ROBERT H. BATES, 1911-2007
Editor's Note: The following is a report from Bob Bates' memorial service on October 27, 2007. A full obituary for Bates, who died September 13, may be read here.
By Gregory Todd
I drove up to Exeter, N.H., on Saturday, October 27, for a memorial service for Bob Bates, who taught at Exeter while I was there, and was the adviser to the Mountaineering Club. Other private schools had Outing Clubs (as did Exeter), but probably only Exeter had, in addition, a “Mountaineering” Club. By my day, the club's more adventurous exploits (Huntington Ravine, Katahdin in winter) had been toned down, due no doubt to anxieties expressed by the school's lawyers. But we went rock climbing in nearby state parks in the spring and fall, and went snowshoeing and practiced ice axe and rope techniques during the winter months.
The memorial service repaid the effort of driving up there in the rain, many times over. Among the 250 or so gathered in Phillips Church were Charles Houston and Bob Craig, surviving members of the 1953 K2 expedition; Tom Hornbein, from the first American ascent of Everest (via the west ridge, with Willi Unsoeld); and Nicholas Clinch, who had led the first-ascent parties on Mt. Vinson and Hidden Peak, and was a longtime AAC officer as well. I got to speak with them all, and shook hands with Charles Houston.
The service included really charming reminiscences about Prof. Bates' family life and his school days, and his manner of living throughout—ever an optimist, ever polite, ever understated (amazingly understated), ever positive, ever encouraging people to “know their history” and to ask “why not?” if they proposed something new or daring. There was lovely music. There were tributes from Peace Corps workers about all the work he had done in Nepal, and beautiful poems, some by Robert Frost, and others written by a Nepalese Buddhist friend (read by the Bates' de facto adopted Nepali son). And a tribute from the 10th Mountain Division, represented by two soldiers in uniform from Fort Drum.
After many stories about Prof. Bates’ absolute and total unflappability, Charlie Houston shuffled up (not on the program) to give an impromptu story about how “no one today has said a thing about it, but Bob could, on occasion, lose his temper. As his climbing partner over so many years, I had occasion to see it. It happened once, back in 1931....” (laughter) They were lost in Alaska, trying to get back to civilization after their plane radioed that it could not return to pick them off the glacier. They had tired of squirrel. Then they saw some goats, on the mountain slopes below. Bob Bates climbed up some rocks high above, took careful aim, and FIRED. A goat got up and yawned. He aimed again, and FIRED. A second goat got up, and ambled away. Bob Bates aimed again and fired...but this time all the goats got up and started slowly walking—in their direction! Bates threw down the gun, hit the stock hard, and said, “Gosh, dang it!” (Or something like that.) So, Bob Bates did lose his temper. At least that once.
Nick Clinch gave a gripping talk about their travels to western China in 1985, to climb the Ulugh Muztagh, a deeply remote mountain in Tibet, then-unclimbed, and a possible 8,000-meter peak. When they returned to Urumchi, all the Chinese provincial dignitaries had gathered to celebrate the American mountain team, in a gala welcoming event. The Communist Youth Orchestra of Western China played suites of music in salute. Dozens of dancers in native costume performed regional dances. There were acrobats, other musicians, and many songs accompanied by curious instruments. Many speeches and toasts were made, which they could not understand.
Then everything stopped. There was no motion. Only silence. Nick Clinch turned to the local chairman of the Communist Party, and asked: What was wrong?
“Nothing is wrong. Now, it is your turn to entertain us.”
Bates and Clinch looked at each other. Bates, then in his 70s, and Clinch moved slowly toward the stage, perhaps thousands watching, and agreed on their plan. They took a microphone and broke into “The Wreck of the Old ’97,” a song Bob Bates had sung so many times on so many mountain expeditions that by now Clinch knew all the words as well. As they sang verse after verse, the Chinese audience exploded in applause.
To end the service, Nick Clinch brought Tom Hornbein up to the podium. And the two of them sang five verses of that song for us right then and there! The melody was familiar, since the Kingston Trio had borrowed the tune to use for their song about “Boston Charlie.” And the last verse was especially memorable:
Oh all you ladies, you had better take a warning,
From this time on, and learn
Never speak harsh words to your true-lovin' husband,
He may leave you...and never return!
That brought the assembled crowd to their feet, in both cheers and tears, for Mrs. Bates, who rose in the front.... And with that began the organ recessional, and the service was over. It was a great moment.
There was a reception afterward in the Exeter library, where there is a small room that contains Bob Bates’ library of mountaineering books and a number of climbing artifacts from the old days'. I had the chance to tell Mrs. Bates that I planned to climb Mt. Moosilauke the next day, and that we would dedicate the climb to Bob Bates. As we reached the top the next day (and this is true), the clouds lifted and we could see in all directions the mountains where Bob Bates started his climbing days. We had brought cans of beer along, and we made a toast to the winds, to a great mountaineer and a wonderful person, from atop the mountain.
Gregory Todd lives in New York City.