Every Stanford-related Dick Bullis communiqué—from the rant-filled e-mails he sent University officials to his infamous Class of ’37 newsletters—ended with the same salutation: “L & K.” No matter how captious his message or cantankerous his tone, the self-dubbed “Fearless” made sure to include some love and kisses. Few loved Stanford more than he did, even if his methods suggested otherwise.
Bill Stone, president emeritus of the Stanford Alumni Association, was one of Bullis’s frequent targets. “Like me, lots of people in the Stanford family could show you a couple of scars from fiery give and-take with Dick over the years,” recalls Stone, ’67, MBA ’69. “What motivated him most was something we all share so profoundly with him and now with his legacy—a love of a very special place and a devotion to always trying to make it the best.”
A lifelong Stanford supporter, volunteer, class secretary, fund raiser and unrelenting critic, Bullis died June 8 at his home in Chico, Calif. He was 88.
Born in 1914 in Medford, Ore., he grew up in Los Angeles and attended the Cate School near Santa Barbara, Calif. At Stanford, he majored in social science and social thought and was a member of the soccer team and Beta Theta Pi.
Bullis worked for Standard Oil Co. during the late 1930s and joined the Navy in 1941, serving as an officer and navigator aboard the USS Waldron. After the war, he bought an auto dealership in Palo Alto and later moved to Burlingame, where he ran Dick Bullis Chevrolet for 33 years.
Selling cars may have been his profession, but improving Stanford was his passion. “Dick Bullis held Stanford above anything else in his life,” says SAA director of classes and reunions Leslie Winick. “He thought about it, breathed it, drank it, ate it—he was constantly thinking of Stanford first.”
Bullis chaired the first reunion of his class in 1946. For the next 55 years, he worked to foster an infectious sense of class identity and camaraderie. Instill a sense of pride and belonging, he reasoned, and alumni will feel obligated to give back.
Much to his delight, the theory paid off. The Class of 1937 has captured the Gerhard Casper trophy—given to the nonreunion class with the highest percentage of donations—every year since its 1997 inception. And the trophy will soon be renamed in memory of Bullis.
His methods, however, could tax Stanford staffers. He wrote countless scornful, advice-filled letters and e-mails targeting any employee who would listen. ”He didn’t care who you were, whether you were an administrative associate stuffing envelopes or the president of the University,” Winick remembers. “His approach was ‘go get ’em’ . . . I have seven boxes of Dick Bullis’s advice.”
Many of Bullis’s complaints eventually inspired important changes. His pestering helped initiate the Cardinal Class Core, a program that secures a volunteer commitment from a group of graduating seniors. He also argued successfully for class officers within graduating classes and advocated annual rather than periodic reunions.
“He often assumed a larger-than-life place in my thinking, as a kind of unofficial checks-and-balances presence in so many of our deliberations,” says Stone. “And it was never possible to dismiss his arguments. They inevitably contained an important kernel of wisdom or an insight no one else had considered.”
Bullis is survived by three former wives, Lorna Sale, Eleanor Gross and Jeanette Alpen, ’57; six daughters, Katharine Sun, Amy Tremper, Martha Tisdale, Sara Cullen-Dowd, Lorna Sutcliffe and Elizabeth Dwyer; 10 grandchildren; and one great-grandson.
“We’ve lost a watchdog,” Winick says. “As much as we didn’t want to hear him barking, we paid attention. Are we a better organization because of him? Without a doubt.”
