Deceased May 11, 2006

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In Memory

Philip Joseph Stec died on Thursday, May 11, 2006, in Newington, Conn., barely two weeks before the Amherst Class of 1971 gathered for its 35th Reunion at the College, and just 11 days after his 57th birthday. Phil was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer only a month earlier, so his death came all too suddenly for his family, friends, colleagues, students and classmates.

At Amherst, Phil was a Russian Studies major, with a concentration on forging lifelong friendships. He was a proud brother of Alpha Delta Phi, where on weekends he could be found behind the bar or manning the grill, his humor and good cheer providing the catalyst for countless occasions to celebrate life at the College on the Hill.

After graduation from Amherst, Phil began what would become a lifelong vocation as an educator, teaching for two years at Tabor Academy in Marion, Mass. He vagabonded in the west and then returned to Amherst for a doctorate in education at the Univ. of Massachusetts. He moved to Boston to assume a variety of teaching positions, from training and mentoring other teachers, to direct classroom experience—which was his great love. He worked in the UMass-Boston education system for about a decade and then in the Boston Public School system during the early years of desegregation. He invested his skills and heart in teaching positions in Dorchester and Roxbury before moving to a middle school post in his hometown, Newington, Conn. In our 25th Reunion book, Phil remarked that he had been teaching in schools “where 11- and 12-year-old girls were having babies ... and kids [were] shot dead over a pair of sneakers or a jacket.” His last teaching post was at Roosevelt Middle School in New Britain, Conn, where he worked until his illness overtook his deep commitment to education.

Kindness and humility wedded with candor and care are virtues that formed the fabric of Phil’s character. The integrity of the weave could not be missed. Former students, co-workers and companions repeatedly recognized these qualities and the gentle spirit that flowed through his frame. Phil was a scholar, an arts patron, a lover of the fine and elegant in life, an expert cook (dining with him was a gustatory delight), a gifted horticulturalist (ask his Aunt Eleanor) and he read widely and avidly. But Phil particularly loved to polka, and there was no better place to go for a polka band than the Hadley Barn. Longtime friend Ellen Longsworth recalls Phil’s grace and ease on the dance floor as truly memorable—and impossible to emulate. His wit was quick, quietly delivered, never hurtful, but always to the point.

Phil had been looking forward to attending the 35th Reunion and talked about the possibility even as he lay dying. So, Saturday evening of Reunion weekend, Phil’s sisters, Debbo and Linda, along with Debbo’s husband Peter, arrived at AD (Reunion HQ) to honor Phil’s wish that a third portion of his ashes be interred on the grounds of his beloved fraternity. Linda also remarked that, well ... her brother had wanted to be there with everyone, so ... they’d brought him!

As old friends, partners, wives and children poured into the greatroom of AD, a small circle of us, including John Beeson, Rob Hawkins, Doug Bacon, Ellen Longsworth and Tom deBree, slipped out the side door for a few intimate moments of remembrance, before Linda and Debbo buried Phil’s ashes in Amherst soil. As gentle and kind as he was, Phil could rebel with the finest protests: “NO” the College does not permit it; “YES” we did not ask permission! For under the trees and the drizzling rain came the swelling festival of music and conversation through the doors and windows of AD, spilling out on the lawn to mingle with our reminiscences and the soul of our impromptu ceremony. Thinking of Phil, who loved the mix and joy of a party, we heard music he might have heard in the conversations of the men and women at once joined and at full liberty in the “common bond of Amherst.” The unceremonious nature of our farewell seemed fitting. The porous walls of AD extinguished the boundary between loss and celebration, and with heartfelt recollection, laughter, wet heads and tear-stained faces, feelings of gratitude and love for the friend and brother who had left us behind, we bid farewell.

Classmate John Anderson was moved to write a letter to Phil in the form of a poem. It is a friend’s quilt of memories, a tribute raised high, offering transport to those whom Phil touched.

“There’s a Place in the Woods That Belongs to You.”

Dear Phil,

Ever since learning of your exiting this life, we’ve been haunted by those
final lines from Shakespeare’s Hamlet:
“Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince.”

Was ever there a sweeter, gentler spirit?  Born into a rough and
tumble family of Polish descent settled outside of Hartford,
Connecticut.  Salt of the earth folks who knew the value of a
hard day’s labor and the benefits of a long night’s carousing in
rowdy polka barns with a multitude
of equally rambunctious kin.

Sometimes we wondered if you weren’t too mild and delicate
of sensibilities for such a roughhewn clan.  But then we witnessed again and
again your enormous capacity for life and the deep spiritual soundings of
your impassioned heart.  You were an educator in the truest sense, be it at a
salty prep for boys on the Cape or in the strife-torn streets of Boston during
the busing riots.  Or in those final years at a public school near your
Connecticut home.

A lanky six foot ten, we’re sure you suffered being the highest point on any
horizon, the jut, the jag, the towering one.  Coming in under the radar
was just not an option for you.  But then maybe that imposing stature of
yours was all part of the person you were born to be.  Standing out like a
beacon on many a stormy night for so many of us who sought the
sanctuary of your quiet harbor.

You tall, blond great-grandson of a Russian Cossack, aristocratic Polish prince
with the common touch, cavalier gentleman to a fault, old soul in the new world.
May a squadron of angels speed you to your rest.  Of this we’re sure, Saint Pete’s
holding a front row seat.

Tom deBree ’71
Ellen Longsworth