Tag: 1956

As I write, Ann and I have just returned from a family pilgrimage to Grand Isle in Lake Champlain—between Vermont and New York—where we witnessed in all its glory the April 8 total eclipse of the Sun. It was Ann’s and my 11th successful total viewing around the world: from Aruba in the Caribbean to Zambia in the middle of Africa to Novosibirsk, smack in the east-west center of all Russia—also including the Black Sea (a Wesleyan sponsored tour), Turkey, the South Pacific, Indonesia, Chile, and two other sites in the continental USA. Our two misses, both weather related, were in Hawaii and Shanghai but have not dimmed our continuing quest. Believe me, it never gets old.

      The next total solar eclipse visible from the continental USA will be in 2044, but take heart, and set your sights on either Iceland or Spain in August 2026.

            We’ve received remembrances of three recently fallen classmates.

            In case you missed it, our most recent loss was Andy Milewski, who died in January. Like many of you, I’m sure, I remember Andy—with Larry Tremper—as one of the twin towers of the Cardinal hoop squad. Andy was a local product (Meriden) and lived most of his subsequent life in Connecticut, where he devoted much of that life to civic service.

            Bob Calvin remembers: “Andy Milewski was a fraternity brother of mine at Delta Sigma. He was a big, sweet guy with a passion for basketball. The obituary you sent really reflected a life I would have expected for Andy. I have not seen him since graduation. Strange to not have seen someone for almost 70 years and then read his obituary.”

            From Al Haas: “Dick Boyden was one of a kind in many ways. Among other attributes, he was loyal, sentimental, diligent, thoughtful, and smart. He did not suffer fools gladly, and he could sniff out self-aggrandizement, pomposity, and arrogance with ease. He was a loyal class agent for many years and a steadfast scribe for our delegation at Eclectic for decades. He was the glue that sustained our bond to the fraternity and to our relationship with Wesleyan, achieving one of the sustaining records of support for the College. In real ways, physical, spiritual, and values, he was a giant. He was one of the best amongst us.” 

            Dick Bauer remembers: “Jack Dunn and Ed Thorndike very graciously invited me to share their Clark Hall fourth-floor dorm digs even though I was a Beta and not an Eclectic brother. I guess that made me ‘Eclectic adjacent.’ It was a happy experience for me for sure.
            “The three of us joined in a psych project—running rats to see how well they navigated their maze. Just keeping them from dying off was enough of a challenge for me. We did write it up, but it never got published in Nature.
            “Ed knew what he was good at, wanted to be, and with whom he wanted as his life partner, even as a sophomore. He would go through his physics problems at lightning speed, skipping intermediate steps, and putting a square figure around his answer, which was invariably right. As much as he liked his Eclectic brothers, he wanted to get on with his life, which meant marrying his beloved Liz ASAP… which he did. It took me a couple more years to get to that point, but I, too, married a Smithie—very happily so.
            “It seems both ironic and cruel that Ed should suffer from dementia, but he illustrated how ‘time and chance happen to us all.’

            “It was heartwarming to learn of the Thorndike dynasty at Wesleyan.”

            How about some news from the here and now?

            Jim Jekel writes, “As with most of our class who are still alive and kicking, I’m alive but kicking far less, with a usual assortment of illnesses, pains, and forgetfulness. Fortunately, I live close to all four children and frequently see most of my eight grandchildren and 12 great-grandchildren (with more in the pipeline). My old brain could never pass a Wesleyan test now, but it still functions normally for everyday matters. 

            “If any classmates are passing just west of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, I live in Camp Hill and would love to have them stop by.”

Slim pickings on the news front, but we have one extraordinary tale to tell.

Jim Katis wrote: “Living in Greenwich, Connecticut, at age 90 with the wife of 59 years, Lauma. We are both retired psychiatrists and McGill graduates with three sons and five grandchildren.”

Out of curiosity, I asked Jim about Lauma’s ethnicity. Here’s what he had to say: “Lauma is Latvian. She has quite a storied life. . . . Born in 1929, she lost her mom at age three, and her father was the leader of the Latvian resistance against the Soviets and the Germans. She lost him at age 15 (killed by the Germans during WWII). She eventually made it to Canada as a displaced person and, after graduating med school at McGill, moved to New York.” If that story doesn’t deserve a hearty “wow,” I can’t think of anything that could!

Incidentally, I reminded Jim of his role in my tale of mistaken identity. I followed my two brothers, Al ’52 and Phil ’53 to Wesleyan. We didn’t think so, but we must have had some sort of familial resemblance, so I’ve spent much of my life answering to all three names. Anyway, one Sunday morning during our freshman year, I managed to rouse myself and get to a service at the Old South Church at the corner of Pleasant and Church Streets. There I saw just three familiar Wesleyan faces. The first was Jim, who sang with Al in the chapel choir. He greeted me with a tentative, “Hi, Al.” Second was the college physician, Donald Arnault ’40, whose in-laws had a camp on the same lake in the Catskills as did our family. He greeted me heartily: “Why Phil, I haven’t seen you in years!” The third was Norm Daniels, who was then instructing my PE section. His exact words were, “Hello, Chien.” End of story!

Dave Fricke writes: “Hi, all. Beryl and I are slowing down, doing okay here in Silver Spring, Maryland.”

From Bob Bretscher: “I’ve moved to Presbyterian Village Athens, Georgia. I’m healthy: enjoy half-hour walks and small gardening and reading. My present book is Mere Christianity by C. S. Lewis. It’s old but refreshingly stimulating. Now that I’m a nonagenarian, old books have a special appeal. My very best wishes to the class of 1956.  I’d be happy to text with anyone interested in doing so. Cheers.”

(If you’re interested in emailing a classmate, let me know and I can put you in touch.)

In case you hadn’t heard, Rick Francis ’58 died on July 8, 2023. He is survived by his wife, Marilyn, two children, and five grandchildren. Rick, of course, matriculated with us in the fall of 1952, but having taken two gap years, graduated with the Class of 1958. He later taught, for 42 years, mathematics at Williston Academy, where he was also head football coach, coached basketball, and served as athletic director. At Wesleyan, Rick became a Little All-American footballer, but he’s best remembered by us ’56ers for that momentous pass to Denny Denault that put the only dent into the ’56 Trinity’s team otherwise unblemished gridiron record.   

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.