the banter and often bizarre back and forth. Each of their sense of humors was encouraged by the other. John and Bill were fraternity brothers at Cornell and later, after graduation when John travelled to Peru, he looked Bill up and met Amelia. When Bill and Amelia returned to the States, John and I had then to dinner at John's apartment in Berkeley, beginning a friendship that has lasted until this day. We've been together for countless celebratory dinners, New Year's Eve parties, trips to Yosemite, to Alsace for an eclipse and John's 60th birthday, to Argentina and Chile, and sojourns at the cabin at Donner Summit. At Yosemite we stayed in wooden cabins; Andrea was not yet walking. I remember the contrast of this precious first born in pink and white and the stark, bare wooden floor of our lodgings. Later, at the Donner Summit cabin, Bill created stories of all the woodland creatures he met there. My children were enthralled and now as adults still remember the magic of those stories. And the numerous New Year's Eve parties with clowning and raucous fun. I still have the top hats Bill and Amelia arrived at one party in. Bill was also in white gloves, part of his CIA persona, another fantasy he created. When Bill and Amelia moved to New Jersey, we were fortunate enough to visit them a couple of times and enjoyed their happy hospitality. We all enjoyed the theater - Berkeley Rep in Berkeley and the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in Ashland where Bill ran an "institute" to keep us on our toes about the plays we were to see. Bill was one of the last people John had a conversation with before he passed away, still bantering and fanciful. And Bill would call me periodically after John's death to check in and see how I was doing. I so appreciated his thoughtfulness. Bill was larger that life, a joy to be around, and a challenge to meet his wit. He was a most compassionate and caring person. I feel so fortunate to have known him. I just hope that he and John are together on the other side, carrying on and thoroughly enjoying each other. Laurie Sargent

Dear Family & Friends. This is to announce my diffident second attempt to share a few additional stories about my time with Bill over the period stretching from our first meeting , in August 1965, right through to the present day. That represents a friendship of 56 years or so. I have already described a minute portion of our time in Trujillo, Peru, and chose to call it " Bill Schumacher Episode 1." I'd like this second attempt at authorship to start with an easy laugh, which is related to Bill's impressive height! To the street kids of Trujillo Bill must have appeared to be a giant and this simple fact endeared him to them right from the word Go! They just loved to tease this very good natured Gringo about what was to them his extraordinary stature! They'd generally start off with the words: "Hola Gringo!" and would then add their question: ?" Que tal el clima alli arriba?!" (what's the weather like up there?!) to which Bill had any number of stock replies, which were invariably good natured. The kids just loved it and there would be hoots of laughter. In this way Bill made many friends and created no end of good will towards his fellow gringos. In the children's eyes we were all Gringos and no distinctions were made for our various nationalities. Cornelius Boot, our talented Dutch symphony musician at the Casa de Cultura, who was also quite a height, might well have been mistaken for Bill's assistant weather wing man! I never actually asked. But Cor, as he was affectionately known, could be just a little preoccupied at times ,so requests for regular weather forecasts might not always have been his cup of tea! I might say that these weather bulletins were always a source of mirth amongst the other international Volunteers ,so that all created a family-type atmosphere which we all enjoyed. I remember Bill saying once that he would have quite liked to have flown in the military but that wasn't an option as he was too large to fit into a cockpit! I believe he said it quite seriously but I'm not sure. Poor old Bill. Another frustrated Top Gun?! No, I don't think so. He was more cut out to follow his chosen calling of informing and inspiring his students & colleagues. Modesty was one of his strong suits and he would lightly brush off the hosts of compliments that would come in his direction. He made such a contribution to Chemical Engineering in Peru at every level and I was amazed how generous he was with any requests that came to him. Such a positive and can-do sort of person. But he seldom spoke of it and invariably used to react with his disarming smile and a shrug of his shoulders. It was just the same when he was amongst friends and found himself totting up the bill at the end of a meal, when someone was anxious to get the amount owed exactly right. I'll never forget the way he'd say, with the honestly made aside, along with a big smile, " Look, amongst friends there's no need to keep accounts." And he really meant it. I would say that was the constant thread throughout everything he did.His comment has always stayed in my mind and was so typical of Bill. That's why everyone so much enjoyed his company. He was a very comfortable person to be with. I'm not sure if I'm making a particularly good job of our story telling sharing exercise?! Please excuse me if I seem to be overstating my case but I don't believe I am. I did say at the end of Episode 1 that there was a great story to be told. Well, I still believe that but I know that I do exaggerate things from time to time. Sorry but that's just me. Of course, some memories remain clearer than others. How about that time when four of us went holidaying together up to Cajamarca in the northern sierras of the Andes. What a truly magnificent place to visit. A huge green, green valley, populated by a herd of ultra-healthy looking Jersey cows. Rising up the side of the valley were the contours of an amphitheatre-like viewing "platform", carved out of the hillside from which the Inca could survey his troops marching past far below. What an experience to be able to sit in the very seat where the Inca himself had sat before he was later "betrayed by his treachurous conquerors! And that wasn't the only thrill. For a small fee you could take an early morning bathe in the Inca's personal pool. Nothing quite like that for working up a breakfast appetite! Our party of four consisted of Amelia & Celia (my former wife) the Brazilian best friend of Amelia plus Bill and myself. And then there was a ''parallel'' but rather different trip into the high Andes in Central Peru (with the same "cast") stopping, eventually, in Huamachuco. Unfortunately for me, an hour or two before reaching our destination, as we hit 15,000ft, the soporific heat and dust, & the bumpy dirt road finally got through to me in the shape of a head-splitting bout of Soroche (the dreaded mountain sickness). I vowed never to go that high again, in the back of Bill's little Beatle! And how did 4 of us manage to fit into it?! The only thing I was capable of doing was to crash out at our little hotel, proclaiming that I would have to return to a lower altitude the next day. As it happened, that was not necessary, because after a couple of twists of the "real" cocacola, as it was in those days, rubbed well up into my nostrils, which made the soroche disappear completely, over night, and allowed us to continue our journey the next day. Apparently, Coca sustains the indigenous Indian population of the high Andes in a remarkable way! They become more resistant to the cold & more willing to do what they are told and experience some loss of appetite. Interesting, but is it really true? Certainly, you'll never find a local without a little bag or two of coca in their saddle bag. The curious thing is that coca is often accepted by the locals as a form of currency, which can also result in a local becoming a bond-slave to coca. Back again in the "story-telling mode" for a moment, there is another illuminating insight into Bill's nature. Most of the British UNA Volunteers spent their first year in a new build house in a barriada (slum area) in Palermo, on the outskirts of the city. Between us we employed a local woman to help us in the house. One memorable morning there was quite a commotion going on in the house, punctuated by unfamiliar groans and moans. Then followed an animated conversation between the two Volunteer girls living in the house (Linda & Raphaela) and Rosa, our "maid", who was the source of all the moaning. It eventually turned out that Rosa had suffered an incomplete abortion & there were pools of blood to testify to it. Much to our surprise, Jaramillo, our landlord, who lived in the garage of the house, attributed Rosa's pregnancy to the strange winds that blew around in the local cemetery. He told us this in all seriousness. It was only after much interrogation that he finally confessed to the whole event. As soon as Bill heard what had happened and realised Rosa's extremely limited funds, making adequate medical attention out of the question, he immediately took Rosa under his wing so to speak and covered all her medical and financial needs, including finding her another job. We never got to the bottom of the full extent to which Bill had assisted Rosa and her young family but it became pretty clear that his had been an extremely generous intervention to help Rosa in her hour of need. In my own experience, this was entirely typical of Bill, although I don't recollect that he ever mentioned to anyone exactly what he had done. There were various other instances when Bill had quietly helped people out and I can only say that this particular concrete attention of his to the "underdog" went far beyond what one might reasonably expect of the average person's behaviour. But then Bill was in no sense your average person. He was very special and in all he did he was very aware of his responsibilities to his neighbour. It was only natural that we should recognise in him the innate quality of his real concern for others. And that was why he had so many different friends (and admirers). Abrazos a todos. XXX. Bernardo

William J. Schumacher '57 From Sports Illustrated July 15, 1957 Bill Schumacher identified with red arrow. Bill rowed #5 on national champion crews of 1954, '55, '56, and '57. Sports Illustrated July 15, 1957 BIG RED TAKES IT ALL First the Russians, then Yale, fell before mighty Cornell's drive to victory at the Henley Regatta by JOHN LOVESEY PHOTOGRAPH BY BRIAN SEED As Cornell's crew moved its shell Spirit of '57 away from the landing stage on the last day of the Henley Royal Regatta, they passed Princeton's 150‐pound eight on the water. Princeton had just won the Thames Challenge Cup, and one exuberant Tiger oarsman yelled across the Thames: "Go get them, Cornell!" Cornell's cox, Carl Schwarz, barked a crisp order, and his well‐drilled, massive crew leaned into the oars and pulled to the start for their race against Yale, in the first all‐American final of the Grand Challenge Cup. A becapped and blazered Henley veteran watching them go murmured: "Today they prove whether or not they really are the finest crew in the world." The race between Yale and Cornell was to be the final bout of an intense - almost bitter - two‐year rivalry. They were probably the finest crews in American rowing history. In 1956 Yale beat Cornell for the honor of representing the United States at the Melbourne Olympics. The Big Red had never got over that. This year, before coming to Henley, Cornell had beaten Yale twice, once by a length and once by a foot. Yale had never finished stomaching the two defeats. The last time each university had sent eights to Henley was in the 1890s, Cornell in 1895 and Yale in 1896. In both cases the American crews lost. As fate would have it, and Yale certainly would not admit otherwise, both crews turned up at Henley for the 1957 Royal Regatta. By a further coincidence, the draw for the Grand Challenge Cup, Henley's premier award for eights, put Yale and Cornell in opposite halves of the competition, meaning they could meet in the final. Of the four other crews in the contest only a Russian eight, Club Krasnoe Znamia, stood in the way of an all‐American ending, and a terrific climax to a rowing rivalry. Yale arrived on the river a week before Cornell, and Yale's coach, Jim Rathschmidt, expressed confidence. His present crew, Rathschmidt said, minus four of the Melbourne eight, had not so far shown the speed of his Olympic combination. But Rathschmidt felt that they "might be capable of some really fast times now." Both Rathschmidt and Cornell's quiet coach, Harrison (Stork) Sanford, had to adopt the Henley practice of coaching from the towpath. Astride a borrowed bike, coping with a megaphone and a stop watch, tall and lanky Sanford made a hilarious figure. Sanford was worried. Although he considered it a sign of champions, his trouble with Cornell, he said, was inconsistency. "My big problem," he explained, "is bringing them to their peak at the right time on the right day." Cornell soon proved their coach could do it. The Grand Challenge draw gave a bye to Cornell into the semifinals, where they met the Russian eight. Club Krasnoe Znamia had been picked for Henley in national trials, so the race was virtually an America versus Russia match. On Friday throngs of spectators lined the banks and floated in punts. Even the elegant throng in the exclusive stewards' enclosure was impatiently excited. As Cornell expected, their red‐vested opponents put in a terrific burst at the start, and led for most of the race. At one point Club Krasnoe Znamia's tough, well‐muscled and bronzed crew was just about three‐quarters of a length ahead, but Cornell never let it get out of striking distance. When the Americans finally pulled out all the stops on the last section of the one‐mile 550‐yard course, the Russians had no answer to Cornell's amazing power. Cornell crossed the line a length ahead and clocked the astounding time of six minutes 30 seconds, eight seconds better than the previous best time in the Grand Challenge Cup. Since 1839 only three other races have been rowed in less than six minutes 50 seconds. Soon after, Yale won its semifinal and set the scene for the climactic day. IN THE BODY On Saturday morning Jim Rathschmidt paced nervously, chain-smoking cigarettes. He said he had planned for Yale to beat Cornell "in the body of the race." He added: "We're in great shape and ready to go." Cornell's cox, Carl Schwarz, reckoned his crew's chances were better than ever and explained: "If we row like we did yesterday, we can beat Yale. Our only worry is what our race against the Russians did to us." It started at midafternoon in scorching heat. The course was slow. In place of the tail wind, which had helped Cornell set their record the day before, there was a head wind. Cornell started high, stroking 45. Yale pulled at 42. But at the quarter‐mile neither crew had gained an advantage. Shortly after, however, Cornell drew ahead by a deck. Schwarz let Yale know about it. At the mile Cornell drew ahead a little more, increasing its lead to a quarter of a length. Yale stepped up its stroke, but to no avail. Near the end, Schwarz called for Cornell's full power in the last 30 strokes. Explained Cornell's Stroke Phil Gravink afterwards: "It's like doing a sprint." The burst sent the glistening cedar shell past the finish line half a length ahead of Yale. The time was six minutes 53 seconds. Afterward, in the boathouse, Yale's oarsmen could hardly speak. Looking over at the happy Cornell men, Yale's sweat‐stained captain, Don Beer, could only say: "That's a great crew there." Jim Rathschmidt sadly explained, "We rowed as well as we could, but it wasn't good enough." Stork Sanford cheerfully allowed himself to smile about his crew's great triumphs on two successive days. "Strange thing is," mused Sanford, "they seemed fresher after today's race than yesterday. We have a great deal of respect for Yale, but we reckoned if we could hold them over the first mile, they couldn't beat us on the finish. Our race worked out as planned." The Big Red had won all the honors rowing had to give. But the final honor - the one the crew wanted most - came not from Henley, but from Sanford, a quiet man not given to superlatives. "This Cornell crew," he said deliberately, "is the greatest crew I've ever had." THIS IS THE MOMENT OF VICTORY AND THE MOMENT OF DEFEAT.

Bill's university colleagues in Trujillo had the greatest love and respect for him. His students were very fond of him too. I had the great good fortune to be their English teacher and I could tell from the way they were so well organised and hard-working in my weekly session with them that Bill, their primary subject teacher, had done a great job in training them in study skills and in inspiring them to keep their eye on the ball for all that awaited them in the future, once they had got their degrees. Bill set them such a brilliant example as a really committed, highly talented and dedicated teacher. They were extremely lucky to have had Bill as their leader and mentor. What a credit to the Peace Corps! On occasion they asked me to lay on extra 6am classes for them to brush up their English prior to their Fulbright scholarship examinations. That was typical of them. They were determined to succeed and many of them did. Tuesday was the day when, after our classes, Bill and I would patronise the "famous" Bar Marini's for our catch-up chats, enormously assisted by the portly Signor Marini's cherry liqueur aperitifs, aka "guindones", a fine way to start our evening! Those visits to Signor Marini became a regular part of our weekly programme, across the whole 3-year posting that I had in Peru, with few exceptions! I only mention these escapades because they set the scene for the magical times we spent in Trujillo. We were young men full of the joie de vivre, determined to work hard and play hard! And we all had a lot of fun while getting on with our various jobs. We were by no means the only young folk in town. There were 7 British Volunteers, sponsored by the United Nations Association, a large number of UA Peace Corps Volunteers spread throughout Peru, several French Volunteers (at the Alliance Francaise), a German at the Goethe Institute and a Dutch musician with the Symphony Orchestra. On top of this there were 5 Argentine actors at the Casa de Cultura and also a number of American Mormons, with whom we had regular football fixtures, and one should not forget the Centro Cultural Peruano Norteamericano, a source of more young teachers, which was another important English language teaching resource for the Ciudad de la Primavera Eterna! To come back to Bill for a moment. He was invariably at the center of any number of social activities involving the Volunteers and many Peruvian friends. He more than played his part in organising parties at his own home and he was a most generous host at all these gatherings. He loved socialising, whether it was for beach parties, for Saturday ceviches de langostinos or Ajis de Gallina or Arroz Montado down at the beach at Morillas, or fiercely fought games of dice, or quieter games of chess, at the Turista Hotel, or tennis or swimming at the Club Libertad. The list is endless. Not forgetting that, Bill was also Best Man at my wedding! Lucky me! Bill was very much sea orientated and it was no accident that he came to almost buy a piece of land at Huanchaco beach. How often did many of us sit sipping our beer as we watched the sun disappear over the horizon! We reckoned that it took roughly 3 and a half minutes between the bottom of the blazing disc hitting the horizon and it's total disappearance just a few minutes later. And then the cry went up: "It's time for another beer!" I think at this point it would be wide to point out that we were quite seriously involved in our primary purpose for being in Peru, and did take real pride in what we were trying to do. The above comments bring me to the end of Episode 1 and another episode should follow shortly.