A Special Announcement

Ladies and Gentlemen, your attention please. Thank you all for coming. As we all know, tomorrow is March 15th, the day when it befits us to honor one of history's greatest personalities. No, not Julius Ceasar. I speak, of course, of Caleb M. Bartley.

Caleb was born in the small town of Mumblican in North Dakota, where his family earned their living by using superintelligent llamas to mine the rich veins of coal 12 miles east of the Bartley farmstead. Unlike the other families nearby, the Bartleys did not revere the sacred statue of Vishnu. Their household god was a hard day's work, and Young Caleb's first job came at the age of four, when he began teaching the llamas to differentiate between a live canary and a dead one. His adeptness with the young llamas would prove valuable later in life, when he would convince the heirs to both the Betty Crocker and Cargill fortunes that young children are not really that different from young llamas, and that he could be trusted with the duties of a nanny.

After the supply of coal was exhausted and the superintelligent llamas left to conquer Canada, Caleb and his family moved to St. Louis Park, Minnesota. As they drove to their new home, Caleb discovered the existence of hills, and resolved to be the first person to travel down them by means of stapling two thin boards to his shoes. His determination was redirected but not blunted when he discovered that downhill skiing was widespread and popular, and he quickly joined Blizzard Ski School. This proved especially fortuitous as Caleb was able to combine his newfound interest in skiing with his love of work. Blizzard affored Caleb the opportunity to first call other members in the area to see if they would be skiing that weekend, and later, when his skills improved, he worked as an instructor for younger children (again asserting the lack of difference between children and llamas). It was in the course of the former that Caleb made first unofficial contact with the Kreuser household, a coincidence that would later be remarked upon and marveled at but never explained. The fact that he later became peripherally acquainted with my sister, Kate, is generally dismissed as the Universe playing silly buggers with us all.

Upon moving to Minnesota, Caleb had been enrolled at Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow: Benilde St. Margaret, a catholic school of some repute and resources. He benefitted from the finest education and hockey team money could buy, and his intelligence and resourcefullness often aided him in attempts to extricate himself from lockers, and subsequently fool around with the girls who helped him in out of said lockers. Caleb's school years were hard, because he had unfortunately been stricken with Youngitis, a disease that stunted his vertical growth (which would have otherwise topped 6'3") and caused his features to give him the youthful appearance of a twelve year old. However, Caleb was able to avoid the pitfalls of his ancestors, and did not marry his high school girlfriend. Instead, he used his undeniable intelligence and boyish charm to gain admission to Carleton College.

At Carleton, Caleb blossomed into a beautiful flower of a manly man. Paired with Jesse Belnap as a roommate, he formed half of the original Odd Couple: Caleb got up at 6am to go running, and Jesse slept until 2pm to give himself more time to smoke (both kinds), drink, and do his radio show. He also met the rest of the wacky gang of 1st Goodhue, which included myself, Andrew and Java. Deprived for the first time of a rigidly defined job, Caleb decided to make classwork his job: he kept track of all the time he spent going to class and doing homework, and if he was under 40 hours for the week, he would do flashcards to bring himself up to the required amount. It was this penchant for flashcards that first introduced me to the wonders of the Fubgangerzone (I believe Webster's now defines it as the place where gangs go to fight with nerf bats). And it was the German class that the flashcards were for that would introduce him to Yogi Reppmann, his German professor who initially asked Caleb to help him set up his computer. Little did Caleb realize that he would soon be negotiating shady international business deals and that Yogi would pimp him out to his ever-changing group of Hot German Chicks. Faced with the prospect of losing his only link to the world of technology and his most valuable gigolo at the end of the school year, Yogi was forced to kidnap Caleb and take him to Germany for the summer, where Caleb would defraud the German national telephone company, learn to love both beer and Cuban cigars, drive ridiculously fast cars and finally see Yogi naked. I believe that Caleb's love of international relations stems from this time, since he was forced, at several points, to use all his diplomatic skill to avoid creating an international incident. In exchange for not filing suit against the college, Caleb was accepted into the German off-campus studies program, where he spent fall term learning to enjoy beer even more. It was this love of beer and cigars that Caleb immediately imparted to me when I arrived in Munich for Joe & Caleb's Big Adventure. Eschewing my lack of health, he bought me a liter of beer and a cuban cigar the first night I was there, and I will say this: after drinking a liter of beer, I was feeling much better on the walk home than I was on the walk there. Over the next 7 days, we cut a glorious swath across the German countryside, annoying and confusing the natives, drinking enough beer to stun a Yak and being force-fed enough food to feed a town of starving Mongolians for a calendar year.

When Caleb and I returned from Germany to start Winter term at Carleton, little did we know that we, along with Java, Kathreen, the Sara(h)s and Andrew (when he returned from Mali), would form one of the most infamous rooms Carleton had ever seen. From our amazing adventures in the tunnels beneath Carleton and re-plumbing Caleb's cabin to our own section of the dorm staff meeting, the influence of Goodhue 414 was impressive. We were so prolific that when a friend of Caleb's from Germany came to visit us in the spring, he never saw us actually sleep. There are so many stories from that time that it would be folly to recount them all, but Caleb's involvement can be characterized by the moment when he suggested, at 3am on a Tuesday (or maybe Wednesday), that we should start watching a movie. Caleb pushed our carousing to the limit. I, seeking to do my part to help, acquired the habit of turning Caleb's alarm off in the mornings when it would go off for his 8:30am class.

Caleb continued to cause insanity for the rest of his Carleton career, whenever he was not writing insanely long papers for his advanced Poly Sci classes. Fortuneately, when he becomes famous and tries to deny everything, I have the photographic evidence to prove it all. After more or less taking Junior year off (except for organizing the U.S. branch of the Trip to Visit Joe in London, a trip whose insanity needs no recount here), Caleb was back in top form Senior year, causing fresh chaos with myself and Erik Hanberg as roommates. Nothing could deter Caleb in his quest to buy booze for the freshmen, help Erik hit on the freshmen, and then disappear to London for a weekend. Truly, Carleton will never forget this man who ruled the Rec Center with an iron fist. And if they try (presumably after Caleb gives them large amounts of money), I'll be right there to remind them.

And now, as Caleb turns 25 and is able to rent a car, he looks to the future. Having conquered the hillbilly yokels of Mizzera, he will soon earns MS in International Security and World Domination Studies. Caleb will then move to England, where he will labour to gain entrance into the secret Cabal of Powerful People who Rule the World. Fortuneately, Caleb's lifelong commitment to work will serve him well, and I predict that it will not be long before Caleb manically, yet studiously, runs the world from his office Hoboken, NJ. And if he gets everything done is less than 40 hours a week, he'll do flashcards to bring up his numbers.

So, ladies and gentlemen, I propose a toast: Happy Birthday to Caleb M. (which I think stands for Mountebank) Bartley. Loyal, outspoken, more than a little crazy, with a sometimes acerbic wit and a penchant for drinking beer and then beating up people who make comments about his sister. Caleb Bartley, my Friend. Happy Birthday.