Christopher Parrott ’65

Chris Parrott married Dorothy McVeety of Edina, MN a month after he graduated from Carleton and she from St. Olaf. Following in the footsteps of his father, he joined Central Soya and learned the art of trading grain commodities at the Chicago Board of Trade. Chris and Dorothy’s son Timothy was born the next year and twin daughters, Christine and Kathryn, were born several years later when his work took the family to Peoria, IL and later to Cook Industries in Memphis, TN. At Cook, he headed the fast growing and aggressive commodities operations and, according to the Wall Street Journal, “At age 34, Mr. Parrott also had a reputation for mental quickness and closeness to the chief executive.” Chris left Cook and returned to the Chicago Board of Trade where he formed Fraser Parrott and later founded LaSalle Street Partners, becoming an extremely successful commodity broker. During the 1980s, he traveled the world extensively and developed a reputation as an authority in global markets for soybeans. The Parrotts lived on the shores of Lake Michigan in Winnetka, IL and enjoyed skiing as a family. Chris was an avid hunter, gun collector and investor. It was reported that he died on July 9, 1990 of a self-inflicted gunshot wound, although there remains some mystery as to the exact circumstances of his death. Dorothy Parrott Hughes died in 2013. Their children and grandchildren live today in Bedford, NY, Portland, Oregon and Los Angeles, CA.

Michael V. Parrott
Carleton Class of 1962

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When Chris Parrott died on July 9, 1990, we lost a true Renaissance Man. Need a paper finished tomorrow at 9? Someone to conceive of and organize Computer Date Night? A force to bargain with the agents of Big Name Outside Entertainment? How about an effective Senator or CEO or engaging English professor? If you never had the opportunity to get to know Chris at Carleton, I will try to give you a sense of the man aka C.P. I encountered his presence at the other end of 3D, our freshman floor. The 3D proctor and his roommate were a dominant force amongst a rather angst- ridden gaggle of displaced freshmen souls fumbling about the campus under random harassment by the hand of Rube-driven sophomores intent on hazing operations. Chris immediately emerged unfazed by such nonsense. I watched him stroll right through several of these juvenile shenanigans like an all state wrestler amongst punky kindergartners. He remains the only college kid I ever met who had his initials in 3″ wood letters sitting on his desk. In fact, he often referred to himself inoffensively in the 3rd person with comments like, “C.P. needs to get up early tomorrow.” We roomed together junior year, it must have been an interesting combo of right-brainer and left-brainer seemingly opposites living in harmony in very close quarters. Our iron-willed fathers added to the mix by providing the room with solid reading material. We always had the current William F Buckley’s “National Review” and “I F Stone’s Weekly” on hand. Chris’s favorite professor was Reginald Lang. More than once he had to comment on the depth of this professor’s grasp of international relations. I can still him saying, “Reggie’s mind is just so sharp.” When I learned of Christopher’s death, my sadness was gut-deep and it has stayed with me ever since. I am certainly aware that no humans are perfect, but I am certain that wherever Chris was in his short life, his was a presence of 100% engagement. He was always spot on with campus nicknames such as the Vann Man, Stumps, the Rat Man, Bobbbbb. I will never forget his insistence that I just tear off all the adhesive tape wrapped around his chest like a caste after he suffered a rib injury in a football game. And I will never forget my surprise to learn the US Navy was still harassing him with threatening phone calls our junior year because he had decided the Naval Academy was not for him after a year there. Carleton was going through an awkward growth period when we harbingers of the Baby Boomers arrived. What with the Dean of Men being the only adult ever encountered sporting a flattop with fenders. The shackled Dean of Women getting her shorts in a bunch over her girls being seen in public attired in short shorts, jeans or pedal pushers, and possibly even barefoot. The outside lights of girls’ dorms flashing on entwined bodies at 10:30, 11:15, etc. The Dean of our College patrolling the tunnels for strays, and our president on the lookout for “knaves or fools.” Many of us seemed to have arrived to rock the boat. Chris would have handled any of those difficult administrative positions as smoothly as old Tom Sawyer. I contend he was the Golden Boy of our dear class of 1965.

Bill Alfini ’65