By Hilary Carlson, Upper School Faculty (1969–1997)

In the late 1960s, early '70s, many schools and colleges were becoming co-ed. Kent and Denver Country Day were part of that trend. Yale and Princeton admitted relatively small numbers of first-year women in 1969. In 1971, Pembroke ceased to exist as a college; all students admitted were going to Brown University. Similarly, in 1973 Abbot Academy became part of a merged school in Andover called Phillips Academy, which had been the ancient name of the boys school. The issue of what to call merged institutions was always fraught; often the name of the girls school was sacrificed. But not at Kent Denver Country Day School; we kept that mouthful. 

Fussing over what to call a school would have been funny if it had not been so serious.  The first stationery for the new school in 1974 read Kent ^. Denver Country Day School, with a red dot between the names in the middle of the line. Nice, except no typewriter (yes, we used typewriters then) could make a dot of any color in the middle of the line. So we were Kent Denver Country Day School (all in black). But as Mike Churchman pointed out—when he no longer needed to be circumspect and lived far away in Virginia—it wasn’t even an honest name: there was still boarding for girls, and we were not located in Denver.

Then we needed school colors and a logo, which, amazingly enough, have lasted. DCD’s color was deep red; Kent’s was a lovely, but hard to reproduce, soft blue green. We settled on a simple, patriotic red and blue. 

How is the school known today? Its official name, since 1987, is Kent Denver School. In the years following the merger, Kent faculty members were rebuked for saying “Kent” without “Denver Country Day.” And similarly chided were those who referred to “DCD.” This fuss seemed really important at that time when the school was creating a new identity.

Truth is the schools had been merging before they merged. There were shared facilities, coordinated classes, a single business office, and, already, an identical daily schedule. Students were way ahead of faculty in embracing the new configuration. Worries about “girls being overshadowed by boys” or the “pioneering spirit of DCD being quashed” were concerns of adults, not students. As the two faculties began to trust and appreciate each other, the school became a stronger one, athletically, artistically, financially and even academically.

What about graduation? Graduation Day would be both symbol and challenge.  Luckily both schools took advantage of the beautiful May/June mornings in Colorado and had Commencement outside. So, we knew where to have the ceremony.  Each school had a few “graduation prizes,” including one named for Miss Bogue and another awarded to the “ideal DCD boy.” We kept them as they were; slowly others were added, and in 1997 the faculty modified them so there was gender equity and less gender stereotyping. Beautifully wrapped books and newly engraved bowls and trophies were awarded as part of the ceremony. Eventually, the awarding of prizes moved to the afternoon before graduation in the new air-conditioned Anschutz Family Theater. A relief for all. 

Those of us who planned for the new Kent Denver were more worried about offending folks committed to Kent or DCD than we were able to think of “traditions.” Kent had rich traditions, but in the middle '70s they seemed too “girly” for women who wanted to be taken seriously. Too bad at least some of them did not survive. And some of the DCD rituals ignored state laws; that couldn’t continue. Students wrote a constitution in which much governance was shared by students and teachers. ('70s idealism.) Pranks and senior skip days were embraced. There were also experiments with “experiential learning” and a January term.  We kept looking for better ways to educate teenagers.

The most impressive initiative was the Middle School. The Kent School buildings could accommodate the college prep high school program so the less traditional spaces of Denver Country Day were available for a new kind of 7th and 8th grade curriculum.  In the '60s and '70s much was being written about the mismatch between classrooms and the developmental needs of young adolescents. Bert Moore, Head of the newly merged school, was eager for Kent Denver to be part of this educational reform. He trusted the energetic and idealistic young faculty, under the leadership of Blair Handley Jenkins, age 28, to create a model middle school. And so, they did. Today’s commitment to emotional growth in addition to academic rigor can be traced back to that Middle School.

The creation of these new coeducational institutions was messy and often divisive. Ours was tidier than most. Perhaps it is symbolic that this Centennial celebrates a remarkable little school founded by three women and its embrace of a small boys school similarly committed to independent education. We became one school because we could imagine a future better than the past. The optimism of Kent and of Denver Country Day lives on at Kent Denver.

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These Stories Can Finally Be Told

By Glenn Abrams '75 (pictured below standing to the right of the stairs)

At the time Kent and DCD merged, boys and girls had already had a few years to grow accustomed to attending classes together, but finding an indoor space large enough for the full student body to meet all together had become a priority. A clever but slightly controversial solution—enclosing the former Kent School central courtyard—ended up creating a great common meeting space where the entire student body could gather. I recall one student project for the Common Room was the construction of a six-sided 8-foot tall information kiosk where we could post flyers and posters announcing school activities. However, its diameter had been designed slightly too wide, so when the team tried to tilt the finished kiosk up into place it was so tall it jammed up against the ceiling. A great lesson in team design and practical geometry.

When we were seniors, I still remember how individual faculty, and even the Head of School, were surprisingly trusting and would go out of their way to create unique experiences for students that went way beyond the regular day-to-day curriculum. Even after 50 years, I don’t think those principles have changed, and these stories can finally be told. 

I have great memories of exploring the nearly empty campus during the late summer and enjoying incredible mountain views after sneaking up the wall ladder to the roof of the science building where we had been working to create a small darkroom for the yearbook in an unused storage closet.  

A naive first-year science instructor, Mr. Roberts, encouraged me and another student also interested in photography to attend after-school classes in Stereo Photography at the nearby University of Denver campus. He even lent us the keys to his yellow Volkswagen Beetle so we could drive to the class while he worked after school. Unfortunately I didn’t really understand how to drive his stick shift. I was able to successfully shift his Bug into 2nd gear without stalling so we ended up driving his car—round-trip—to D.U. racking powerfully high RPMs, just using 2nd gear.  

Mr. Roberts was also the same teacher who lent a couple of students his scuba tanks so we could experience diving in the upper lake after school. I still remember settling my back on the lake bottom while looking up at the sun splashed surface and marveled at being able to breath freely under water for the first time ever.

Oh. And then there was that time the Head of School called a couple of us into his office and with remarkable calm asked that we return the master school door key that, despite being embossed with “Do Not Duplicate," we had somehow managed to copy. Every year, before El Pomar Hall was converted into a theatre, the students would construct a platform stage in the Kent gymnasium where after school theatrical productions took place. Each day, if we wanted to get into the locked gymnasium to rehearse, someone had to walk all the way from one end of the campus to the other to borrow, and then return the door key. Of course, it seemed more efficient to just make a copy of the key for ourselves.

Ceep Smith, history teacher and lacrosse coach, once during class discussion idly picked up a nearby steel vacuum cleaner tube with a short curved end and used it as an impromptu lacrosse stick. He suddenly scooped up a piece of chalk and—underscoring a dramatic point about conflict during World War II—flung it wildly across the room where it loudly smashed against the blackboard into a thousand pieces.

Walter S. Rosenberry was outwardly conservative, in contrast to the bell bottom pants and long hair that were the fashion of the 1970s. Mr. Rosenberry would often be seen walking to school sporting polished black leather shoes and a dark suit and tie, carrying his worn trademark briefcase. A teacher of English and history, he had students actually subscribe to the The New Republic magazine featuring articles written by fellow Harvard grads in a valiant attempt to engage us in the global politics of the day.

Always witty, entertaining and thoughtful, Hillary Carlson and Dick Drew embodied the co-ed spirit of the newly merged schools as they team-taught a new history/English course that included the French Revolution and highlighted Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities. Yeah. It was the best of times. 

Throughout the time in my career, I work as an event producer, whenever we have to do a mic check—rather than go with the tried, “Testing one… two…" I thank English teacher Alice Knox for making us memorize Shakespeare’s "Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow" speech from Macbeth along with the prologue to Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, which I often recited, and can still recite, in the original Olde English, nearly 50 years later.

Creative writing instructor Tom Graesser, who, in his efforts to inspire creativity, famously made us carry a single lemon around for a week—wherever we went, 24 hours a day.  The only caveat was that if asked why, we couldn’t tell anyone the truth. Unfortunately my lemon, whom I will call Alexander Jr., became painfully dry and tough due to all the handling and sadly died an ignoble death while performing his famous sword swallowing act. But not to worry. We made lemonade.