May 24, 2013
Dear Joan,
The campus has been filled with all sorts of graduation activities. Commencement was especially moving, since all the degree recipients were alumnae. I felt quite old, however, since 3 out of the four alumnae were former students (Mazzio, Ramdas, and Sutphen). The speeches were quite insightful and moving. I was also delighted that one of my advisees, Jenna Ruddock, was selected by her class to give the senior commencement speech.
We had perfect weather for the ceremonies and this particular class (2013) was quite attached to the College. In my 36 previous graduations, I had never seen so many tears. The seniors truly loved the College and their spirit was palpable.
I'm gearing up for Reunion II. I'm giving a lecture on "American Foreign Policy: The Burdens of a Reluctant Hegemon." There were over 100 alumnae at the lecture last week and we had quite a vigorous discussion afterwards.
Finally, one of my favorite alumna, Betty Rothe, is coming for her 75th reunion. I know Betty from lectures I give at her retirement home, Kimball Farms, in Lenox, MA. Betty is getting a Loyalty Award this weekend and I'm very excited for her.
I hope you are well. I hope the rain ends for the weekend!
Best,
Vinnie
Meet Our Newest Classmate
Eleanor Townsley
Vinnie Ferraro
Here is a recent (2014) photo of our one remaining original honorary, Margot Morgan. To learn more, go to the Guest Book on the Home Page where Nan Mohr has written about her.
Sonya Stephens, Vice President for Academic Affairs and Dean of Faculty, and a Professor of French, joined Mount Holyoke College in July 2013. As dean of faculty, she serves as the chief academic officer of the College, and is responsible for faculty support, curricular support, faculty governance, and academic budgeting and infrastructure.
Ever since our "Back to School" Mini Reunion in the fall of 2013 she has been a special and valued friend to the Class of 1955.
Sonya and Eleanor made sure that our Symposium at our 60th was terrific. We are so pleased that we can now count Sonya as a member of our class.
SONYA STEPHENS
Margot Morgan
Halfway through my fourth year in the dean's office, I am enjoying the work but I miss the life of a faculty member. Its great to collaborate with talented colleagues to hire new colleagues, build new curriculum, and deliver programming around internships and other applications of the liberal arts that enhance student development. Honestly though, I miss the classroom. So, with Sonya's approval, I am happy to report that I am back teaching in Sociology next semester! Its a favorite class of mine, Contemporary Social Theory and I am happy to report there is a lot of student interest. On the home front life is speeding along. We moved to Amherst this year and are laboring on our new house which we love but oh my there is a lot of work to do. We watch our amazing daughters, Vivian and Sophia, now 12 and 14, blossom into astonishingly gifted, compassionate and hilarious young women. They are the delight of our lives. Ron and I continue to collaborate on our big textbook project and a few other research bits and pieces here and there. I am grateful for his support in keeping up with some writing and research work while deaning... now if I just can find time to design that syllabus….Love you all
December 2015
THE LATEST FROM ELEANOR
News from our new Acting President! May 2016
What an honor it is for me to be a member of this wonderful class! The April 21 mini reunion at Wink's wonderful home, supported by a cast of many friends with much talent, brought food to our plates, music to our ears, the sharing of memories and memorabilia, and both joy to my heart and tears to my eyes. I have studied the student handbooks (now headed to the archives), modeled the scarf and pashmina (but not yet the straw hat), and will cherish the photographic and other records of your times together, to which I will add as we go forward together. I felt enormous good fortune and great delight to be among you, and look forward to our next gathering, whenever and wherever it may be. And the class ring, bearing the mark of MH, and *our* class year (as well as Nancy's cherished initials) will stay with me always, as a mark of my devotion to you, to Mount Holyoke, and to all that it represents. Thank you all!.
Vinnie is a Grandad!
My Dearest Emilia,
You have finished the first year of your adventure and I am beginning my 69th. To crystallize this magical point in time, I thought I would write a letter to help you avoid the missteps and detours that made my own path at times a little strange and bewildering. You will, of course, make your own mistakes. But, like me, you will recover from them.
I have had a wonderful life and my friendships are a big part of that good fortune. It is difficult to have more than a few good friends since deep friendship requires a lot of time and effort. A good friend will listen to you talking stupid, will tell you when you are doing something stupid, and will have your back after you do something stupid. My friends once challenged me to eat a whole tablespoon of Chinese mustard. I quickly accepted, to the profound regret of my sinuses. We went snow sledding in the nude in the sub-zero temperatures of a Maine winter's night, just to prove our invulnerability. Choose your friends wisely — make sure that they accept you for who you are and not for what they want you to be. Make sure that they will bring out the person you didn't know you were but will be delighted to find.
One of my dearest friends developed an incurable disease and I worked hard to make her last few months comfortable and peaceful, knowing with complete certainty that if our situations were reversed, she would do the same for me. I tried desperately to encourage another dear friend who had lost sight of the joys of living and will forever regret that my efforts could not restore his hope for a better future.
But I have had the great joy of growing older with Granny and having her by my side for most of my life. I am incredibly proud of your father and your uncle who have grown into very good men. They care for the welfare of others and conduct themselves with the greatest integrity and dignity. I have basked in the accomplishments of the children of my friends, who have served the public good as nurses, actresses, Marine Corps officers, lawyers, and journalists.
In short, if there is always a calm before the storm, then whenever a storm comes, know that a calm will follow.
Work complements one's friendships and has been an important component of my good life. My first summer job was working for the Sewer Division in my town's Public Works Department. Many considered the job undesirable, and that judgment had some basis in fact. What I found most interesting, however, is that many people who asked for help when their sewer connections were blocked considered me and my co-workers undesirable as well. They often asked us to go to the back door, presumably because they didn't want their neighbors to know that they pooped.
I worked with men who had little education and who were not highly respected by many whom they served. They taught me many things. I learned that they were as good and as flawed as every other group of people. I learned that they would work very hard if their work was appreciated (the offer of a glass of lemonade on a hot day was all that was necessary). And I learned, as I worked hard to dig a ditch that was deep, wide, and straight, and could safely accommodate a sewer line, that all work was noble.
I knew that the work we were doing was essential to modern civilization. I still ponder why those who protect us against dysentery, cholera and other water-borne illnesses get the lowest end of the pay scale. And why teachers, who shape our children's futures, are not richly rewarded. Or why nurses, who ease our suffering, receive so little for their demanding and complex work.
In my later life, I reveled in the glorious profession of teaching. When deciding what to do when I grew up (an event that, fortunately, has yet to occur) I decided to choose a profession which I thought would bring out my strengths and ignore my weaknesses.
Many choose their life's work for extraneous reasons: prestige, money, pressure from others, or a misguided belief that the importance of the work required their presence. Choose the work that will bring out the best in you and will make your heart soar when you are doing it.
I hope that at some point we can walk hand in hand through my garden and talk about the joy that comes from nature and how important it is to respect it. I am overjoyed that your middle name is Rose since those are among my favorite flowers. Roses need attention to thrive in Massachusetts, but they do not need to be told what they are to be beautiful: they just are. Perhaps you will be a Rose, but you could be a Dahlia, or a Lobelia, or a Fern. But you will be beautiful only if you allow yourself to just be.
Nature teaches other things. For years I wondered about the first lunatic to eat an artichoke. Who in their right mind would attempt to eat one? So, I decided to grow artichokes, and was blindsided by the complexity of the plant. Knowing how it grew did not really answer my question, but it taught me that the question was impertinent. I still reserve the right to reject some of nature's gifts: Lima beans will always taste like biting a sweater, and beets will never touch my lips. Nature offers us everything but is truly indifferent to what we think is tasty or beautiful. But you will figure out all that yourself.
If one wants to understand nature and people, one needs to know how to listen carefully. You are doing precisely that right now as you try to figure out what the universe is. You are listening in the right ways: You are not only hearing, but also tasting, touching, and seeing — listening to the myriad ways the world speaks to us. In time you will master speaking. But listening carefully is the only way to understand what is true. And listening well is the only way to speak responsively and intelligently.
Most people now have lost the skill of listening; they are too eager to speak. Speaking is important, but it is more important to have something of substance to say. Do not fall into the trap of thinking that the ability to command an audience is a measure of one's significance. There are too many cheap and vulgar ways to command an audience. True mastery of substance, whether it be of a skill or an idea, will create a meaningful and worthy audience. But the mastery, not the crowd, should be your goal.
I think one of the most important things in life is to laugh as much possible. I confess that, as of late, it is sometimes difficult for me to find humor in the world. I am not alone in this respect: I believe that far too many have lost a sense of humor, largely because the world seems too complicated and dominated by uncontrollable forces. That perspective, however, misconstrues the true source of joy.
Happiness and joy lie inside of us, not in the external world. To think that one can only be happy if the external conditions are ripe leads only to disappointment. Guffaws require but a flimsy excuse to escape and embracing the absurd is the most fertile environment for laughter. So, when the world seems a little gloomy, just tilt your head a little bit and see the world slightly askew. I will work harder to follow my own advice.
The pervasive feeling of not having control not only makes us gloomy, it is also an insidious trap. It leads some to pursue power over others in a mistaken attempt to lessen their own insecurities and fears. If one really wants to reduce anxieties about living in an uncertain world, then the only strategy is to pursue power over oneself. Learn the difference between what you need from what you want. I think that you will find that we need very little. Indeed, the more one has, the more cluttered one’s life and mind become. More importantly, mastering oneself is the only true way to avoid becoming a hostage to the world. Never try to control the world; control how to confront what the world throws at you.
Finally, I think the most important thing I have learned is that no one will ever respect you unless you respect them first. Never question the moral worth of anyone — without exception. We can question behaviors, but never anyone’s intrinsic humanity. I think you will find that if you take this notion to heart, then you will be significantly happier than most other people. And being happy with one’s life is the only thing that really matters in this hard but glorious thing we call life.
Dearest Emilia, my most fervent hope is that if I am extremely lucky, you and I will discuss this letter as we walk through the garden. If that is not possible, then perhaps I can read it to you while you are sitting on my knee, and you can at least hear my voice with its intonations and inflections even though you may not understand the words. Fortunately, we have little control over the timing of our departure from this life. But know one thing when you read this: Your Gramps loved you with a ferocity that he found difficult to fathom but that also made him supremely happy to have walked upon this good earth.
— Gramps
Vinnie Ferraro has spent decades studying the history of world conflicts as the Ruth Lawson Professor or International Politics at Mount Holyoke, and teaching students what it means to be thinkers, writers and true believers. Last year, he also became a grandfather to a 14-month-old named Emilia. Here is his first letter to her about "the important stuff".
Newest News From our Honoraries
Dearest Class of 1955!
Feb 14, 2020
Sadly, I will not be able to be with you at the 65th reunion. I send you warm greetings. I promise to communicate more often in 2020.
Lately I have been culling books, research papers, and teaching materials in an attempt to turn my study into an extra bedroom. Among the curios I rediscovered was a piece that I wrote after a five-week research visit to Moscow in 1991, just after the failed coup to overthrow Gorbachev. It was the first time in my then 25 years of travel to Russia that I was legally able to stay in a private home. I would like to share with you a few diary excerpts from that powerful experience, taken from my “Moscow Days of Lines and Literature,” printed on “The Home Forum” page (!) of the Christian Science Monitor on December 19, 1991. I count this “publication” among my most cherished. I should immediately add that the editor of The Home Forum page at the time was Alice Hummer, MHC‘ 85, a major in Russian (yes, I had an “in” with the editor. For the past several years Alice has been editor of the Wellesley alumnae magazine.
Moscow Days of Lines and Literature
Oct. 10, 1991: The rhythm of my days is shaped by the family with whom I live: Igor and Vika and their poodle. Before he retired, Igor was a magazine editor. Now he writes historical novels for adolescents. Vika is a literary scholar. Igor and Vika’s lives are models of quiet heroism and uncompromising integrity when so much of Moscow has dedicated itself to money.
Inflation runs 4 percent a week. The poverty level has been set at 521 rubles per person per month, while unofficially the middle-class standard of living is 10 times that figure. Not counting infrequent honoraria for their writings, Igor and Vika live on a combined monthly pension of 400 rubles. At the farmers’ market yesterday, I bought veal chops; depending on how you calculate, it cost about one-sixth of their monthly pension—or about $2. The exchange rate is now 32 rubles to the dollar, but it’s pointless to compare; such comparisons help only to rationalize the unprecedented volume of illegal profiteering in Moscow. Clever risk-takers can aspire to wealth in this volatile economy.The young men on the street selling Army watches to tourists represent the worst of the rising generation. Their watchwords are speculation, buy or steal and resell. Those unwilling or unable to speculate—like Igor and Vika—must contain expenses as the ruble continues its precipitous decline. I am caught between the economy of my hosts, whose lives I want to share without offending their dignity, and the extraordinary power of my dollars.Oct. 12: Near the metro on my way to the library, I caught the flash of blue and white in someone’s shopping bag. Then another. A procession of the blue-and-white cartons began to pass by. What to do: continue to the library—I am in Moscow on a research grant—or detour in pursuit of milk? I followed the trail of cartons back to the source, doubtful that any milk would be left. But there was and I bought five liters. Absolutely proud, I returned home with my purchase.
Oct 15: Our typical; breakfast is curd cheese and coffee (I brought the coffee from the United States). We make the cheese from fermented milk, which is heated and cooled and then hung in cheese cloth to separate out the whey. Igor and Vika started making cheese when it disappeared from the state stores. (It wasn’t long ago that I told my students about Russia’s superior dairy products.) The bag of cheese draining over the kitchen sink makes me feel safe from the persistent talk of food shortages. It’s comforting, too, to see the sack of potatoes in the hall, and the cabbage we bought off the back of a truck. Salted, it’s fermenting now in the hall. Tomorrow it will be ready to eat.
Oct 18: I live in a literary home. The walls are lined with books, no surprise to anyone who has visited Russian apartments. Journals of literature and commentary come in the mail at the rate of two or three a week. Even the bathroom has interesting reading materials—memoirs about Anna Akhmatova and an encyclopedia on ethics at the moment. Our days are filled with research and writing. Igor is struggling with a new novel, and Vika is correcting proofs of a journal article. The literary energy which flourishes in this home helps me in my own research and is a vital part of our shared lives.
Over breakfast this morning, Igor, whose gloomy prognoses over the years too often have come true, debunked the myth of the honest and industrious Russian peasants (a la Turgenev and Tolstoy). Closer to reality, he insists, are the dark visions of the human spirit found in the writings of Gogol and Saltykov-Shchedrin. Vika hotly protested. These dichotomous portraits, she argues, are two sides of the same coin; the inclination toward good will is no less strong in the Russian character than the propensity for ignoble selfishness. The breakfast table became crowded with characters from Russian literature […].Literature is our antidote to the relentless pursuit of food. It’s not true that there is none in the stores—there is food, but there’s no predicting when or where it will appear. One recent evening when Vika and I were returning from the library, she took me to a store to show me the empty shelves that have become so famous in the Western press. Indeed, the store was literally empty, except for the several cashiers engrossed in conversation.Oct 23: A network of friendships is essential here, especially now. I stopped at a well-stocked foreign-currency grocery (no rubles accepted) to buy bananas for a friend’s child who is critically ill. His doctor has prescribed a medication that is not available. Calls to friends have extended the search throughout Moscow’s pharmacies, but no success so far. At least the child will have his bananas.
OCT 25:Igor came back from the store virtually empty-handed—one-half loaf of bread. There was no milk.
NOV 4: […] Today the rumors say that the exchange rate is going up from 32 to 47 rubles to the dollar. Bread sold out by 10 a.m.
NOV 8: I met Igor at the foreign currency grocery. We bought cheese (real cheese!), salami, coffee, olive oil, and cookies for us—and bananas for the sick boy. Igor was puzzled by the way I shopped—comparing cost per kilo—which contradicts local custom: if you see it, buy it.
Lugging home delicacies unavailable in state stores or at the market, we talked about food. Rereading the last few journal entries, I’m sure that I will be accused of a food fixation. But the fact is that people are now talking openly about starvation if help doesn’t come from abroad. NOV 9: I leave tomorrow. Today I bought 10 liters of sunflower seed oil at the dollar store. It’s hard to fight the futile impulse to rescue my friends. The winter has not even begun.
Vika came home from with a half box of oatmeal, a gift from a friend for the dog. Never mind that we’ve got two unopened boxes that I bought with dollars. Vika accepted the gift, she explained, because it is important for her friend to feel that she can help. As long as there are people who are still able to think of others, maybe there is hope.I first met you, the class of 1955, on your thirtieth-fifth reunion (1990) at Woodbridges. It was an enthusiastically gregarious crowd. I was thrilled to have been invited to address you (your class had already distinguished itself). I recall talking about food shortages in Russia. If memory serves (which it mostly does not these days), I compared the decline of the thickness of chocolate-covered ice-cream over time (from 1965 to 1990) to the decline of the Soviet Union. (Modest proposal, that one!) I talked about what I carried in my suitcase to Russia (shades of Tim O’Brien’s now iconic 1986 short story, “The Things They Carried”). Except I didn’t carry any guilt or fear in my luggage, mostly just food, and a lot of instant coffee. Did I also mention the large assortment of condoms, bras, and tampons? All much appreciated gifts.
I hope you will enjoy bits of my journal. I will be thinking of you in May!
Edwina
