by Jane Marsh Dieckmann '55 Author of Wells College: A History

I am so very happy to be here. And, believe me, I am even happier to go first. Whenever I am involved in a piano performance, I like to go first. It pays to have your name begin with a "D." I am sure this has been said before, but this is awesome. And humbling too. I am profoundly honored by this award. Having served on the awards committee, I am fully aware of the very high caliber - the talent, creativity, determination, dedication - of candidates and of Wells graduates in general. I have been selected from an exceptional group of women. My heartfelt thanks to all of you for this honor, and my thanks too to the awards committee, especially to Kingsley Briggs Eaton, Class of 1967, who conducted the research and wrote the citation.

I have been thinking for some time about what I would say today, but life has a way of changing things - it has been said that life is what happens when you have made other plans. As my son-in-law, Malcolm Jamieson, said to me last Monday, "This is quite a week for you." This particular week started Monday morning at 9:10 with my witnessing the birth of my first grandchild, Caroline Hunter Wallis, and now, just a few days later, I am here. Seeing this baby born, seeing my daughter happy and fulfilled as a new mother has been deeply moving - what more could a mother want? And now I look out and see my near and dear, my husband, my daughter Judith and her husband, Malcolm, my brother, Henry Marsh, my sister Ellie and her husband and family, my classmates who have come to celebrate with me, dear friends from far and near. There are some who are not here, of course - daughter Katherine, her husband Brian Wallis, and baby Caroline, who wanted so very much to be here, especially baby Caroline, who needs to have a look at her future alma mater (and by the way, I do have pictures, just ask me) - and my late aunt Eleanor, Wells Class of 1929, a kindred spirit who witnessed many important events in my life, and - above all - my mother, Mary Hunter Marsh, Wells Class of 1917 (you note that we are all Odd Line, except my sister, who is strange). As we were standing at the entrance this morning, the music being played was my mother's favorite piece - it is by Brahms and she always wanted me to play it for her. My mother loved Wells with all her heart and soul and she would have been proud beyond words (and for my mother, that would be something unusual) to see her youngest child so honored by her college.

People who get awards always stand up and thank everyone who has played a role in their movie, or whatever. Many have played a role in this particular event, too many to mention here, but I did want to thank particularly two people whose aid has been invaluable. Reference was made in the citation to the history book's coming out on time. Just on time, this very weekend two years ago. It was on Thursday of my 40th Reunion weekend, at noon, that I saw advanced copies of the book. The person who moved heaven and earth so this could happen, and on time, is my husband, Dick Rosenbaum, who produced the book and also designed it and who deserves all the credit for the handsomeness of that volume we can hold in our hand. I also want to thank Mary Beth Norton, who is Mary Donlon Alger Professor of American History at Cornell University, appropriately enough someone dedicated to feminist issues and the role of women in history. I am not an academic and so I never acquired an academic robe of my own. From time to time I need to borrow one - this year the search turned out to be a bit difficult. One previous lender was unreachable, another has moved away, and Professor Bruce Bennett (who lent me his the last time) gave the opening address at Alumnae College and I knew he would need his. So I asked around at Cornell and a friend of mine asked a friend of hers in Chinese literature, whom she knew had a Harvard robe because it was always hanging in full view in his office. He replied that he was willing to lend it, but the robe was something of an heirloom, it had belonged to his father, and would I put up my car (also red, I might add) as collateral? He was joking, of course, at least I think he was, and I could just see myself stepping out of the coach and putting the heel of my shoe through the hem of this heirloom, or something even worse. So I did ride here in the coach, but I have no ballgown nor glass slippers (where in heaven's name would I find a pair of glass slippers in Ithaca?), but, thanks to Mary Beth Norton - who had never met me before I accosted her while she was sitting in the dentist's chair waiting to be drilled, and how could she really say no, under the circumstances? - I am properly attired for the occasion.

And although this is not a fairy tale, this week has brought exceptional events in my life, causing me to reflect upon the meaning of such happenings, upon history, and upon this wonderful place we call Wells College.

In my book of quotations I keep around to find pithy sayings when I need them, much is said about history, as a concept and a discipline. Not everyone looks at history in a positive way. We all have heard about the "dust heap of history," and then there is that great sage Henry Ford, who in 1916 declared that "history is more or less bunk." Probably the most thoughtful commentary for me comes from Ralph Waldo Emerson, and I quote:

"We are always coming up with emphatic facts of history in our private experience and verifying them here. All history becomes subjective; in other words, there is properly no history; only biography."

It's been a time to look back on decisive moments in my life - to call them historic would be simply pompous, but historical they are, part of my story, my biography. And by the way that title is pronounced "Paradoxe sur le comédien."

In my brief chronicle today, the first decisive event was my decision to attend Wells College. And this was truly my own decision, because my mother, much as she loved the place, did not deem it a good idea for my sister and me to be in school together. But I really wanted to come here and so I did. My choice turned out to be a very good one indeed, for not only did Wells form me and support me in an admirable way, it helped my sister and me forge an especially close and lasting bond. When I arrived, I learned my adviser would be Else Fleissner - I wondered at the time why I, from the beginning a declared French major, would be assigned someone in German. She turned out to be a guiding light in my college career; she gave me individual care and attention, her brilliant and creative mind was an inspiration, and I ended up taking more courses with her than anyone else. And I still refer back to the notes I took in her course on the European novel. I think back on memorable moments: hearing W. H. Auden read his poetry, having the chance to really talk to eminent French scholar Henri Peyre, and to discuss current events over dinner with popular journalist "Scotty" Reston of the New York Times. Then there was playing basketball in "the game" and playing the piano in the recitals. On May Day we got to work away on an enormous concert grand - much larger than the one we heard today - on this very platform. There was the day I pulled the letter out of my mailbox with a government seal on it. It was from the State Department, saying I had been awarded a Fulbright grant for study in France. I remember running to Robert Marshall (if I had known he would be here today, I probably would not have told this story), my mentor who guided me through my French studies, and someone who loved Yale almost as much as my mother had loved Wells. I cried out, "Oh guess what, Mr. Marshall!" His response was, "Oh you've been accepted at Yale." I remember singing on the steps of this building as a senior and getting my degree, right here in this room.

I was in Paris when a letter came with the announcement of acceptance to graduate school, which turned out to be Harvard. It was signed by the then chairman of the department. His name was Herbert Dieckmann. Along with graduate school came marriage and family, and the role of young wife and mother. I remember the indescribable joy of seeing my baby daughter Judith born, very close to my feelings of last Monday morning. But at the same time Herbert's passionate interest in 18th century manuscripts rubbed off on me. While pregnant with my older daughter, the document resting on my rounded stomach, I compared manuscripts with him for a publication he was doing. I then changed my field of specialization from the 20th century to the 18th and became a "diderotiste" - this led to my doctoral thesis, a role in the new Diderot edition, which was Herbert's dream project, and extended to greater understanding and insights into late 18th century music, one of my great loves.

A very important decisive moment came one Sunday morning in the early 1980s when Raymond Van Houtte, then president of the Tompkins County Trust Company, came up to me after church and said he wanted me to meet him that week in his office. As part of its sesquicentennial celebration, the bank wanted me to write a history of Tompkins County. "But I am not a historian," I protested. "We don't want a historian; we want a writer," was his reply. I soon found myself deeply involved in researching and writing local history.

This work on history of the region led to another decisive moment, in October 1992, this one closer to home, on the porch of the newly renovated Pettibone House. President Robert Plane pulled me aside and said he didn't suppose I had the time or the inclination to write a history of Wells. I replied, "I have never been asked, but if I were ever to write such a book, I would want it to be on my college." And that is how the Wells College history project started. Over two years I researched and wrote furiously. I could not have done it without the help of many kind and helpful people at the college, and certainly not without the college archive - a rich, valuable, indispensable resource. It was a marvelous experience for me, and I feel privileged to have been entrusted with the project.

By now you may be wondering what is the point. The point of this chronicle is that history, like cotton, is the fabric of our lives. History is you, all of you, all of us. We need to be continually attentive and thoughtful about important events in our lives. We should be aware of context, both broad and limited. We should try to keep diaries - bothersome, perhaps, but important in helping to reconstruct our past, and being able to read back on what has been written is always revealing of continuity in our existence and thinking.

Last weekend I was standing outside on the steps of Macmillan Hall watching the Commencement exercises. I had come to see the ceremony, and to hear Kathryn Walker, Class of 1964, who received this award in 1991. As I expected, she made insightful remarks about the dizzying pace of change in today's society and reminded us of the vital importance of cherishing the human sphere in our lives, of maintaining content and connection in what she called "this mad rush to the future" that is our age. She also spoke of keeping in mind what Wells women have in common - the values and experiences we share, four precious years of the best kind of education in this place of unspoiled beauty - not to mention friendships to last a lifetime. I thought back to the vision of Henry Wells: he believed that women were the most important part of society and for them he wanted a small liberal arts school, with high intellectual standards, in surroundings like home. Of course, there are many changes at the college since its opening in 1868, many since the early 1950s when I was a student - the ethnic diversity and variety of academic programs reflected in this year's graduating class show some of them. But through the years of our history this college has remained essentially true to Henry Wells's vision. My friend Elise Unhoch Mock, Class of 1956, who is here today, said to me last week, "I didn't really understand what my education meant until I read your book." I could not have received a higher compliment than that, except of course the honor of receiving this award today.

We must all remember our founder's vision - that women are important, that a good education and nurture of the human spirit are essential to our present and future. Let us all be mindful that we must preserve what we have here - our special history and this blessed place . . . Wells College.

Delivered Saturday, May 31, 1997 in Phipps Auditorium at Wells College