August 26, 1971, of course, was the day I met MacDougall. I walked in under a weather beaten gray sign suspended from short ropes off an architrave atop two supporting posts of oakwood. It could have been the entry to a ranch, except there were beautiful high Chinese Chestnut trees rising all around, not scrub brush and barbed wire. Carved into the sign was the message, “Two-Top Mountain West -- We Strive to Live Well.”

It was expected all students would live on campus. Some did; some didn’t. Many were brought in that first day via buses and golf carts. There had been no follow-up letter from the school detailing for new students what they ought to bring, so some showed up, stumped and mystified, with only the clothes they had on and maybe an umbrella, cap, or hat. Others, like me, came with full mountaineering backpacks, ripe and ready for any occasion or challenge.

In the gravel-covered school parking lot outside the school’s front gate were parked only four cars, ten or a dozen motorcycles and twenty to twenty-five bikes. One of the cars, a russet-colored little Renault station wagon, distinguished itself by having a miniature windmill mounted to its roof.

A temporary cardboard directional sign was mounted to the car: “New students, this way.” A narrow, tidy red brick path led from the gateway through an orchard of fruit trees -- apple trees, peach trees, pear trees, plum trees, quince trees, apricot trees, and sweet and sour cherry trees. The path wound a way amid these and emerged onto a clearing -- the quad. Looking west, you could see the gorgeous, thrusting Teton peaks.

MacDougall crossed the quad, heading toward a footbridge over a clear, calm stream. The stream was fed by the tumbling Tumsaw River, originating deep in the Big Windy Mountains. On campus, the sparkling rivulet flowed into a large reservoir pond, then trickled out on the opposite shore, burbling under the bridge, which MacDougall now crossed, before narrowing as it wound to its end in a further mill pond on the school grounds. Carp swam in these rivers, streams, and ponds. Geese and ducks quacked and waddled on the lawns, shaking off water and licking themselves like cats. Cats also roamed the grounds, stalking songbirds. There were birds all over the place.

Random piles of leaves, manure, and hay filled the air with a barnyard smell city-slicker MacDougall later confessed he’d found invigorating. It had thrilled him to learn that the compost heaps provided the raw material for distilling methane, and that the methane provided the fuel for the hydraulic pumps helped bring heat to the dorms and classrooms in the long, hard winter months.

Solar panels glistened in the sunshine. Windmills fluttered. Waterwheels revolved. These helped make the school entirely energy-self-sufficient -- these and three two-kilowatt Pelton water turbines and eleven three-kilowatt wind generators.

West of the reservoir, mill pond, and quad were maybe twenty small greenhouses on a hillside, randomly scattered but all facing the same direction. Each was triangular, with a low front and a high back. The northeast and northwest walls of each were made of concrete and their southern, hypotenuse sides were all glass. Each of the greenhouses had a walk-in root-cellar, and in each root-cellar were four fat, wet wooden barrels fill of beer.

Also in the west were a wooden sawmill, a stone blacksmith’s forge, and the school’s modern library, a two-story pyramid-like edifice built almost entirely of glass. Behind the library were clusters of pagoda-like huts with bamboo roofs with ornate oriental trimming. Straw mats covered the floors and, on one smooth white wall in each classroom, there hung one blackboard. Behind these were still more classrooms, as well as student housing -- small geodesic domes and cabins made from rocks and logs. Most of the cabins had solar panels on their rooftops. Clotheslines stretched between the cabins and, as the day wore on and more new and returning students showed up, an abundance of socks and shirts and underwear began appearing, waving like flags in the winds.

Just east of these cabins, domes, and pagodas was a three-story wooden barn perforated every which way with windows. A sign over the main entry identified it as “The Art Barn.” Northeast of the mill pond was a second enormous barn, with only half as many windows, which a sign indicated was “The Dairy.” No cows were in the dairy, but there were lots of goats and sheep. There were maybe a dozen ewes, and three rams. Just north of The Dairy were their grazing grounds.

South of the mill pond were the gardens and beehives. The beehives were protected from strong winds by hedges of filbert and hazelnut trees. There were blueberries, elderberries, raspberries, and currants growing nearby. In the gardens, four-foot-wide raised beds separated by narrow walkways of gravel were covered over with autumn mulch and manure.

The northern margin of the quad was bounded by a long, low tunnel building that looked like it must once have served as three or four New England covered bridges. Depending on which door you entered, here were the school’s cafeteria and the recreation rooms -- pinball hall, basketball or volleyball court, and “Tap Room,” where once a week the school’s celebrated “Tap” games took place -- of which I’ll say more later.

On the western border of the quad, fronting the sawmill, forge, and library, was a small Danish-style log farmhouse with a roof thatched with straw. This was the dwelling of three of the school’s professors -- Mandragoran school co-founder and watercolorist Tzu Jan Chi; British school co-founder and Scandinavian folklore wizard Roger Shepperton; and likewise British Astronomy, Geography, and Geology teacher Arlen Townsend.

Their house was fronted by a goldfish pond, oval, maybe six feet long and four wide. Just south of the house were small domed greenhouses, cylindrical, each about waist high to six-foot-two MacDougall. There were two hitching posts and a water trough, though there weren’t any horses to be seen anywhere. MacDougall stepped onto Shepperton’s expansive, shady wooden porch. He knocked lightly on the door.

“Who the hell is it?” an annoyed voice responded to the knocking. The man was shorter than MacDougall by not quite an inch. He looked a lot older than MacDougall, but about equally mad. Through squinting almond-brown eyes, the man gave Neil a searching look -- the once over -- focusing lastly on MacDougall’s black silk top hat, which MacDougall now politely took off. I think that was, in fact, the last time I ever saw him with it on.

“Abraham Lincoln, I presume,” the man said. “Roger! Chi! It’s Abraham Lincoln!”

“Cut it out, Arlen,” another voice called from within. As I approached, I could see MacDougall’s knees going weak under him. “Aaron Robert MacDougall,” he announced himself. I’m supposed to check in with Tzu Jan Chi?”

“You’re asking me?” Arlen Townsend said. “Chi! MacDougall MacDougall MacDougall is here to see you. Now who the hell are you?” he asked me gruffly as I also stepped up on the shady wooden porch, letting down my heavy, bulging pack. His left eye twitched madly, just for a moment.

“I’m Cisco Wieland,” I said. “I’m here to see Professor Shepperton. Who the hell are you to talk to this gentleman and me like that?”

“I’m Arlen Townsend,” the man returned, scratching his bristly, pointed chin. I saw the skin around his left eye jump again. The upsetting man wore a fine flannel shirt of checkered blue and russet. He had on blue jeans, worn white at the knees, and green, plush bedroom slippers. For a moment, he stood on one foot, scratching an itch by his ankle with the free foot while contemplating his two visitors. “Roger, this second one is here for you. Why in hell don’t you two tell these new kids to first go over to the Admissions office before coming here?”

“I’ll handle it,” Roger said, waving snarlin’ Arlen aside. “Go polish your boots or something. You’re Cisco Wieland?” he asked. “Aaron MacDougall?”

“Yes sir,” I said.

“Yes sir,” MacDougall echoed.

“I’m Roger Shepperton,” the white-haired, red-cheeked cherub announced himself. “My God, how time does fly. Cisco and MacDougall. Would you boys like to come in for some lemonade, or were you thinking of building a nest out here on the front porch -- or did you want to get some fishing in before you meet Tzu Jan Chi? -- just kidding, just kidding.”

I followed MacDougall in. The front room was dark and warm. The crazy old futz, Townsend, was on an exercycle in the middle of the large chamber, pedaling insanely nowhere, like to lift the device right off the floor. “Stop that!” Professor Shepperton yelled at his overzealous colleague. “For crying out loud, Arlen, go sharpen your axe or something.”

As Townsend departed up a flight of stairs, Shepperton went over to a big oak writing desk and switched on a tiny fan, which quickly spread a nice light breeze into the smarmy gym-like air. “The fan is powered by the exercycle,” Shepperton explained. “It charges the storage batteries that give this house most of its night lighting. And powers up the clocks, stereos, and things in the three bedrooms. Ingenious, yes?”

“Yes,” MacDougall and I affirmed simultaneously.

“Do you want to be a politician?” Shepperton asked MacDougall, taking him by the elbow with one hand as the other gestured us both toward a big wood and leather mission-style couch.

“No, no -- I…”

“Good luck in that,” Shepperton intruded. “Ah. Here’s Tzu Jan Chi."

A smiling Asian man entered the room through a door I hadn’t noticed, carrying two glasses of lemonade, each with ice and a lemon slice. Again MacDougall and I stood. Chi came up only to about MacDougall’s armpit. Tzu Jan Chi bowed first to MacDougall, then to me, then he handed us our drinks. His eyes were shining -- I could see he was a spiritual man. I’d heard so much about him, and now here he was. I was flustered by his deeply calm, gentle presence. Honestly, I could hardly wait to be his student, just to look over his shoulder while he painted.

“Welcome to Two-Top Mountain School,” he said graciously. “And now, if you will please to excuse me.” He left the room again. It was perfect.

“Okay then,” Shepperton said now. “On to the next thing. You two need to go out and locate Arthur de Languroc, the school librarian. He’s around here somewhere. He’ll help you get settled in.” MacDougall looked at me. I looked back at him and shrugged my shoulders. We stood. Shepperton shook our hands and took our drinks. MacDougall took his hat in hand. “Okay then,” Shepperton said again, ushering us back out onto the porch, where I slung my heavy pack back on. “It’s time to go in search of Art.”