By WILLIAM W. BROWN III

My name is Bill Brown.

Bud and Ann Rue owned a house in Montclair, New Jersey in 1968. It was located within walking distance of Montclalr High School where Bud was employed. He taught Geometry and Algebra from his homeroom within the four-story institution. As a newcomer to the high school staff, I did not have my own room, but plied my trade in various classrooms whenever they were available. One of these rooms was Bud's, and that was how we met.

As the weeks flowed on, I began to look for his face in the teacher's dining room. He was a friendly person and we shared the struggle of the mathematics classroom. The tradition of education that had lasted for a century was not standing solidly. The students were grouping into political caucuses - blacks, Italians, flower children. The songs were of revolution and of seizing control. Teachers had to separate students who eyed each other as enemies. It was a time of "Them" and "Us."

By weeks end, Bud and I began to seek each other out and, when money allowed, retire to Tierney's, the local pub, to find some companionship. We had common frustrations and a love of ale. One of us always had an open pack of cigarettes. We both wanted some way out of the dilemma presented by the angry, restless students in our classrooms. We both knew of A.S. Neill and his Summerhill school in England. It was a community of teachers and children that appeared to avoid the image of student as a "captive" and teacher as "oppressor." Wouldn't that be a place to go!

For me, Bud was a most unusual man. He had run a school. He knew how to develop a salary proposal. He could present it to the board of education in negotiation sessions. He .offered to help me learn this skill and, unaware of the tremendous amount of time it would consume, I accepted. The following year we co-chaired the salary committee for the teachers' union.

Bud Impressed me with the way he listened and grasped meaning in conversation. He was a welcoming person. We talked occasionally about his training in human relations. He encouraged me to attend a workshop, to "go and see for myself." Timidly, I did. I went several times, because something within me began to be repaired.

One Fall evening, Bud invited me to his home to have dinner with his family. My wife was working late, so I readily agreed. In those days, I did not enjoy being alone. I met Ann while the kids swirled around us. Everyone was friendly. It was the first of many meals. Spaghetti and wine, bread and words. The family was noisy, composed of clearly different personalities. From my upbringing, it seemed chaotic. Later, I was to use the memories of the Rue household as the model for my own parenting style.

This house on Fairfield Street came to be a retreat for me and for many others. We listened to Pete Seeger sing about ticky-tacky houses and lives that were all the same. Bud showed me that drywall and spackle could actually be used by people like myself. He walled in his front porch while Simon and Garfunkel pointed to other walls that needed taking down. I was impressed. Soon after, I rented a floor sander and refinished the flooring in the guest bedroom of our rented apartment. This was a heady time for me. I must have been insufferable in my pride and overconfidence.

There are more memories of changing and growing. We made a trip into New York to visit a mystic, where we had our three most important questions answered. We were searchers, game for about anything. Always there was encouragement to consider things. Always there was tolerance. Always there was laughter.

They were exciting times for me. They were important times for many.

Today I still ply the teaching trade. I have come to appreciate the teaching and the learning. Thirty years into my career I stiff need encouragement to continue, support to begin anew and acknowledgement to feel significant. I need the laughter that brings both relief and perspective. Bud gave these things to me. He was my first close friend. He helped me to stand up and do these for others. Perhaps you had a friend like Bud. I will never forget him.

The above remarks were delivered at a memorial service for Bud Rue, on October 30, 1993 at 2:00 PM in Milanville, Pennsylvania.