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[[File:Eileen Crary.jpg|right|thumb|Eileen Crary]]'''Born''': May 26, 1932

'''Died''': May 5, 2023

Eileen Crary worked as the administrative assistant to the president of [[Paul%20Smith's%20College|Paul Smith’s College]] for 54 years.
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''Adirondack Daily Enterprise, ''May 8, 2023

'''Eileen Adele Crary'''

Eileen Adele Crary, 90, of Paul Smiths died on May 5, 2023, in her home surrounded by her family.

Eileen was born on May 26, 1932, the daughter of the late Gerald and Bessie (Newell) Crary. She graduated from [[Saranac%20Lake%20High%20School|Saranac Lake High School]] in 1950. Immediately following her graduation from high school, she started working at [[Paul%20Smith's%20College|Paul Smith’s College]]. For the next 54 years she worked as the administrative assistant to numerous college presidents until her retirement on May 28, 2004.

Eileen enjoyed working at the college, and when she wasn’t working you could find her at home taking care of her mom. After her mom’s passing, she enjoyed spending time with her family and taking part in luncheons with family and friends.

Eileen is survived by many nieces and nephews. She was predeceased by her parents Gerald and Bessie; her sisters Elaine (William Schakette) and Helen (James Law); and her brothers Edgar (Polly), Harold (Lillian), Newell (Fannie), Lloyd (Joyce), Vernon (Claire), Norris (Joan) and Rodney (Betsey).

Funeral arrangements are in care of the [[Fortune-Keough%20Funeral%20Home|Fortune-Keough Funeral Home]], 20 Church St., Saranac Lake, NY 12983. Calling hours are scheduled for Friday, May 12 from 11 a.m. until 1 p.m. at the funeral home. A funeral service will immediately follow at the funeral home at 1 p.m. Burial will take place at [[St.%20John's%20Cemetery%20in%20Paul%20Smiths|St. John’s Cemetery]] in Paul Smiths.

In lieu of flowers, the family requests that donations be made to High Peaks Hospice or a charity of your choice in care of the funeral home.
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''Adirondack Daily Enterprise, ''May 12, 2023

'''A Fond Farewell'''

By Bob Seidenstein

If anytime during a specific 53 years at Paul Smith’s College you’d mentioned the name Eileen to anyone there, they would have immediately known who you meant.

And when I say anyone, I mean anyone — teacher, student, administrator or staff — the whole shmeer.

Eileen was Eileen Crary, who left this Vale of Tears last week at the blessed age of 90.

So who was she?

On paper, she was the administrative assistant to a slew of the college’s presidents. In reality, she was that … and a whole lot more.

I had the pleasure of working with her for 30 years, and I don’t use the word <span class="quotations">“pleasure” lightly. She was always on her game — organized, informed, unfailingly pleasant and helpful, and sharp as a whip.

Beyond that, her knowledge of the place was encyclopedic. She knew where all the bodies were buried and which skeletons were in which closets. But, consummate professional that she was, she never gossiped. The phrase, <span class="quotations">“She kept her cards close to her vest” fit her perfectly.

Eileen was short, thin, understated, gracious and soignee, and always a lady. She had short dark hair and dark brown eyes that never missed a thing. While she was all business, she was eminently approachable and helpful — to everyone. And though her usual mien was serious, she had a great dry sense of humor and a smile that lit up her whole face.

She was most visible during the 30 years she worked for Dr. Buxton, and for good reason. Dr. B.’s management style could best be described as autocratic. He ran the joint with an iron fist and flew solo. He had almost no other administrators, and he made all the decisions — big, small and in between. Ultimately, he was a combination lord of the manor, Santa Claus, and hanging judge. Eileen was thus his <span class="quotations">“point man.” She was also his first line of defense, as all business dealings with Dr. B. had first to pass through her office.

Dr. B. had his fair share of quirks, something Eileen had to deal with constantly. In fact, her dealing with them started as soon as her job did. Dr. B. tended to put things off till the last minute, so when his secretary told him she was pregnant, was leaving the job, and he needed to find her replacement, he followed his usual course and pretended it was a problem that’d solve itself. Of course, it didn’t, so one Friday when she handed in her steno pad and split, he suddenly found himself secretary-less.

And now the good part. Somehow, he found out Eileen (who lived with her family a few miles from the college) had just graduated from high school, with a degree in secretarial science. In short order, she got a call over the weekend and that Monday started on the job, which she did brilliantly for the next half century.

Tom Agan told me a story that perfectly illustrated the vital role Eileen’s played in the running of the school. In the early ’60s a flu epidemic hit the school, and Dr. Buxton, who worked seven days a week fine. Then the next week Eileen (who also never missed work) got sick and missed three days. And not so ironically according to Tom, by the time she came back, the place was on the verge of rack and ruin.

Eileen and Dr. B. were a perfect combination. To say Dr. B. was a man of few words is a vast understatement. He rarely spoke at all, and even then, haltingly. So, often it was up to Eileen to fill in the blanks. I called her Dr. B’s Rosetta Stone. Danny Spada told me a perfect example of this. In June, Danny moved here from downstate, enrolled as a forestry student. But since his grants wouldn’t come through till the fall, he needed a job, and he went to PSC looking for one. Of course, he had to see Dr. B. personally, which he did.

He made his case to Dr. B., who nodded a few times, but said nothing. Then he scribbled something on a piece of paper, handed it to Danny, and told him to see Eilen. When Danny looked at the paper, he couldn’t understand one word of it. So he thanked Dr. B., left, and gave the paper to Eileen. She took one look and told him to report the next morning at 0800 to Bill Gokey, to start working in maintenance, and that was that.

There was something else that made Eileen’s actual job duties go way beyond the official ones. Almost none of Dr. B’s policies were written down (including our contracts). Instead, according to The Buxtonian Code, <span class="quotations">“Need a rule, make a rule.” Like most teachers, I was an adviser to a bunch of clubs. But each time I needed either money or a building reservation for an event, or anything, I had to get his permission. Luckily, Eileen was his first line of defense, so I’d go to her office and tell her what I wanted. My needs weren’t outrageous, plus Dr. B. was always supportive of student activities, so my interactions with Eileen were always the same.

After our initial greetings I’d tell her what I wanted and then would add, <span class="quotations">“Do you think Dr. Buxton will approve it?” And she’d say, <span class="quotations">“Oh, I think so … though of course you’ll have to ask him.” Once she said she thought so, I knew it was a sure thing.

Almost all of us referred to Dr. Buxton as The Old Man. It’s a term that comes from the military, referring to the commanding officer. And while some people might think it’s a term of disrespect, the exact opposite is true: It acknowledges the CO’s superior experience and expertise. It’s also a term of affection, and such was the case with us and Dr. B. So anytime any of us mentioned The Old Man, we knew who it referred to. And I had my own addendum: I’d mention The Brains of the Outfit, without naming who it was, and I never had anyone not know it was Eileen.

For all her time at PSC and her being privy to all the inner workings of the place, Eileen was uniquely positioned to know more about its history than anyone else. But due to who she was, we never found out: Once, Kirk Peterson asked her if he could interview her, but she turned him down. And she did it for the perfect Eileen reason: She didn’t want to violate her oath of confidentiality.

For all the years I knew Eileen and the hundreds of times we talked, as much as I liked and respected her, I know nothing about her private life, nothing at all. Which, I’m sure, was exactly how she’d planned it