I’m going to talk about Doug Warren. Douglass, we called him. Doug had two SS on the end of Douglass, and he and I both hailed from Tennessee, although I was from the mountains and he was from the Mississippi. We did a lot together at Harvard. He tutored me in math as I recall, he had a job at one of those places that supply help when you need it, and then we did the Hasty Pudding Show our senior year and we did the Kroks together. He and I were both women on stage with the Hasty Pudding Show. Doug was very tall, I mean he was like 8 feet or something, and very thin. And hailing from Tennessee, he’d gone to St. Paul’s and became the preppiest of the prepare there was. I mean, he always wore his bow-tie, his gold-rimmed glasses, his hair parted in the middle back then with great panache, and was a joyous soul. I mean, he was—you never saw Doug unhappy or without the bon mot for the moment. And he died also an untimely death just a few years ago. I’m a doctor and he died of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. This joyous man died a tough death. He had a lot of pain, and it’s—it’s just so hard to put those two together. This man who brought so much joy had an end that was tough. But in his fight he was relentlessly hopeful and grateful for those of us who appeared. I wanted to refer to the story of Paul because I had heard what he had said the bedside, and I regret something like that didn’t happen for Doug. I didn’t know who it was, and now I know it was Paul. I sort of elbowed my wife over here, Irene, and said sort of, “What should I say?” And elbowed Glen Howard on my left and said, “What should I say?” So I’ll end this with their contributions here. Glen said, “Well, why don’t you talk about that night in the driveway?” I looked at him and he said, “Oh, you probably don’t remember that night, you were puking your brains out in your own driveway.” And I said, “Well don’t talk about that, Irene is here!”  And I said, “What does that have to do with Doug?” And he said, “He was holding you up.” Thank you, Doug. And ever the debonair, southern, St. Paul’s preppy guy with the bon mot, my wife said, “”Well, I still hear Doug to this day because he once said to me, “Irene, you have the flattest stomach I’ve ever seen!” She said I still hear his voice!””

-From Lynn Weigel at the 60th Anniversary Memorial Service

In the Kroks, Doug was the one who always wore the tie. My Krok years were transitional. We were pulling away from Club traditions — hale-and-hearty songs, drinks at the Pudding — and moving more toward outside performances. But traditions are important, and Doug kept us there. He was the reminder of the easy, elegant style of Kroks who came before my tenure — Chuck Wilson ’71, Brian Wallace ’71, Lynn Weigel ’70, Rusty Tunnard ’71, Glen Howard ’71, etc. Wilson would sing “In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning” in this smooth, Frank Sinatra way. That’s how I remember Doug. I think he eventually sang that song because it seemed to fit him. I ran into Doug at the Louvre during a Glee Club tour in front of the Venus De Milo and later in NYC, around the time I ran into Fred Gwynne. It seemed like only yesterday — and right on the street, he began singing that song, “In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning.”

–Personal tribute from Len Easter ’73

Doug Warren ’72 (1950–2002) Douglass Lory Warren died at age 52 of non-Hodgkins lymphoma. A Memphis native, he majored in economics, was president of The Harvard Independent and a member of The Hasty Pudding Theatricals in addition to being a Krok. He received his MBA from Harvard in 1976, eventually settling in Hopkinton, MA. He served as CFO of several tech companies, including Business Software Technology, ONTOS, and OpenAvenue, and he spent much time helping young startups. For two years he was associate director of the Harvard College Fund. At the time of his death he was a partner with Tatum CFO Partners, LLP, in Boston.