A Final Look

from The Pingry Review - Fall 2020

In Memoriam

Closing Remarks from Upper School Director Ananya Chatterji P ’25 on Parents’ Day

There is a term in zoology and animal behavior called imprinting. This term refers to the way in which a very young animal attaches itself to the first object—or person, or animal, or inanimate thing—with which it has contact . . . I am not even close to being a biologist, so my understanding of this is limited. But suffice it to say that I understand imprinting as a form of learning.

When I was a young faculty member, fresh faced and eager and wanting to do everything perfectly, but actually doing nothing well, I would sit in Hauser Auditorium and watch the opening faculty meetings of the year. . . And these meetings—back then, as they are now, were run by the head of school. And there I was—a baby bird, in the audience. And I imprinted on Mr. Hanly.

Despite what we know about him now, and how he influenced and inspired the lives of countless people, Mr. Hanly did not seek the limelight and he did not toss around charisma. I can still remember the way he would walk slowly across the apron in the auditorium to the stage, and then—almost reluctantly—speak into the microphone. He was, at heart, an introvert. But he was an exquisite communicator . . . I only worked for Mr. Hanly for four years, but I remember not just the way he spoke, but what he said, as clear as day. He defined leadership for me. He set a bar, a tone, an expectation for what a “school person” should be, who a school person should be, what our priorities should be, how much we should commit, how to think about right vs. not right, how to carry This excerpt has been edited ourselves in front of our students and each other. for length; to hear it in full, He set this bar, and like a hatchling, I have remained visit pingry.org/extras strongly imprinted on him. . . . in many ways, Mr. Hanly seemed to be flawless on the exterior . . . We came to learn, from Mr. Hanly himself, that he wasn’t perfect. He admitted this. And this is how we learned. This is how I set my bar. This is how I calibrated during my time of imprinting. It was okay to make mistakes. It was important to own them. It was important to own them publicly, to say “I am sorry,” to ask for forgiveness. Mr. Hanly did not teach me what it meant to be a leader—he taught me what it meant to be a leader of human beings.

His legacy leaves behind many things; not the least of them is our open and candid consideration of the Honor Code in our day-to-day lives . . . He created the student-run Honor Board on our campus. He spoke to us about not just having a moral compass, but using it when it is most difficult to do so, not when it is easy.

We know this year is one of change . . . I am not here to talk about the pandemic; we all know this year is different. The Honor Code, however, is exactly the same. It means the same things to us that it always has. It directs us and guides us. We rest on it, we turn to it. Perhaps now, after we have lost Mr. Hanly, it means something even more than it has before.