Each fall, faculty members take to the podium in Phillips Church, in front of peers, students and friends, to deliver meditations. There is no template or paradigm for a meditation. Most are personal and evolve from thinking about life and one’s place in it. One of the earliest published collections of meditations states, “The meditations may well signify the best of what Phillips Exeter Academy seeks to nurture within its community: clear cogent expression, observation and contemplation, respect for others, and a sense of the complex interrelatedness of humankind.” Here is an excerpt from the meditation Courtney Shaw shared with the community this fall.

I have lived long enough to know grief and grace on a first-name basis.

“Mrs. Shaw, your daughter is what we consider gifted and talented.” That was code for I would spend first through fourth grade in the C.L.U.E program, Creative Learning in Unique Environments. I loveeeeed CLUE. I met several politicians, the old Sammy Sosa was my pen pal, and Beowulf was my favorite read!

I didn’t realize this opportunity would come at the cost of being an outcast among my peers. It was also in this program that I learned some people shouldn’t teach young minds. Ms. Flatt was the fourth-grade CLUE instructor and, having had enough of my many questions, told me there was no purpose in answering MY hypotheticals because I wasn’t leaving Memphis.

Turn to your neighbor and say, “Don’t let someone with no vision tell you how to see.”

I remember being so embarrassed because the class was all of, like, six kids. I nervously laughed to keep from crying and was on mute for the rest of the day. I rode the bus home. I remember that at every stop, I would question every word she said to me, analyzing her choice of vocabulary. My brain processes information like a web. You say one thing and I immediately see visuals. When my mom walked through the door and hung her lab coat on the coat hanger and my dad unpacked his uneaten lunch items, I rattled off what Mrs. Flatt said. As I talked, I watched my 6-foot-6¾-inch dad smirk and then exit the kitchen to sit at the dining table for my mother’s response. My mother is one of the wisest people I know. A preacher ordained in ’95. She turned to me: “Well, Courtney, what did you think of what she said? Is it true?”

“Uh, no.”

“Who is she to you?”

“She’s my new CLUE teacher.”

I don’t remember much else other than my parents meeting with the principal and Mrs. Flatt. I finished the year out and didn’t return to public school until college.

Middle school was riddled with its own fun challenges. Mrs. Hiller was cool until she couldn’t find my homework in the homework tray. I asked her to re-check the tray, but she wouldn’t even look, so I was forced to stay behind to complete it. The consequence? Missing break — a time when I could eat and play an intense game of foosball. The break was also a time for the teacher to get a break and for the teacher’s aide to come in. In walks Ms. Newsome. “Courtney, are you OK?”

“No, Mrs. Hiller won’t check the tray and I know my work is there. It’s unfair. I asked and she wouldn’t even look. This feels wrong.”

Man, don’t you know Ms. Newsome gets up, walks out of the class to find the principal. The intercom comes on: “Courtney Shaw, you are needed in the principal’s office.” I take the walk of shame and enter her office where she hands me the phone. It’s my mother: “We’ll handle this at home.” Gyaaaaaaaaat dang mane, I knew exactly what that meant.

When I returned to class, my peers and Mrs. Hiller were walking in from break and a student knocked over the homework tray. Whose homework was at the bottom of the tray? Courtney Shaw’s. My teacher’s response, “Oh here it is.” No apology, no call back home. Grief.

High school was even better! I carved “Life is what you make it” on every notebook I had because I learned then the choice was mine to make the life I wanted. But what you do with the things you DIDN’T MAKE will show you HOW to live.

I was one of five Black students in my school of 500. I, like some teenagers, was angry at my parents for sending me to that school. A bunch of smart kids. Most of them wealthy. Then there was me, full financial aid.

The first time I got called n—– was outside my locker during third period. Followed by a kid in my grade asking if I could bring the fried chicken and watermelon to our Christmas class party.

Grief was when my only outlet, the choir, decided we would sing a Negro spiritual for our road performances … when three of the choir members, including me, are only a few generations removed from slavery.

Grief was being mad at all of this and directing it to my parents. You know, the ones who grew up during Jim Crow and were literally bused to integration.

And grace was them listening to a 14-year-old rant for four years about a high school that was heaven compared with what they endured.

Eighteen years ago, I sat where many of you sit now, Class of 2026. I wasn’t sure where I was going to college. My grind for college was a tad different than my peers’. My parents told me and my sisters, when I was 10, that they weren’t paying for us to go to school. “We got scholarships and worked, so can you. I had my heart set on Vandy until I saw the package Vandy had for me. Yeah, no.

That’s when I pivoted. I fell in love with not only a school that was a good distance away, but a school that wanted to pay me to be there. I took my talents to Middle Tennessee State University, where I excelled and by April of 2012 was set to graduate in May. My plan was to return in the fall to pursue my master’s through an assistantship that would cover the admissions costs.

I was sitting at my internship and decided to call and check the receipt of my grad application. “I’m sorry, Courtney. I don’t see it anywhere.” I was crushed. My face flushed. Tears welled. Plans completely thwarted. I got up from my desk and told my boss that I needed a moment to gather myself. I had to have been in that bathroom for about 15 minutes. I let it out, gathered myself and returned to the office. I sat down at my desk. As I opened my email, my boss stood in the doorway. “I forwarded you a position for a one-year paid internship. Take a look at the description, if you are interested, reach out.”

I sent the email. The hiring personnel responded. Boom, we had a 30-minute call scheduled for that Wednesday. That Wednesday, 30 minutes turned into an hour and a half. That hour and a half turned into my becoming the health education intern at the Academy.

The funny thing is, the day I moved into Webster, my acceptance letter to the grad school arrived at my home. My intern experience at Exeter could be described by my current students as interesting. I spent many nights leaving Lamont heading back to Webster, questioning if I made a mistake coming here. Whether you are a student/kid or staffulty/ adult, this place can be hard. Through the many challenges I faced, it was my perspective, supplied by grace, that I look back and credit, through all of those hard situations, places, times and people, for molding me into the educator I am today.

I guess you could say, 18 years later, I am thankful to still be in a space to learn, and hope you always remember that if you can change your perspective, you can change your life.

This article was originally published in the winter 2026 issue of The Exeter Bulletin.

Courtney Shaw served an internship in the Health and Human Development Department during the 2012-13 school year. She joined the Academy as an instructor in 2021 and is currently the chair of the Department of Health and Human Development.

Sharon Bradey, Exeter’s new director of squash, says her career has been defined as much by lasting relationships as by points won.

Her parents helped run a squash club in Adelaide, Australia, while she was growing up. The club was close enough to home that Bradey ran or biked there nearly every day. “As long as I got home before the sun went down, I could go back the next day,” she says. “Only once did I learn that lesson.”

During the 1980s, squash was booming in Australia. Saturday morning junior clinics regularly drew a large crowd of children competing for court time. By the time Bradey turned 12, she was playing on a team with women who were decades older. Surrounded by “extra mums,” The Kid, as she was called on the court, quickly learned what it meant to compete and to belong. “You played your heart out because you didn’t want to be sitting off the court waiting,” she says.

Bradey spent her teenage years traveling across Australia for junior tournaments and balancing schoolwork with an increasingly demanding squash schedule. At 18, with savings from working part time, she joined the professional tour as a six-month experiment. “There wasn’t much money in it,” Bradey says. “I knew I had to perform well to make enough to travel to the next tournament.”

That experiment turned into a decade-long career that took her around the globe. She was ranked as high as 12th in the world.

After Bradey stepped away from professional competition, she spent the next 30 years coaching at colleges and clubs, including The Harvard Club for 25 years. She also coached national teams in Spain, Denmark and Israel. Her global experiences have helped shape her philosophy as a coach. “Excellence matters,” she says. “But people matter more.”

In 2025, Bradey was inducted into the South Australian Squash Hall of Fame, an emotional homecoming that reunited her with family, mentors and teammates. “Squash has given me a lifetime of relationships,” she says. “I love seeing former players come back as adults, as parents, as coaches themselves. When you realize you have been part of someone’s journey, that’s the sweet spot.”

Now an American citizen and one of the longest-serving female professionals in club squash in North America, Bradey sees Exeter as the place where everything aligns. “To be able to do what I love, in another country, and feel so connected to a school and its students — I’m meant to be here. I believe that.”

This article was originally published in the winter 2026 edition of The Exeter Bulletin.

Emma Finn ’22 was named one of 32 U.S. Rhodes Scholars in November. The scholarship provides full financial support for two to three years of postgraduate work at the University of Oxford for students focused on exemplary academic study and public service.
A senior at Harvard University, Finn is completing a double major in mathematics and classics as well as a concurrent master’s degree in statistics. At Oxford, she plans to pursue a Doctor of Philosophy in statistics or statistical machine learning, focusing on understanding “creativity” in generative models like image-based diffusion models.

Finn also hopes to work with ethicists and policymakers to design tools to help regulate artificial intelligence fairly. “I’m especially excited to be a part of the community of Rhodes Scholars and to be surrounded by people who are driven to make the world a better place,” she says. “I hope to learn from them about the challenges they think are most pressing and work in partnership with them to identify technologies that might address those issues.”

This article was originally published in the winter 2026 edition of The Exeter Bulletin.

More than 1,000 students gathered in the Love Gym complex for this fall’s inaugural Community Health Fair. With raffles, Spikeball and stuffed animals, the event had a decidedly festive feel. But behind the energy was a serious focus: providing critical health screenings and reinforcing the Academy’s culture of wellness.

The most significant initiative was the introduction of noninvasive electrocardiogram, or ECG, screenings for all students. Sudden cardiac arrest is the leading cause of death on school campuses. Roughly one in 300 young people may have an undiagnosed cardiac anomaly, according to Who We Play For, the national organization specializing in student cardiac testing that performed the Academy’s on-campus screenings.

“This was the first time the Academy has undertaken such a screening,” Exeter’s Medical Director Derek Trapasso says. “We wanted to bring the standard of care found in collegiate and professional athletics into the secondary school setting and do it for all students.”

Students found to have a risk of heart problems were referred for a follow-up with a pediatric cardiologist through the Lamont Health and Wellness Center. “Cardiac health, concussions, heat and hydration are some of the hardest issues to prevent, and they can be catastrophic when they happen,” Exeter’s Director of Athletic Training Adam Hernandez says. “Being able to identify risk is really meaningful and allows us to be proactive.”

Beyond a clinical exercise, the fair was designed to break down barriers and ensure students felt comfortable connecting with health resources on campus. To that end, Counseling and Psychological Services, athletic training, nutrition, Student Council and the Health Center set up stations where students could gather resources, meet the adults behind the Academy wellness programs and build familiarity with the wide range of support that is available.

“It was great to welcome our students back with a smile and a yummy snack,” says Tina Fallon, the Academy’s registered dietitian, who handed out free smoothies at the event. “I want them to be able to approach me without feeling like they are going to get bombarded with nutrition information.”

Trapasso was pleased. “The health fair’s success was truly a result of collaboration,” he says. “It is our hope that this becomes an annual tradition.”

This article was originally published in the fall 2025 edition of The Exeter Bulletin.

Jeff Flake has arm-twisted congressmen and senators and earned the gratitude and admiration of presidents on two continents. He’s even been knighted by the king of Sweden.

But when the former politician and diplomat delivered remarks to the Exeter community at an all-school assembly in September, he drew upon the words of prominent Exonians to underscore his messages of empathy and unity.

“A wise man, your principal, gave an address just a few weeks ago,” Flake said of Principal Bill Rawson’s Opening Assembly speech. “He said, ‘empathy enables us to see ourselves and others as learners. It helps us learn to be comfortable having our thoughts and ideas tested by others whose ideas, perspectives, experiences or identities are different from our own.’”

The six-term congressman and former U.S. Republican Senator from Arizona who also served as U.S. Ambassador to Turkey in the Biden Administration said his message has been shaped by growing up in a large family that taught him “a lot about getting along” and a political career spent reaching across the aisle.

Flake said the lessons Exeter students are learning around the Harkness table will serve them well. “The experiences that you have in this institution, and the skills you develop in this environment, will largely determine how you live in this political world,” he said.

“Some people try to disengage and get off social media,” he added. “That’s difficult. I would encourage you to use it in positive ways. Compliment a politician when he or she does the right thing. Learn the skills that are necessary to lower the political volume and do better as a country and as a people.”

Flake closed his visit by citing the words of another Exonian, Daniel Webster, class of 1796, that made the Massachusetts senator a national figure. “‘Liberty and union, now and forever, one and inseparable,’” Flake said. “I hope that we can all be that way.”

This article was originally published in the fall 2025 edition of The Exeter Bulletin.

Art Curtis ’71 has always enjoyed scrabbling in the dirt. Growing up in Pennsylvania, he spent his free time playing outdoors. “We’d play baseball in a farmer’s field or go running around the woods,” he recalls. “I’d come home from school, have a sandwich, then head outside until supper.”

He was also a “scientifically oriented” child who, given the option of physical or biological sciences in ninth grade, took both. He still remembers the topographical globe he received one Christmas. “Right away, I saw the coast of Africa could connect up with South America,” he recalls, “so I started doing a little reading about ‘continental drift,’” now known as “plate tectonics.”

At Wesleyan University, he took some government and world music classes but left after three semesters. “I was aimless,” he says. “I needed a break.” A self-described “hippie environmentalist,” he packed up his Datsun in 1973 and drove three days cross-country to live with cousins in Los Angeles, where an ad in Organic Gardening and Farming magazine landed him a job tending an avocado grove in Southern California.

Ready at last to tackle school, Curtis went on to earn a degree in soil and water science from UC Davis and a master’s degree in geology from Colorado State. He still nurtures a garden in his Colorado backyard.

Until his 2019 retirement, Curtis spent decades working as a mudlogger and wellsite geologist, probing, examining and analyzing rocks and collecting and synthesizing subsurface geologic data across the Rocky Mountains. He “geosteered” oil wells in Montana and North Dakota, using gamma ray marker data transmitted to the surface via pressure pulses in the mud. He worked as a geologist and geosteering supervisor for a Colorado oil company.

It was exciting, if harrowing, work. He once intentionally jackknifed his mudlogging truck-and-trailer combo to avoid going over a cliff while descending the Douglas Pass summit in Colorado during a snowstorm. He remembers fumbling on hands and knees on icy ground near Glacier National Park, trying to replace frozen gas-detection line segments. One job proved seminal: a stint at Oak Ridge National Laboratory in Tennessee, evaluating radioactivity in groundwater, surface water and soils caused by decades of poorly regulated waste disposal during the Manhattan Project and the Cold War. “We would walk from our offices to the cafeteria every day, near surface impoundments containing nuclear waste,” he recalls. Every employee wore a dosimeter, an instrument detecting and monitoring radiation exposure. No one’s dosimeter ever sounded an alarm, and Curtis began rethinking his youthful “anti-nuke” stance. “I realized, yes, [nuclear power] can be dangerous, but the risk is not uncontrollable,” he says.

Always an autodidact, Curtis began reading about humanity’s “historic energy transitions,” from animal and human power to wood-burning, coal-burning, petroleum and to oil and natural gas. “These transitions take a long time,” he notes. “We’re not going to eliminate fossil fuels in the next five to 10 years.” Nuclear power seemed a safe, clean, efficient next step in this long game.

The “seed was planted” for his postretirement mission: education about and advocacy of clean energy through nuclear power. His timing was fortunate: State lawmakers had passed legislation committing Colorado to 100 percent clean energy use by 2040. Curtis lauds the goal but disagrees with those who believe that “100 percent wind, solar and batteries is the best way to achieve this transition.” Overreliance on wind and solar power destabilizes the electrical grid, and weather is fickle. (Electricity generation in his solar-paneled home plummets with every cloud or storm, he says.) AI and cloud storage, he adds, will put a “big strain” on the grid over the next five to 15 years with their nonstop energy requirements. To run clean energy data centers, he says, “we’re going to need nuclear power.”

In 2023, Curtis joined the nonprofit Colorado Nuclear Alliance. “I really do believe in disseminating facts,” he says. “We’re fighting a long history of mis- and disinformation about energy.” The group espouses education and legislative advocacy, and recently celebrated a bill designating nuclear power a “clean energy resource” in Colorado. “We’re at a turning point,” Curtis says. By investing in nuclear energy, “we can tackle the issue of climate change, reduce our impact on the earth and bring the vast majority of the world out of poverty … if we do things right. It’ll take political will and the support of scientific research.”

And now, if you’ll excuse him, Curtis has an excursion planned. The Rocky Mountain Association of Geologists is leading a field trip to examine rock outcrops, and he is looking forward to getting his hands dirty.

This article was originally published in the fall 2025 edition of The Exeter Bulletin.

Brandon Newbould’s career does not fit into a tidy box. Over 15 years, he has helped Exeter athletes achieve record-breaking performances and has collected numerous championship trophies as the head coach of cross-country and associate head coach of the track and field program. He is also the principal trombonist in the Portsmouth Symphony Orchestra and runs his own music contracting business.

“I used to keep it all compartmentalized,” he says. “Music and coaching — and everything else. I thought it was better that way, but over time I’ve come to realize it is good for the kids to know what I do. I want them to see you don’t have to choose just one thing.”

Newbould grew up in Alaska, where there are few roads. “My mom introduced me to running when I was in seventh grade,” he says. “Running opened up all kinds of opportunity to explore. In high school we ran through the mountains and bear country on backpacking trails, horse trails, off trail, wherever we wanted to go. I use that experience now to show the kids here what that can look like, while keeping them safer than we were back then.”

At Soldotna High School, which is roughly 150 miles south of Anchorage, Alaska, Newbould was an accomplished Nordic skier and runner. His track coach, Mark Devenny, proved to be a lifelong mentor and major influence on his training technique.

“Coach Devenny was right out of a Rocky movie,” Newbould says. “He grew up in Philadelphia and was one of the only real track guys in Alaska. He devoted his life to us, and that’s my model of a coach.”
Newbould’s teams are driven by that same culture of toughness, unity and belief. “What I loved growing up was the adventure,” he says. “I try to bring that to our training. How can we incorporate a sense of adventure through our practices? That’s the best thing, sharing with the kids and watching them learn what they can do, how to compete and what they’re capable of. It’s incredibly rewarding.”

Newbould continued running at Messiah College and beyond. He followed a disciplined schedule, logging 120 miles a week as a competitive runner while pursuing a career as a professional trombonist. Newbould would often start his days in the early morning with a 20-plus-mile run, then sneak in another five miles between rehearsals and performances.

Throughout, mentors and peers urged Newbould to choose one path: music or something else. Instead of conceding, he kept his dual pursuits mostly private. His foot-on-the-gas persona, driven to defy that either-or mindset, has become something of a rebellious calling card. “Watch me or don’t — I don’t care,” he says. “But I can do this.” And he has.

Newbould, who won the Baystate Marathon in 2009 and 2017, was the top New Hampshire finisher and placed in the top 50 at the 2013 Boston Marathon. He is also an accomplished trail runner. With his guidance, Exeter’s cross-country and track and field programs have become some of the most successful athletic programs in New England. And he continues to play the trombone in some of the most elite musical groups in the area.

When Newbould is not on the track or on the stage, he can be found deep in the woods or out in the fields with his wife and two sons where they hunt, fish, forage and tend to a lively homestead full of crops and chickens.

Over nearly 40 years, Russell Weatherspoon ’01, ’03, ’08, ’11 (Hon.); P’92, P’95, P’97, P’01 and Jackie Weatherspoon P’92, P’95, P’97, P’01 left an enduring mark on Exeter’s campus and community. In honor of their longtime service to the Academy, Sam Brown ’92, president of the General Alumni Association, presented the Weatherspoons with the 2025 Founders’ Day Award in an Assembly Hall packed beyond capacity with excited students, faculty, alumni and Trustees.

“In the classroom, in the dorm, in the dining halls or along the paths, your warmth, wisdom and generosity have earned you the enduring respect and affection of your colleagues and the devotion and gratitude of generations of students,” Brown said while reading the award citation.
Russell and Jackie Weatherspoon arrived at Exeter in 1987 with their young children, all future Exonians: Ben ’92, Rachel ’95, Clarke ’97 and Rebekah ’01. In addition to teaching religion, English and drama, Russell took on many administrative roles, including dean of residential life, dean of multicultural affairs, director of Exeter Summer and — from 2020 to his retirement in 2024 — dean of students.

“With your fair-minded, steady presence — and a seeming ability to be everywhere on campus at once — you assured students that wherever they were, and whatever was going on in their lives, someone was looking out for them,” Brown said.

Jackie expanded greatly on the role of faculty spouse and dorm parent for more than a decade in Cilley Hall. “From ensuring that Black hair care products were stocked at local drugstores to helping students shop for dresses and style their hair for prom, you were a source of steadfast advocacy and support for Black girls and women on campus,” Brown said.

She later served as associate dean of Exeter Summer and held positions in admissions, the Lamont Gallery and the Class of 1945 Library, among others. Off campus, she built an impressive career in public service and human rights advocacy that took her from the New Hampshire House of Representatives to the U.S. State Department and beyond. Jackie brought that experience to her longtime role as adviser to students in the Democratic Club, encouraging them to engage in political life at the campus, local, state and national levels.

“This is a magical place,” Jackie said while accepting the Founders’ Day Award. “I want to thank you so very much for allowing two teenagers from Brooklyn who wanted to serve people to be a part of your journey.”

After his wife received a standing ovation — one of several during the assembly — Russell took to the podium. “One of the great blessings of having been asked to have a variety of roles is that it multiplied for me over the years my understanding, appreciation and gratitude for that wide range of people who are doing so much, so much of the time, so much of it unseen,” he said.

Of two all-important decisions in life — work and marriage — he said he had been lucky. “You will spend most of your life in the work of love and with the hope that you’ll love the work that you do,” he said. “So you want to choose as carefully as you can. We are grateful because we got the chance to do a work life with you.”

Near the end of his remarks, Russell recalled a moment last spring, not long before he retired. “I woke up to the fact that this is where we had spent the majority of our adult lives, and that we had spent them among people who had the capacity to make us better people,” he said. “Other people shape you. We are grateful for the opportunity to be shaped by this place and, specifically, by you.”

Established by the Trustees in 1976, the Founders’ Day Award is given annually in recognition of longtime service to the Academy. It was renamed in 2019 to honor Elizabeth Phillips’ role in forming the Academy alongside her husband, John Phillips.

This article was first published in the summer 2025 edition of The Exeter Bulletin.