A brother dead

and brothers mourning

Fill the heart

with grief today,

And the earnest

grasp fraternal;

Speaks, “a dear one

passed away.”

Yes, no longer

we shall greet thee

In the halls of DKE,

Yet thy name

in sweet remembrance

Graven on

our hearts will be.

We have parted,

Brother, parted,

As we trust, to meet again,

In a full unbroken circle,

Free from sorrow,

grief and pain.

MEMORIES OF MOOSE
June 4, 2000
Linscott R. Hanson O’59

Why am I here? I’ve been asking myself that question ever since I heard that Robert Jackson “Moose” Klise had died, and the Dekes were having a memorial for him. I think I figured it out. Although I still can’t explain it, let me share my progress from question to answer.

A few years ago, my step-son, Ray, gave me a book “for no reason.” It wasn’t Christmas or my birthday, or father’s day. And the book, based on a fairy tale, looked “different” to me. Nonetheless, it was a gift from someone whom I admire and respect, so I started it. The more I read, the more I understood why Ray had given it to me.

At that time I was deeply immersed in “Indian Guides” with my son, Scott, and in an undefined way, I knew I was into something very important for me, for Scott, and for the other fathers and sons in the tribe.

The book was Iron John, by Robert Bly, a critically acclaimed poet. In his book, he examines what it means to be a man and offers men advice on how to mourn the remoteness of their biological fathers, and embrace new role models. The book raised my awareness of the importance of male role models in the development of boys into men in modern society. The Shawnee Tribe of Indian Guides was, in realty, a collection of step uncles and step nephews learning important lessons on boyhood, manhood and society from each other. In a fun sort of way, our drum beating, story telling and tradition building replicates the manhood ritual of many ancient cultures from the Greeks and Romans to the Knights of King Arthur, to the Shawnee and other native Americans.

In the mid twentieth century, we didn’t have those institutions and traditions. My dad spent the years 1941-1946 (my ages 4-9) in a club called the United States Navy, and when he got out he was busy founding and leading his law firm.. Cub Scouts were run by mothers, not fathers, and Boy Scouts didn’t do it either.

When I came to Michigan in 1955, I was a very immature young man, and lacking in male role models. My Dad must have understood this, and he absolutely insisted I rush fraternities. I pledged Deke, and I’m glad I did. For me the Deke House was that missing tribe in my life. It gave me history, tradition, and male role models.

History stretching to Phi at Yale in 1844, and Omicron at Michigan in 1855. In the days before the fire at 1912 Geddes, we had old pictures and letters and documents. Letters from the battlefields of the Civil War and World War I, and essays on various topics. We didn’t have much respect for history then (some things never change!), but I was the chapter historian, so I looked at all that stuff, and some of it stuck.

We had midnight Shant meetings, and torch light marches to the University President’s home. We sang the songs, some like anthems and some bawdy drinking songs. We drank, and partied and argued and discussed, and learned from each other what it was to enter manhood.

R. Jackson Klise, a/k/a “Jack” or “Moose” came back to the Deke House after I was already a pledge. He had been away in the Air Force. Jack was a quiet young man. He had a dignity about him, and a reserve that impressed me. Not that he wasn’t “one of the boys,” for he surely was, in fact he fit in a whole lot better than I did at the Deke House.

He joined Kappa Beta Phi, which meant he could handle his drinks. And he worked hard at balancing a combined engineering and business school curriculum with a very active social life. His degree lead him to a career in management consulting.

Once, after a particularly long night, when the riotous partying was still going out front, he had gone to bed in the cold dorm, where all the windows were always open. Disturbed by the revelry, he arose to shout “F--- you F---ing- F---ers on the F---ing front lawn!” Coming from the usually taciturn Moose, the phraseology shocked me and stayed with me to this day.

In my senior year, Moose, George Zinn, Charlie Liken, Buz Metzger and I moved out of the Deke House to a rented house on Sylvan Lane in Ann Arbor. The better to party, to study, and to pursue the VFW and American Legion, of which the other four were members. Charlie’s Mom used to send us wash pans full of beans and whole hams, which George could make last for a week under the circumstances of our rather austere budget. The five of us got a dozen eggs a week, two each and one more for the two swiftest. We kept house and kept each other company. We were a close knit crew.

So that’s why I’m here. To say “Thanks Moose” and “Thanks Buzz, Charlie, and George.” To say Thanks to Paul Gruber, and Paul Elvidge, Ed Puthuff and Bob Durham, Brian Burke, Gary Knight, Neil Peters and and Tony Pear, and the Strom Brothers, and Phil Ragains and Cec Van Alsburg, Kent Vana, Mark De Velder, Jim Grady, Ken Winslow, Dave Busch, Alex Duffield, John de St. Nicholas, Wes Stewart and Ken Stuart, Jim Martens, Paul Garlic, and all the other Dekes who were, and are, my tribe.

Thanks to the Band of Brothers marching through time, back to Gettysburg and Vicksburg, and the mud-filled trenches of France. Thanks to the Dekes of World War II. Thanks to the Dekes of Mt. Dekemore, Brothers Hayes, Roosevelt, Ford and Bush. Proof of the value of Deke tradition.

You’ve done a lot for me......

We bore her shield in boyhood and as men we’ll shout with glee.....