Tag: 1945

The year 2014 ended on a sad note when I learned that John Maynard, David Williams, and Stewart Hancock died during the year. Each was a man of distinguished and humane contributions to our world. You can read more of their lives elsewhere in this magazine and online.

Early in this new 2015 I was thinking as I walked (carefully) about our 70th Reunion, wondering who may be blessed with the health and mobility to attend. I sneezed and immediately heard, “God bless you,” from a passing stranger. That old sentiment sent my memory back beyond Wesleyan to my childhood, and to Ireland. “Rushing the growler” is an adventure for a boy: there’s the law to get around. Literally; there’s the rush down the alley to the back door of the friendly pub; there’s the rush to deliver the growler (two liters of stout); then there’s the reward, rarely money, most often a blessing. I recall my first such reward from a retired policeman whose Sunday thirst I’d slaked. He looked at me straight in the eye, searched his mind’s store for a minute, then said: “That your shadow might never grow less, and that every hair of your head might become a candle to light your way to Heaven.” Reward enough.

Another blessing I recall with pleasure came from a Kerry woman to whom I gave a lift, squeezing her impressive girth into my little rented Opel. I took her a mile or so to the cottage where she maneuvered herself out of the car, put her hands on mine, and said, “That Holy Saint Christopher might always be a passenger with you, and that the Divine Infant might light your way both day and night.” As I shifted the gear back into drive gear, she smiled and added, “and that ye might have a bigger machine the next time we meet.”

The two-pronged blessing is just that, but it’s better than no blessing at all. An example: “That your enemies might be drinking bog-water while you’ll be drinking tea.” When Tomasin O’Scannlain died, I was honored to be a pall bearer at his burial. A lovely blessing came from a mourner who wished “that he might have a silver bowl in Heaven” and “that Moses and his men might be at the gate to meet him,” echoed by another. The old Irish were great at bestowing blessings, but the art has not died. Just take a stroll through any Kerry or Mayo or Clare byway and drop no more than a simple comment on the weather to any countryman or woman you meet, and I guarantee you’ll get a blessing in return if no more than “God spare you the health.” Still, that’s better than going through the world without a good word for anyone.

Looking ahead to our 70th Reunion, but not knowing at this January writing whether you’ll read this before or after, I’ll end with my own blessing to all of you ’45s out there. That a doctor might never earn a dollar from you, that the heart of you might never give out, and that the 10 toes of you might always steer you clear of all misfortune. And, too, that at Reunion’s fine meeting you might receive a blessing better than this one. Slán go fóill.

FRANCIS W. LOVETT | francis.lovett1@comcast.net
805 Compassion Drive, Apt. 208, Windsor, CO 80550
907/460-9338

This summer, Francis Lovett was preparing lectures for this fall, as part of the continuing education series at Longmont Senior Services Center. The first is to be “Snippets of Inside Ireland,” dealing with sights and sites one never experiences during a conventional tour. Next are two sessions on the poetry and other vicissitudes of Frost, Snow, Coffin, and Neihardt. The final talk will be on the history of, accomplishments of, and influence on the ski industry of the Tenth Mountain Division.

FRANCIS W. LOVETT | francis.lovett@comcast.net
805 Compassion Drive, Apt. 208, Windsor, CO 80550
907/460-9338

“What are the news?” wired Horace Greely, insisting that ‘news’ is a plural noun. “Nary a new,” came back the clever gotcha response. And so it is with this column: nary. Hence, lacking inspiration from you out there, and unwilling to create fiction, I’m indulging in a bit of unique history. Back in early 1943, 13 Wesleyan men from ’43, ’44, and ’45 procured the requisite three letters of recommendation and were accepted into the Tenth Mountain Division: Stan Mann ’43; Norm Benson, Frank Bowles, Dick Brengle, Don Haight, Chip Lofstedt, Bill Low, all ’44; Donald Dunn, Pete Griskivitch, Bud Lovett, Gene Noble, Bill Thompson, Bill Wannamacher, each ’45. Bowles, Low, Griskivitch, and Wannamacher left the Division before we were deployed to Italy, and Haight was killed in action; the rest of us came home in various states of good health or disrepair, some back to campus, some to other campuses.

I know that seven are no longer living; I’m fairly sure that four are still alive; I truly want to know of Bill Low and Pete Griskivitch. I recall that Bill was in our admissions office for some time, and Pete was a registered Tenth Mountain veteran some years back. Can anyone fill me in? And isn’t Wesleyan’s association with this unique and heralded division of World War II perhaps worth a story in our alumni magazine? Slán go fóill.

FRANCIS W. LOVETT | francis.lovett@comcast.net
925 Hover St., Apt. 1L 106, Longmont, CO 80501

Since my previous column was written, my Longmont was flooded beyond imagination in September. Scientists designated the catastrophe “a 500-year phenomenon.” Whatever the label, the city was split in half as, after three days of downpours, the St. Vrain River and filler-creeks changed courses and flooded vast areas of Colorado’s northern plains. As I write on this early November day, the news is that the road to Lyons and Estes Park (not many miles west of Longmont) has opened. Hundreds of homes are ruined, millions of dollars worth of possessions destroyed, and several lives lost by drowning. Recovery began immediately and is inspiring. I am seeing human and humane behavior at their best.

In early October, the Latin School of Chicago celebrated its 125th anniversary and I was invited to participate as a Grand Marshal in the parade around Lincoln Park. Reunion dinners were held, cocktail parties were enjoyed, seminars were presented, and I was greeted and feted by many of my former students (now retired!) from my 1948–1957 tenure. Among them was Jack Dearinger ’57, who, with Bill Wallace ’57, Norm Wissing ’57, and Dave Noble ’56, had entered Wesleyan from the Latin School. The weekend was great fun, and I was honored to be remembered as a fine teacher who made a difference to some of his students.

Now winter is nigh: several ski resorts in the high country where the Rockies are already resplendent opened in late October. I have nothing more of note to include in this brief report, and so wish you all a heartfelt slán go fóill.

FRANCIS W. LOVETT
925 Hover St., Apt. 1L 106,
Longmont, CO 80501.

francis.lovett@comcast.net