Class: 1975
Major: English
Residence: White Bear Lake, MN
Deceased: September 17, 2015
Alumni survivors: Trish Herbert ’59 P87 W59 (Aunt), Ms. Laura Herbert Anderson ’87 (Cousin)
Born: June 21, 1953
Passed on: September 17, 2015 in White Bear Lake, MN
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Curt Sloan died unexpectedly, and peacefully, at his home in White Bear Lake, Minnesota, on September 17, 2015. He was 62 years old at the time of his death. Curt was a beloved husband and father, a cherished friend, respected business leader, and a pillar of his community. He is survived by his wife, Helen Duritsa, and children Rosalyn and Jack, and his brothers Calvin and Daniel. He was born in Sioux City, Iowa, on Father’s Day and summer solstice, June 21, 1953. Curt was the co-founder and CFO of Quicksilver Express Courier, established 1982, and was also a founding member of the Powderhorn Puppet Theatre and a long-time supporter of In the Heart of the Beast Puppet and Mask Theatre, both located in Minneapolis. Curt loved and patronized the theatre and all kinds of music and arts, initially as an artist and performer and then, later in life, as an ardent audience member. He was a supporter of many area organizations, particularly food co-ops and the White Bear Unitarian Universalist Church. Curt was passionate about tent camping, building fires, wild places, and spending time on the lake. He took great pleasure in work and the growth of his business, and the greatest pleasure in the love of his family. He was proud of his children, Rosalyn and Jack, and adored his wife, Helen.
I first met Curt on our first day at Carleton. We lived on the north wing of first Burton, in facing triple dormitory rooms. Curt shared his triple with Tom Hogg and Lee Shapiro (and later, Richard Armstrong) and I shared mine with Steve Sorrells and Mark Doepke. Curt came into our room late in the afternoon that first day, introduced himself, and sat down in one of the old leather covered easy chairs we were allocated in Burton. He talked for at least two hours straight, until daytime turned to dusk. That conversation didn’t really end that day, but evolved into decades of many more such heady exchanges of ideas, theatrical adventures and misadventures, musical flights of fancy, savoring the words of the Bard, wandering after holy men, and pondering the possible states of consciousness one could experience. We were elevator operators in Hell together, lifting the devils from the dark and dusty pits of the Arena Theater into Jack Woodruff’s production of Dr. Faustus. We were artists of varying means and methods, looking at the gritty world as we found it, trying to turn it into something more meaningful. And that was just life at Carleton!
We eventually became roommates, housemates, fellow citizens, and fellow parents. And our artistic lives morphed into the theater of day-to-day circumstance, where we acted out the roles we needed to play to keep body and soul together, roofs over the heads of our loved ones, and a bit saved for the future. But our dialog continued, and even though it lasted 43 years, I have to say that my conversation with Curt ended far too soon.
- Dale Fierke (’75)