Allan "Buck" Forslund: 1952-2006

The following was a tribute written and read by Tracey Reed during the memorial service held Friday, December 8 in memory of Buck Forslund:

Buck. How do you capture in words the essence of such a man? How do you express the presence he brought into a room, the life in his body, the joy he gave, his strength of character, his wit, that competitive sporting nature that came with large lashings of grace? How can I explain how a man of his intellect could hire someone such as myself? And that smile. How can you convey the feelings his smile evoked?

The only way I know to capture some small part of who Buck was is to share a tale of my time with him. Please, fasten your seatbelts.

Soon after I met Buck and had established myself as a general nuisance to him, he asked me if I would be up for a game of squash. He was almost 50 and I was a sprightly 27. The vigor of youth was clearly erring on my side, and I was filled with glee at the prospect of making him run around. The lead up to the game involved a lot of heckling which was the foundation of my friendship with him. At any rate, game day arrived and after 1 hour of game time I learned what it was to lose to Buck. He thrashed me. He was almost twice my age and he destroyed me. Losing to Buck was something I would become accustomed to. In fact, I lost every game in every sport that I ever played against him. And I know I am not the only one to claim that statistic. Not being one to take a loss calmly, I had to find a winning strategy, and I thought I found it in rugby. Buck was an avid rugby watcher and for reasons that will always remain unknown to me, he was a loyal English rugby supporter. For any rugby match that mattered, which is every rugby match that gets televised, he and I would descend on his lounge, break out the popcorn, crack open a beer, and begin with pre game heckling. Buck, big teddy of a bear that he was, came alive in those moments. A twinkle would appear in his eye, a roguish grin would plant itself on his face, he would assume a relaxed demeanor, and to the casual observer he would look serene. I on the other hand noticed the smaller details, like the vein on his neck throbbing and popping out at the mere whiff of an English defeat. It is one of my true disappointments that for the 2 ½ years I lived in Jakarta the All Blacks only beat the English in two games, the English wins against us is a statistic I would sooner forget. I lost to him on and off the field.

There are few administrators in the world who possess the courage or inclination to make tough decisions in a timely manner but Buck was one of them. He was an exceptional Headmaster. None could deny he was consistent, fair, and honest. He stood by his principles. He delivered unwelcome news with attention to both the person and the principles at stake. His career in education was a distinguished one and it was sprinkled with humor. I will never forget him walking into one faculty meeting brandishing a baseball bat and methodically, I might add ominously, raising and lowering it into the palm of his hand, then openly stating, “I am open to suggestions.” He had charisma; a charisma that endeared him to all of us who are here today, and thousands of people who couldn’t make it but knew him as an educator, friend, and sportsman. He had the ability to make people feel thoroughly welcome but he was also a bit of a cheeky rascal. And that is why I adored him.

Buck was a man’s man; a lover of sport, fond of a good joke, a top notch bloke. I loved him. We all loved him. My life will never be the same without him in it.

Jess, Ryan, and Barb, I love you three. You are family to me and my heart is broken for you.

He outdrove, outputted, outranked us all. And so he should. He was, a tremendously good man.

Given on Friday, December 8, 2006