Law school bonds formed decades ago are still strong

Few possessions in life are more valuable than lasting friendships. I’ve been more than blessed with friendships that began almost 60 years ago, when I was a student at Notre Dame Law School, and remain strong all these decades later. That was clear when we got together again at Notre Dame last week.

I entered Notre Dame in 1965. From my home in Queens to the campus in South Bend, Indiana, was about 800 miles by car.

In life experience, the distance was light years. I had no clue what to expect. My life up to then had been almost entirely confined to Queens, where I grew up; Brooklyn, where I went to high school and college; and Manhattan, where I was born, and where, during my last two years of college, I worked loading and unloading trucks and freight cars at the Railway Express Terminal on 10th Avenue.

My out-of-state ventures had been limited to New Jersey: a two-week summer rental when I was 9, a handful of one-day visits to relatives and two nights at Palisades Amusement Park. In New York, I took the ferry once to Staten Island, made the occasional trip to Jones Beach and journeyed to the Bronx for a handful of Yankees games and once to watch the football Giants practice at Fordham. I had never eaten in an actual restaurant, my dining experience limited to White Castle and pizza joints.

The Notre Dame campus was as impressive as advertised, with its famed Golden Dome glistening in the Indiana sun and more trees and manicured grass than I’d seen anywhere except Central Park. The law school was a three-story Gothic structure that radiated seriousness of purpose. I opted to live in Fisher Hall, the graduate student dorm, rather than an off-campus apartment mainly for convenience: It was a two-minute walk from the law school and next door to the dining hall.

Most important, the law students living around me in Fisher Hall were great guys. Dick Manning, Tom Curtin, Tom Ward, Charlie Weiss and Lanny Bonenberger became lifelong friends. For the most part we all had similar upbringings, Catholic school-educated. Every one of us except Ward, whose father was a doctor, was the first in our family to go to college. And every one of the others had gone away to college, and I had no idea what dorm life was like.

We were all willing to work together and help one another out — very different from the cutthroat competition at many law schools. That was a great defense against the dean of the law school, who took pride in the number of first-year students who flunked out or bailed out. His welcoming greeting to us had set the tone: “Look at the man on your left and the man on your right. Before long, one of you won’t be here. And damned be he who first cries, ‘Enough, enough!’”

Fortunately, the six of us survived the dean’s first-semester bloodletting, with Ward and Weiss doing exceptionally well and the rest of us doing well enough.

Sometime in the spring of our first year, there was a climactic power struggle between the dean and the Rev. Theodore Hesburgh, president of the university, over the starting date for the law school in the fall. Their grand compromise was to give the dean his starting date, but to throw the law students off campus. It was my first experience as collateral damage! But the six of us found a house to rent in South Bend, and our friendships grew stronger than ever.

Adding to all this was my meeting Rosemary, who was a student at neighboring St. Mary’s, during my first semester, and her becoming an integral part of our group. We got married at the start of my final semester before graduation.
After graduation, everyone did well: Manning in Chicago, Ward in Maine, Curtin in New Jersey, Weiss in St. Louis and Bonenberger in West Virginia. Though we were many miles apart, we stayed in close contact over the years, including at five-year class reunions, even holding weekly Zoom meetings during Covid.

Then, last summer, Manning, who was in many ways our magnet, died, and we decided to have our own mini-reunion. So last week we were together again in South Bend.
There were changes. Fisher Hall and the house we rented have been demolished. The law school building is many times larger than it was. But among us, nothing had changed. We walked the campus, reliving good memories, retelling old stories, talking about our children and grandchildren. We were thankful for our bonds of friendship, which had been forged in another century and have grown only stronger over seven decades. A great gift.

Go, Irish!

Peter King is a former congressman, and a former chair of the House Committee on Homeland Security. Comments? pking@ liherald.com.