From Bob Calvin: “We have lost many friends recently and others are ill, all of which is very sad. On the positive side, Jane and I are chugging along. We’re happy that granddaughter Zoe will attend Skidmore College in Saratoga Springs this fall on a full scholarship. We do Zoom with Art von Au and Ronna, who seem to be doing well. I am smiling.”
Sandy Mendelson writes: “Irene and I still live in Bethesda, having just celebrated our 65th anniversary. Thankfully we’re in pretty good shape, able to take advantage of D.C.’s cultural resources and our lively synagogue. As the pandemic began, I retired after nearly 53 years in cardiology at MedStar Washington Hospital Center. I’m continuing my (remote) role as consultant in bioethics. On our last long international trip a year ago, we both got COVID in Jerusalem, a bit more of an adventure than we had expected. This summer we’ve been to Canada and to the Aspen Music Festival. Our three children, their wives, and our six grandkids are in various locations, in a variety of study or work, which adds pleasure and surprise to our attempts to keep up with them.”
And David Fricke: “Beryl and I are doing well in our home in Silver Spring, Maryland. All visitors welcome!”
As for the Chiens, Ann and I have had a fairly active summer. In May we attended the graduation of our one-and-only granddaughter, Jeannette, from the University of Vermont. Jeannette majored in Latin and (like our daughter Judith ’84) Classical Civilizations. She will return to UVM on a full scholarship to pursue a master’s degree. In June, our children (and granddaughter) took us to visit my 93-year-old big brother Alan Chien ’52, MAT ’54, who lives in Wisconsin. We hadn’t seen Al since the 2008 total eclipse. He’s lost a little height and has recently acquired a pacemaker, but he gets around quite well. A retired art teacher, he draws every day. In July, Ann and I drove to the Adirondacks for her 70th high school reunion. Three (of 29) classmates attended. And now (in August) we are off to our annual Chien family reunion in the Catskills. In September, we’ll rest.
Incidentally, Dick Bauer’s email was hacked. Contact me if you want his new one.
***
After our last WesMag deadline, but in the month before its publication, our class suffered the loss of five classmates. Here are my thoughts.
Whit Rusk was one of our best-ever feel-good stories: after a long struggle with cancer, he actually won! But sadly, cancer returned last year, and Whit succumbed this April. Gordy Krause spoke at his memorial service at the church in Haddonfield that was founded by Whit’s great-grandfather.
Whit was my sophomore roommate and despite our differences in height (6’4″ vs. 5’7″), sleeping habits (early to bed vs. night owl), and fandom (Philly vs. Big Apple), it worked. Whit had tried out for freshman football and baseball but didn’t play on the varsity. Instead, he and I were stalwart teammates on the Lodge’s intramural football, basketball, and softball squads. Whit developed an unfair reputation for clumsiness, but he was really a fine, under-appreciated athlete. Was he still growing into his 6’4″ frame? Our junior year, we split up. I roomed with Tom Reed ’57 and Whit teamed up with Henry George Hager III. Whit and Merc (HG is the chemical symbol for mercury) were a good match. Perhaps it was their similar heights. Or the fact that both were sons of alumni. Or was it the III at the ends of their names? Whatever it was, they clicked. Whit and I only saw each other once after graduation—a chance encounter on a street in Manhattan—though I later missed him one other time, at a Homecoming game on Adrus Field when he and his wife, Pat, were sitting in the visitors’ bleachers, rooting for their grandson, an (gasp!) Amherst Mammoth! (A list of Whit’s grandsons’ alma maters, by the way, reads like a who’s who of elite Eastern colleges. In no particular order: Bowdoin, Amherst, Tufts, Lafayette, and RPI!)
But we stayed in touch for all these 67 years. So, goodbye, dear friend. Thanks for the memories.
Dr. Donald Price died on May 5, 2023, at his home in Greenville, North Carolina. He is survived by his wife, Helen, of 67 years, three children—all physicians—and a number of grandchildren. Don grew up in Stamford, Connecticut, and came to Wesleyan with impressive athletic credentials. He fulfilled those expectations as a multiyear participant in two sports—basketball and baseball. Don was always friendly, always unassuming, always pleasant to be around. It was not beyond imagining that he might settle into that genial, comfortable jock life so often adopted by successful athletes, but instead he graduated as a dedicated Shakespearean scholar, thanks to the influence and enduring friendship of Fred Millet, Wesleyan’s iconic champion of the humanities. Professor Millet not only exposed Don to Shakespeare—which was to become his lifelong passion—but gave him a new vision of what his life could and ought to be. When Don graduated from Wesleyan, he had two potential paths: Shakespeare or medicine. Professor Millet helped Don to choose against his own field. Don would always have Shakespeare, but in medicine he might be able to make an even greater contribution to the well-being of his fellow inhabitants of this world—which he most certainly did. Dr. Donald Price became a tireless advocate for the treatment and examination of neuropathology and related conditions, such as Alzheimer’s disease. He conducted countless studies and wrote numerous papers, earning great respect and esteem as an expert in the field. To his peers, Donald Price was recognized as “a giant.”
A few years back Don spoke at a Wesleyan Commencement weekend. He was the same guy I remembered, just more awesome. To me, Don Price was/is the quintessential Wesleyan grad.
Jim Gramentine and I existed it different universes. He ventured far and wide from Western Reserve Academy in Akron, Ohio, to find Wesleyan. I was a legacy from neighboring New York State. A government major, Jim quickly became a campus-wide leader, while I hunkered down in the bowels of Judd Hall trying to make sense of Bartók’s string quartets. And, of course, he became an all-New England champion wrestler. The sport of wrestling had been unknown to me, but I was eventually drawn into that world when I roomed with Kent Davies ’57, who, along with his twin brother, George ’57, joined Jim in earning that distinction. After graduation, Jim took a government job, but soon realized that it was not his calling. He turned instead to education, serving as teacher, coach, administrator, and headmaster at schools in five different states. Ann and I befriended Jim and his wife Ray (née Sarah) in Jersey when they were based in Princeton. By the time we later visited them at their home, when they lived in a suburb of Milwaukee, I think I could safely say that our universes had merged and that we had become close friends. But I never learned whether Ray accompanied him on his annual pilgrimages to the national college wrestling championships in Iowa. This I do know: Jim’s very last act—on the day that he died—was to present a Mother’s Day orchid to Ray.
Dick Irwin remembers: “I note with sorrow Jim’s passing. He and I were teammates through our junior year on the wrestling team, a period which coincided with Hank Elespuru’s tenure as coach. For reasons not clear to me, Hank insisted that Jim and I work out together on a daily basis. We made a poor match. Jim was the bigger, faster, and stronger of the two of us and I absorbed daily beatings. I did get the advantage of working out with the best. I am not sure how I helped Jim (although he did win the New England championship.)
“In our opening meet freshman year, Jim started at 137. Halfway through the match he asked the referee for a short break, explaining ‘it’s my heart.’ Needless to say, the referee (and some of his teammates who were unaware of Jim’s non-life-threatening heart issue) were extremely upset. After hurried explanations, the match continued and Jim went on to an easy victory.
“Jim was a natural as an educator. My standout memory of him is a person who cared about other people. His kindness and consideration for others ran deep.”
And John Foster: “Jim was to me a class act, which can have many meanings, but to me, a strong, solid, quiet, sincere, and a friend I suspect to most he rubbed elbows with. Ray is a special person too. It was a lot of fun having her with him for a lot of our weekend bashes which Jim didn’t not shy from. He is one I would have very much liked to connect with after Wesleyan to deepen our relationship. He’s a man to remember fondly.”
From my book:
THE BRIDGE AT BORDEAUX
My Wesleyan classmate Jim Gramentine once mentioned that he was born on the very same day as Brigitte Bardot—adding that he had seen a recent photo of B.B. and wondered, now that they together had passed the four-score milestone, whether he might be catching up with her in the looks department. It reminded me of an incident on Ann’s and my tour around France in 2004. As our bus approached the city of Bordeaux our guide, Elisabeth, pointed out a local landmark. She claimed that on one tour when she identified it by calling out, “There’s the Bridge at Bordeaux,” some of her then touristes (mostly male) had been disappointed because they thought she was signaling to them that they would catch a glimpse of a certain famous French film star—which unfortunately they were not. I asked her: “If those folks want to see The Brigitte Bardot, shouldn’t they start looking at Brest?” She made me come to the front of the bus and repeat it for the group. It was well received.
As for Jim: Sorry, but you may still have a little way to go.—George Chien
Gary Miller died on May 20. He left behind his wife, Margorie of 66 and a half years, four children, and five grandchildren. Gary was employed by DuPont for 35 years, which included extended overseas assignments in Iran and the Netherlands. He and Marge retired to Surf City, South Carolina, until recurring hurricanes chased them inland. They had a summer retreat on Sheepscot Lake in Maine. Retirement opened their door to extensive world travel, as if their years in Holland and Iran hadn’t been enough. Gary was inveterate tinkerer, a helpful neighbor, and a genial host. As Marge tells it, she met Gary on a blind date at Wesleyan. When she got home after that momentous date, she announced, “I have just met the man I’m going marry!” Which she did.
Ken Spencer is probably best remembered as a member of the soccer and squash teams. After graduating, Ken signed up and thus became a proud Cold War veteran. Back in civilian life, he started and ran his own business in pension administration until he retired 40 years later. Ken was a dedicated family man. He had six children, and his second wife, Meredith, had three. They lived mostly in New Jersey, but he had long family ties to Vermont, where his ancestors had settled in 1768. He loved sharing his family stories to enthralled listeners. Ken was multitalented—a piano virtuoso, but also on the banjo or guitar to accompany his singing. And he was a poet, writing and publishing several books of verse.
Here is one:
The Three-Legged Cat
Once there was a young lad
with a baseball bat
a ball and hat
Then there was an old man
with a cane and hat
and a three-legged cat
And in between the lad and man
a jar of laughs and a jug of tears
and a basket full of torn up years
Ken Spencer was his own man. He will be missed.
Five friends. Good men, all.
