Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Susan and Lowell in Woodstock 1967 -- Thanks to Jay Petersen
Thanks to Jay Petersen for this ... shot of Susan and Lowell at a Woodstock party in Mead's Meadow in 1967 ...The blond woman is Mrs. Jennings, the other women's namea are unknown.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Old Mill Boards and Green Sea Slates
Ah my mother Susan Bair
With two small boys and long dark hair
Set out for Paris on a whim ...
And there she met her Lucky Jim
Lowell Bair, the lowly man,
And started on her life's new plan ....
With two small boys and long dark hair
Set out for Paris on a whim ...
And there she met her Lucky Jim
Lowell Bair, the lowly man,
And started on her life's new plan ....
Susan Died During a Blizzard
My mother Susan Bair died during a blizzard Tuesday night, February 23, 2010 at age 84. She taught me to read and write using the Calvert Correspondence Course while we were living on Mallorca with her then-future second husband, Lowell Bair.
She was born Susan Wiman on August 25, 1925 in Seattle. Her great-aunt Gertrude Wiman helped chart the Straight of Juan de Fuca; and her grandfather Chaunce Wiman ferried Wobblies up to Vancouver during the “Steamboat Wars.” Her father, my Grandpa Fred, was a destroyer skipper in the Aleutians during World War II.
Susan’s wildly impulsive and often humorous intolerance of conventional restrictions, however, and also her love of literature, came from Mississippi. They came from my great-grandmother Pearl B. Winter and my great-aunt Maude Bryan. Nanny Pearl attended Agnes Scott College, then taught school in the Delta most of her life – until Mr. Winter forbade her attendance at a Women’s Suffrage meeting, whereupon she decamped for Seattle with her two children.
Susan matriculated at Radcliffe at age 16, but dropped out after the Coconut Grove Fire killed many of her friends. She went to New York to be an actress. There, after marrying a wildly improbable number of men attracted to her beautiful brunette good looks -- all the marriages were annulled by my grandmother Katie -- she met my first father, Richard Gehman, in Greenwich Village. Richard was at the start of his extraordinary career as an alcoholic writer of 400 magazine features, 15 books and many short pieces. Richard died in 1970 at age 50. When Susan met my second father Lowell Bair in Paris 1953, my brother Rob threw his shoes out the window. Lowell married Susan anyway, despite the two young hellions attached to her, and before many years went by they had a daughter, my sister Connie.
Lowell translated over 300 French books including classic French novels like Liaisons Dangereuses, Candide, La Chartreuse de Parme, and Madame Bovary. A former hand-launched glider champion of Florida, Lowell taught me how to build the glider that disappeared into the clouds at a party in Mead's Meadow back in the Sixties. He translated his first book, a French detective thriller titled Canal Street to pay our passage back to the States.
My mother and my fathers taught me, by example, to love literature. I learned what little I know about good letters from reading nearly all of Ford Madox Ford, Joseph Conrad, Stendhal, Flaubert, Hemingway, Jane Austen, Virginia Woolf, Rebecca West, Marguerite Duras, Sybille Bedford , T.S. Eliot and Ezra Pound. I first read all The Cantos at age 16 with only Susan's penciled-in marginalia to help me sort out the many puzzles in the text. I speak French and Spanish, and know enough of the Koinae to parse the Gospels. That all came from Susan too.
She had a good knack for suggesting the right fun book that you might like to read. And then she'd let you read whatever you wanted to read, without interrupting you, no matter how thoroughly absorbed in the pleasure of the text you might appear to be. She worked at the Woodstock Library for many years with Ellin Roberts, D.J. Boggs, Pia Alexander and Joanne Sackett. Jane Dardis and Jane Axel and Miriam Sanders were good friends.
Anyone who would like to contribute a story to this blog -- about Susan or about Susan and Lowell should email it to me. My special thanks to anyone who has contributed already. Please pass the word along -- I'll print what you send me. I got that from Susan too, as well as Pound's notion that:
As a writer, nothing seems to me more important.
She was born Susan Wiman on August 25, 1925 in Seattle. Her great-aunt Gertrude Wiman helped chart the Straight of Juan de Fuca; and her grandfather Chaunce Wiman ferried Wobblies up to Vancouver during the “Steamboat Wars.” Her father, my Grandpa Fred, was a destroyer skipper in the Aleutians during World War II.
Susan’s wildly impulsive and often humorous intolerance of conventional restrictions, however, and also her love of literature, came from Mississippi. They came from my great-grandmother Pearl B. Winter and my great-aunt Maude Bryan. Nanny Pearl attended Agnes Scott College, then taught school in the Delta most of her life – until Mr. Winter forbade her attendance at a Women’s Suffrage meeting, whereupon she decamped for Seattle with her two children.
Susan matriculated at Radcliffe at age 16, but dropped out after the Coconut Grove Fire killed many of her friends. She went to New York to be an actress. There, after marrying a wildly improbable number of men attracted to her beautiful brunette good looks -- all the marriages were annulled by my grandmother Katie -- she met my first father, Richard Gehman, in Greenwich Village. Richard was at the start of his extraordinary career as an alcoholic writer of 400 magazine features, 15 books and many short pieces. Richard died in 1970 at age 50. When Susan met my second father Lowell Bair in Paris 1953, my brother Rob threw his shoes out the window. Lowell married Susan anyway, despite the two young hellions attached to her, and before many years went by they had a daughter, my sister Connie.
Lowell translated over 300 French books including classic French novels like Liaisons Dangereuses, Candide, La Chartreuse de Parme, and Madame Bovary. A former hand-launched glider champion of Florida, Lowell taught me how to build the glider that disappeared into the clouds at a party in Mead's Meadow back in the Sixties. He translated his first book, a French detective thriller titled Canal Street to pay our passage back to the States.
My mother and my fathers taught me, by example, to love literature. I learned what little I know about good letters from reading nearly all of Ford Madox Ford, Joseph Conrad, Stendhal, Flaubert, Hemingway, Jane Austen, Virginia Woolf, Rebecca West, Marguerite Duras, Sybille Bedford , T.S. Eliot and Ezra Pound. I first read all The Cantos at age 16 with only Susan's penciled-in marginalia to help me sort out the many puzzles in the text. I speak French and Spanish, and know enough of the Koinae to parse the Gospels. That all came from Susan too.
She had a good knack for suggesting the right fun book that you might like to read. And then she'd let you read whatever you wanted to read, without interrupting you, no matter how thoroughly absorbed in the pleasure of the text you might appear to be. She worked at the Woodstock Library for many years with Ellin Roberts, D.J. Boggs, Pia Alexander and Joanne Sackett. Jane Dardis and Jane Axel and Miriam Sanders were good friends.
Anyone who would like to contribute a story to this blog -- about Susan or about Susan and Lowell should email it to me. My special thanks to anyone who has contributed already. Please pass the word along -- I'll print what you send me. I got that from Susan too, as well as Pound's notion that:
“Art is more important than medicine –
because only Art reveals the soul of man”
As a writer, nothing seems to me more important.
-- Christian Gehman
Monday, April 12, 2010
From Susan's Grandson
When I asked my son, Francis Meriwether Gehman -- to maybe write something for this Susan Bair page, Francis said, "Dad, you mean, like maybe, something about the time Susan bit me when I wouldn't give her the remote?"
Susan would have been so proud to know that Francis graduated from San Francisco State University with a degree in studio sculpture on May 22, 2010. I think he will have been in college longer than the previous Woodstock record holder, whom I believe was Steve Gilligan.
Francis was Susan's first grandson. Susan and my sister Connie Bair attended my wedding to Fran's mother, the former Caroline Coles, in Keswick, Virginia.
After the wedding we all rode back to Cloverfields and whooped it up a bit while we waited for the two lambs roasting on a spit (provided by and presided over by my friend John Ruvalds, a physics professor at the University of Virginia) to finish cooking and then we danced and danced until we thought our hearts might break.
-- Christian Gehman
And Francis Gehman adds the following as his own post script:
For the record, it didn't hurt that badly when Susan bit me... but she
did have enough teeth left to make me drop the remote. She was annoyed
with my lack of attention span for TV programs which still annoys many
people who make the mistake of giving me the TV remote.
She always struck me as very beautiful even in her old age. I do remember swimming at a pool with her when I was about fourteen. She swam better than she walked at that point and looked perfectly at home sitting in the sun by the pool up on a hill. For that matter, she always seemed at home no matter where she was or what she was doing--perfectly calm and not about to let the absurd trivialities of life get in the way of her enjoyment of it. At least I thought she must be enjoying it because I always had a great time when I was with her, laughing at about every other sentence between stuffing my face on the strict diet of ice cream, pizza, and Chinese food she made me adhere to while at her house.
I still have a small green piece of glass that she convinced me was an emerald. It has made it through about four moves, flown across the country, and served as a guitar pick sometimes when I couldn't find one. It lives in a small clay pinch pot with some marbles for company.
I miss her all the time and frequently brag to people that I had a
grandmother who listened to Rage Against the Machine, smoked unfiltered
cigarettes, and shoplifted. I'm not sure if the shoplifting part is true
but I'm sure she'd approve of any stretch that makes this world more
colorful. -- Francis Gehman
Eine Kleine Nachtmusik: This Business of Withholding Cortisone
Many people don't know that Addison's Disease results when a person's body stops producing its own supply of Cortisone. For a patient with Addison's Disease, continuous administration of Cortisone is totally and absolutely necessary to sustain life, in the same way that breathing oxygen is absolutely necessary to sustain life.
Perhaps there are always questions, with any elderly person's death. But ... my opinion is that for any patient with Addison's Disease, and certainly for a debilitated, elderly woman with Addison's Disease who has just survived pneumonia with body temperatures of up to 105 degrees, the withdrawal (or non-administration) of Cortisone probably caused CERTAIN DEATH. It ensured that death would come SOON.
In Susan's case, my opinion is that the withdrawal (or non-administration) of Cortisone caused my mother to experience a three-day death agony whose extraordinary and unendurable pain was poorly controlled by morphine, and during which time of suffering any possible verbal protest from Susan was stifled by whacking big doses of Haldol, a potent anti-psychotic drug that makes talking or even thought more or less impossible. I have photographs that indicate Susan's death was very painful and agonizing.
My opinion is that withdrawing Cortisone from or not administering Cortisone to Susan resulted from a two part order by her attending physician, Dr. Rissman -- of Woodstock, New York. First, Dr. Rissman's order "nothing by mouth" mysteriously included not only food (which Susan might have choked on) but also Susan's usual and customary oral Cortisone tablets, and Second, no intravenous administration of Cortisone was ordered to replace the oral tablets. Meanwhile, however, as far as I know, Susan continued to receive intravenous fluids, oxygen and intravenous antibiotics. She continued to receive antibiotic therapy to combat pneumonia and MRSA, an iatrogenic infection she developed while dying in Benedictine Hospital.
On the morning that Susan's life-enabling and life-sustaining daily dosage of Cortisone was stopped -- this was the Cortisone on which Susan's life had absolutely depended for at least the previous ten years! -- Susan had actually managed to fight off the pneumonia, and her body temperature had returned to approximately normal. My opinion is that after her high fever abated, Susan was as coherent on that morning and on that afternoon as she had been at any time during the last three or four years.
My opinion is that withholding or withdrawing the administration of Cortisone caused Susan's Death, just as it would have caused the death of any patient with Addison's Disease (one of the "five fatal diseases" Susan was suffering from at the time of her death). To be quite clear, my opinion is that withholding or withdrawing Cortisone was the proximate cause, and perhaps even the main cause, of Susan's death. My opinion is that there is no telling how much longer she might have held on to life.
True, she might have died soon anyway. But witholding or withdrawing Cortisone made Susan's Death not only certain but also unnecessarily painful.
My brother Rob Gehman was the first to notice that Susan's Cortisone was no longer being administered intravenously. Rob was so shocked and surprised that, thinking there must be some mistake, Rob went out into the hall to call Lowell Bair at home.
Meanwhile, I went out to the nursing station to ask some questions. There, on the morning after the night on which Susan's customary dose of life-sustaining Cortisone was first withdrawn or not administered, my opinion is that I overheard one of Susan's nurses at Benedictine Hospital ask her Nursing Supervisor point blank "Could I be cited for malpractice as a result of withholding Cortisone from an Addison's Disease patient?" Significantly, the supervisor replied: "No, you'll be in the clear because you were only following Dr. Rissman's orders."
Strange enough, but I did not particularly remark on it at the time, except to note it down in my journal.
I believe that nurses and doctors may often make similar decisions to end the life of an elderly patient if the family agrees by withdrawing the customary and necessary dosage of a drug or drugs that have been necessary to sustain life.
But perhaps what makes it even stranger is that almost a month before I overheard this rather startling (to me, anyway) colloquy between Nurse and Supervisor, during Susan's first stay on the critical care ward at Benedictine, while sitting in the critical care ward's family lounge, I listened with amazement while -- this is my best recollection -- this same Dr. Rissman told the entire extended family of a middle-aged diabetic from somewhere up past "Onteora" that the poor soul, despite being hooked up to the full gamut of the critical care ward's usual superb modern monitoring equipment, had somehow "gone twenty minutes without a heartbeat" before anyone noticed that there might be something amiss. And as a consequence the pour soul was brain dead and could not be expected to survive the afternoon.
Because the critical care ward's modern monitoring equipment tracks (as far as I know) heart rate, pulse Ox, respiration, blood pressure and perhaps other vital signs that I know nothing about and as far as I know sounds an audible alarm when a life-threatening situation SUCH AS NO HEARTBEAT develops, it is fair to wonder: what could possibly have happened to that poor soul?
My opinion is that it does seem almost unbelievably strange (does it not?) that no nurse, doctor or supervisor noticed -- until too late -- that the patient's heart had stopped! For twenty minutes! With no response from Benedictine's wonderfully professional critical care nursing staff!
My opinion is that it may be fair to wonder: Was there perhaps a doctor in that poor soul's room? Which might have prevented the nursing staff from making further inquiry?
How could this have happened, Doctor?
But I suppose -- in my opinion it is natural to think -- that these two cases might more likely be the rule than the exception -- with some doctors. Anyone who doubts that this could even possibly ever happen at Benedictine Hospital in Kingston, New York, might do well to read Sybille Bedford's interesting book The Best We Can Do: (The Trial of Dr Adams), published in 1958.
Dr. Rissman was Susan's doctor for, as far as I know, for more than ten years. In my opinion, it is reasonable to assume that Dr. Rissman actually did know that withdrawing or withholding Cortisone would probably, perhaps almost certainly cause Susan's Death in short order.
I also noticed that the attitude of the nurse attending Susan on the night before she died changed; she had been friendly and retreated into a distant professional attitude that I found a bit strange until Rob noticed that the administration of Cortisone had been withdrawn. My opinion is that I remember that on the night before the administration of my mother's Cortisone was withdrawn, her daughter Connie Bair, after visiting Susan at her bedside, said as she left the hospital: "It's time for this to end" or "It's time for this to be over."
You may not like to believe, as I do, my opinion that it would have been much kinder and more merciful -- and also, in my opinion, much quicker and less painful -- to smother Susan to death with a pillow. Though that would have been over in five minutes, of course that would have been considered "killing." Or to use the precisely right term, murder.
But ... such "mercy killings" happen all the time.
My opinion is that Susan's husband, Lowell Bair, must have made this decision, probably in consultation with my half-sister Connie Bair.
You may not agree with my opinion, that withholding Cortisone from or not administering Cortisone to an elderly woman with Addison's Disease is tantamount to killing her outright.
My opinion is that perhaps this was not murder -- perhaps it was just "mercy killing." Probably my mother Susan Bair would have died before long anyway. But who's to say? In fact she died shortly after the intravenous administration of Cortisone was stopped.
My further opinion is that:
Anyone who has a similar story regarding the death of a loved one, or who has questions about any doctor similar to those I still have about Dr. Rissman and his role in my mother's death would be very welcome to contact me.
Now it seems that noticing the above and sending copies of it by email to my sister and my brother have caused Lowell Bair to disinherit me; under the terms of the Will that Susan signed I would receive one fifth of the joint estate. But I believe my siblings Rob Gehman and Connie Bair Thompson and Lowell are looting the estate. Which in my opinion would make them all "murdering thieves."
Perhaps there are always questions, with any elderly person's death. But ... my opinion is that for any patient with Addison's Disease, and certainly for a debilitated, elderly woman with Addison's Disease who has just survived pneumonia with body temperatures of up to 105 degrees, the withdrawal (or non-administration) of Cortisone probably caused CERTAIN DEATH. It ensured that death would come SOON.
In Susan's case, my opinion is that the withdrawal (or non-administration) of Cortisone caused my mother to experience a three-day death agony whose extraordinary and unendurable pain was poorly controlled by morphine, and during which time of suffering any possible verbal protest from Susan was stifled by whacking big doses of Haldol, a potent anti-psychotic drug that makes talking or even thought more or less impossible. I have photographs that indicate Susan's death was very painful and agonizing.
My opinion is that withdrawing Cortisone from or not administering Cortisone to Susan resulted from a two part order by her attending physician, Dr. Rissman -- of Woodstock, New York. First, Dr. Rissman's order "nothing by mouth" mysteriously included not only food (which Susan might have choked on) but also Susan's usual and customary oral Cortisone tablets, and Second, no intravenous administration of Cortisone was ordered to replace the oral tablets. Meanwhile, however, as far as I know, Susan continued to receive intravenous fluids, oxygen and intravenous antibiotics. She continued to receive antibiotic therapy to combat pneumonia and MRSA, an iatrogenic infection she developed while dying in Benedictine Hospital.
On the morning that Susan's life-enabling and life-sustaining daily dosage of Cortisone was stopped -- this was the Cortisone on which Susan's life had absolutely depended for at least the previous ten years! -- Susan had actually managed to fight off the pneumonia, and her body temperature had returned to approximately normal. My opinion is that after her high fever abated, Susan was as coherent on that morning and on that afternoon as she had been at any time during the last three or four years.
My opinion is that withholding or withdrawing the administration of Cortisone caused Susan's Death, just as it would have caused the death of any patient with Addison's Disease (one of the "five fatal diseases" Susan was suffering from at the time of her death). To be quite clear, my opinion is that withholding or withdrawing Cortisone was the proximate cause, and perhaps even the main cause, of Susan's death. My opinion is that there is no telling how much longer she might have held on to life.
True, she might have died soon anyway. But witholding or withdrawing Cortisone made Susan's Death not only certain but also unnecessarily painful.
My brother Rob Gehman was the first to notice that Susan's Cortisone was no longer being administered intravenously. Rob was so shocked and surprised that, thinking there must be some mistake, Rob went out into the hall to call Lowell Bair at home.
Meanwhile, I went out to the nursing station to ask some questions. There, on the morning after the night on which Susan's customary dose of life-sustaining Cortisone was first withdrawn or not administered, my opinion is that I overheard one of Susan's nurses at Benedictine Hospital ask her Nursing Supervisor point blank "Could I be cited for malpractice as a result of withholding Cortisone from an Addison's Disease patient?" Significantly, the supervisor replied: "No, you'll be in the clear because you were only following Dr. Rissman's orders."
Strange enough, but I did not particularly remark on it at the time, except to note it down in my journal.
I believe that nurses and doctors may often make similar decisions to end the life of an elderly patient if the family agrees by withdrawing the customary and necessary dosage of a drug or drugs that have been necessary to sustain life.
But perhaps what makes it even stranger is that almost a month before I overheard this rather startling (to me, anyway) colloquy between Nurse and Supervisor, during Susan's first stay on the critical care ward at Benedictine, while sitting in the critical care ward's family lounge, I listened with amazement while -- this is my best recollection -- this same Dr. Rissman told the entire extended family of a middle-aged diabetic from somewhere up past "Onteora" that the poor soul, despite being hooked up to the full gamut of the critical care ward's usual superb modern monitoring equipment, had somehow "gone twenty minutes without a heartbeat" before anyone noticed that there might be something amiss. And as a consequence the pour soul was brain dead and could not be expected to survive the afternoon.
Because the critical care ward's modern monitoring equipment tracks (as far as I know) heart rate, pulse Ox, respiration, blood pressure and perhaps other vital signs that I know nothing about and as far as I know sounds an audible alarm when a life-threatening situation SUCH AS NO HEARTBEAT develops, it is fair to wonder: what could possibly have happened to that poor soul?
My opinion is that it does seem almost unbelievably strange (does it not?) that no nurse, doctor or supervisor noticed -- until too late -- that the patient's heart had stopped! For twenty minutes! With no response from Benedictine's wonderfully professional critical care nursing staff!
My opinion is that it may be fair to wonder: Was there perhaps a doctor in that poor soul's room? Which might have prevented the nursing staff from making further inquiry?
How could this have happened, Doctor?
But I suppose -- in my opinion it is natural to think -- that these two cases might more likely be the rule than the exception -- with some doctors. Anyone who doubts that this could even possibly ever happen at Benedictine Hospital in Kingston, New York, might do well to read Sybille Bedford's interesting book The Best We Can Do: (The Trial of Dr Adams), published in 1958.
Dr. Rissman was Susan's doctor for, as far as I know, for more than ten years. In my opinion, it is reasonable to assume that Dr. Rissman actually did know that withdrawing or withholding Cortisone would probably, perhaps almost certainly cause Susan's Death in short order.
I also noticed that the attitude of the nurse attending Susan on the night before she died changed; she had been friendly and retreated into a distant professional attitude that I found a bit strange until Rob noticed that the administration of Cortisone had been withdrawn. My opinion is that I remember that on the night before the administration of my mother's Cortisone was withdrawn, her daughter Connie Bair, after visiting Susan at her bedside, said as she left the hospital: "It's time for this to end" or "It's time for this to be over."
You may not like to believe, as I do, my opinion that it would have been much kinder and more merciful -- and also, in my opinion, much quicker and less painful -- to smother Susan to death with a pillow. Though that would have been over in five minutes, of course that would have been considered "killing." Or to use the precisely right term, murder.
But ... such "mercy killings" happen all the time.
My opinion is that Susan's husband, Lowell Bair, must have made this decision, probably in consultation with my half-sister Connie Bair.
You may not agree with my opinion, that withholding Cortisone from or not administering Cortisone to an elderly woman with Addison's Disease is tantamount to killing her outright.
My opinion is that perhaps this was not murder -- perhaps it was just "mercy killing." Probably my mother Susan Bair would have died before long anyway. But who's to say? In fact she died shortly after the intravenous administration of Cortisone was stopped.
My further opinion is that:
Anyone who has a similar story regarding the death of a loved one, or who has questions about any doctor similar to those I still have about Dr. Rissman and his role in my mother's death would be very welcome to contact me.
Now it seems that noticing the above and sending copies of it by email to my sister and my brother have caused Lowell Bair to disinherit me; under the terms of the Will that Susan signed I would receive one fifth of the joint estate. But I believe my siblings Rob Gehman and Connie Bair Thompson and Lowell are looting the estate. Which in my opinion would make them all "murdering thieves."
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Wild Strawberries!
For Susan Bair
Susan had a good and generous heart. When she herself was not well, and physically suffering, she helped to serve meals to homeless people in Kingston.Susan would, as they say, "give you the shirt off her back." And, speaking of her shirt, and her other clothes as well -- what a sense of style she had! She dressed with simple elegance. When she would go to the grocery store, she would look like a tall, handsome model that just needed to pop in and pick up something after a photo shoot!
Susan's sense of style extended to her surroundings. She could bring home found furniture, add some Library Fair offerings, and with these make a really groovy-looking room!
Susan worked in the Woodstock Library for many, many years. For a short time I worked there near her. Libraries can be a haven for people who are socially fragile and sometimes difficult to get along with. Where some of the staff lost patience with these people, Susan never did. She ws completely non-judgmental and embraced everyone as her equal. She was especially fond of, and uncritical of, our free-spirited, noisy little Woodstock child library users!
I believe she got along so well with children, because she herself never lost touch with her own inner child.
She loved to be a bit outrageous and enjoy the effect on others. I remember when she and Lowell lived on the mountain, and Susan and I were chatting int he yard -- susan sitting on a stump. I realized that several hundred newly-hatched spiderlings were attempting to cross over Susan's sandaled foot. "Susan!" I shouted, "lots of spiders are climbing over your foot!" She stared me down steely-eyed, and said, "So? I like spiders!"
Susan would swoop down the mountain in her yellow Jeep, pick me up, and show me Woodstock's magical places: hidden ponds, waterfalls, and where the wild strawberries grew in such profusion amidst silvery lichens on sun-exposed rocks at the old Gilmore property -- a person could pick jars and jars of them -- enough to make jam or even pies!
Susan was so bright, and so knowledgeable regarding music, art, politics, history and religion. For many years she worked on a special project of cataloguing all the music books and holdings for the Woodstock Library.
Susan was always very strong, athletic, and a terrific swimmer. She was always seeking out exciting new places to swim around Woodstock. One of her more unique concepts was to obtain a fishing license for the Ashokan Reservoir, park, go down to a secluded cove, disrobe and jump right in! And so she did!
Susan had a wonderful sense of humor. If you were to tell her you were agitated, or feeling blue, before you knew it she'd have you laughing at the absurdity of the situation, and you'd be feeling very much better. What a gift she gave! I will miss her forever.
-- Miriam Sanders
February 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
A Bright Light Has Dimmed
I am so saddened about Susan's passing. A bright light has dimmed on this earthly plane.
I met her in the early 70's, but can't remember where--possibly at the library where I volunteered. She was one of those rare beings that I will remember with great fondness for the rest of my life.
I was living in Texas in the 80's. We'd kept in touch and got together when she came to visit Connie in Dallas. I'm pretty sure it was Dallas, but it could have been Austin where I lived prior to that.
We went out for one of those Sunday all you can eat brunches at a Marriot-type place. The group consisted of Susan, me, Connie and a friend whom I vaguely remember as being in the business of turning over real estate. There could have been other people with us, but my recollection of who was there is rather vague.
However, my memories of the occasion are very clear. It was one of the most memorable days of my life. And believe me, I've lived! It was one of those magic times when everyone was "on." And, of course, each story triggered another one, even more hilarious than the one preceding it.
I remember all of us laughing so much that our sides ached. Other people were looking at us like we were crazy, but I seem to remember them laughing with us after awhile. I may be a bit foggy about who was there, but I'll never forget the pure joy we shared that day.
It was like that whenever I saw Susan.
My heart is with you and the family.
-- Sue Story
Mentor to My Spirit
On my daily trips to the Woodstock Post Office in these later years, I would many times pass Lowell Bair’s car in the parking lot. Sometimes he would just be preparing to go into the Post Office and I would get to greet both Lowell and Susan. Or sometimes Susan would be napping as she waited for Lowell. (She was in a great battle with agrave illness within her own body.) At those times, I would move slowly and just look at that beautiful, vibrant friend and think about her. Memories from an overladen memory basket marked “Effects.” Unique gifts and effects.
We met during her time working in The Woodstock Library. No matter whenever, or whatever our mission, we would always stop for at least a brief exchange and you could bet, that whatever tidbit occurred to her, it would be extraordinary and presented in a most imaginative manner. Innately intelligent, with a will well-nourished and a mind which she fed “with both hands full,” she traveled her life of curiosity.
When her oldest Child, Christian, all these years later tells how wise and “fun” her suggestions usually proved out along the way, ponder here the power of that tribute from a Son to his Mother of all his years!
She was not only knowledgeable and educated but was also astute to all the varied needs the moment might produce.
She operated a “hands-on” bail fund “for her church.” I’m sure she met with everyone who called and offered some colorful word of encouragement and if they would decipher her meaning, the message would be one of both hope and humor, softening the tension in the transaction.
One year she started a little business of her own, hand-chiseling bluestone “memory markers” (grave stones). I wanted one! She asked me what I wished to have on it. I said, “Simple, a line for the mountain and a cloud for the spirit.” That stone waits for me at my family plot at the cusp of the hill at the edge of The Artists Cemetery ... (And that is another Story!) Shortly after Susan delivered the Stone I had a gravestone party. It was fun and I hoped leavened the subject. Misty and Eric wore very sombre mourning clothes; we had hearty refreshments and many interesting friends, and hoped it would be good for her business!
It came to her that Woody Broun must be lonesome since he had lost his family and asked him, “Wouldn’t he like a cat?” Woody was adamant not to take on that responsibility! Would that stop Susan? Oh, no! Now we began the search and looked carefully at every cat that crossed her path.
She found the perfect one and left it close to Woody’s house, obviously wandering homeless and crying with hunger. I would ride over with Susan while she surreptitiously fed the cat, carefully removing all traces of a lunch time “stop.” She wanted Woody to believe in the larger “Deity” or at least a compassionate “Chance.”
Then one day she found empty cat food cans and a water dish and assumed the adoption was completed and she moved on to other missions.
Sometimes she would catch a swim in the Broun’s pond ... such a beautiful sight and so delighted with herself! I thought of her last summer when a friend and I spotted six swimmers with Florida license plates cavorting in Cooper’s Lake. As the authorities drove up, they explained that someone in town had suggested the Lake as a good place to cool off. My friend whispered to me, “I bet someone on the Village Green is having a good laugh right now!”
Susan woulud love that story. Only now, I think I could have called her. So careless of me...what could possibly have been more important? Now all chances are missed and I am missing her completely.
After my second little Son arrived, Susan would come many a Monday for lunch. It was always fun. She approved of the whole idea of the baby and we were all happy. I would prepare a fine lunch and she would bring me stories from the village. She often broght some translations from the French done by her husband, Lowell, to my Father-in-Law, who lived with us after his wife had died. He loved those books and the chance of her sitting over next to him, talking directly to him, laughing together. Made him feel valid and recognized. So my son John knew her presence from his beginning and was astute enough to value her. When she was still driving around she would circle town until she spied me and would invite me to climb into her Jeep and join her in any adventure we might find.
Susan was outgoing and sociable. Like a wild garden, perfect plan and order among haphazardly and gloriously colored “bouquets” of blooms.
Mentor to my spirit, you made me wealthy.
— Jean Lasher Gaede
We met during her time working in The Woodstock Library. No matter whenever, or whatever our mission, we would always stop for at least a brief exchange and you could bet, that whatever tidbit occurred to her, it would be extraordinary and presented in a most imaginative manner. Innately intelligent, with a will well-nourished and a mind which she fed “with both hands full,” she traveled her life of curiosity.
When her oldest Child, Christian, all these years later tells how wise and “fun” her suggestions usually proved out along the way, ponder here the power of that tribute from a Son to his Mother of all his years!
She was not only knowledgeable and educated but was also astute to all the varied needs the moment might produce.
She operated a “hands-on” bail fund “for her church.” I’m sure she met with everyone who called and offered some colorful word of encouragement and if they would decipher her meaning, the message would be one of both hope and humor, softening the tension in the transaction.
One year she started a little business of her own, hand-chiseling bluestone “memory markers” (grave stones). I wanted one! She asked me what I wished to have on it. I said, “Simple, a line for the mountain and a cloud for the spirit.” That stone waits for me at my family plot at the cusp of the hill at the edge of The Artists Cemetery ... (And that is another Story!) Shortly after Susan delivered the Stone I had a gravestone party. It was fun and I hoped leavened the subject. Misty and Eric wore very sombre mourning clothes; we had hearty refreshments and many interesting friends, and hoped it would be good for her business!
It came to her that Woody Broun must be lonesome since he had lost his family and asked him, “Wouldn’t he like a cat?” Woody was adamant not to take on that responsibility! Would that stop Susan? Oh, no! Now we began the search and looked carefully at every cat that crossed her path.
She found the perfect one and left it close to Woody’s house, obviously wandering homeless and crying with hunger. I would ride over with Susan while she surreptitiously fed the cat, carefully removing all traces of a lunch time “stop.” She wanted Woody to believe in the larger “Deity” or at least a compassionate “Chance.”
Then one day she found empty cat food cans and a water dish and assumed the adoption was completed and she moved on to other missions.
Sometimes she would catch a swim in the Broun’s pond ... such a beautiful sight and so delighted with herself! I thought of her last summer when a friend and I spotted six swimmers with Florida license plates cavorting in Cooper’s Lake. As the authorities drove up, they explained that someone in town had suggested the Lake as a good place to cool off. My friend whispered to me, “I bet someone on the Village Green is having a good laugh right now!”
Susan woulud love that story. Only now, I think I could have called her. So careless of me...what could possibly have been more important? Now all chances are missed and I am missing her completely.
After my second little Son arrived, Susan would come many a Monday for lunch. It was always fun. She approved of the whole idea of the baby and we were all happy. I would prepare a fine lunch and she would bring me stories from the village. She often broght some translations from the French done by her husband, Lowell, to my Father-in-Law, who lived with us after his wife had died. He loved those books and the chance of her sitting over next to him, talking directly to him, laughing together. Made him feel valid and recognized. So my son John knew her presence from his beginning and was astute enough to value her. When she was still driving around she would circle town until she spied me and would invite me to climb into her Jeep and join her in any adventure we might find.
Susan was outgoing and sociable. Like a wild garden, perfect plan and order among haphazardly and gloriously colored “bouquets” of blooms.
Mentor to my spirit, you made me wealthy.
— Jean Lasher Gaede
Knife Throwing
At The Woodstock Library a few weeks ago Gail Godwin reminded me that, in some summers past, a group would get together for pot luck lunch and Knife Throwing. Those of you who knew Susan Bair may have guessed that she had a hand in it and she did.
On Sunday afternoons people would show up at Lowell and Susan's house for pot luck lunch, conversation and as an aid to digestion (or just plain fun) -- Knife Throwing.
A pine plank target was set up parallel to the front of the house. We'd stand back about 20 feet & take turns throwing 1/2 dozen knives at the target. One of the knives was a genuine Harry McEvoy pro-thrower. It came with a very impressive AKTA (American Knife Throwing Alliance) Red White & Blue cross knife shoulder patch. Susan ended up with the patch.
Knife throwing is a curious art. It is a staple of circuses, sideshows and noir films. It can be lethal. Part of its' appeal is its very improbability. The odds are against a spinning blade sticking into the target it is thrown at. Part of the fun of the sport is outperforming the odds.
Lunch, literature and knife throwing: Susan could pull together very different elements and make them suit each other. I was lucky to know her.
— Paul Nelson
A Very Peaceful Moment
I can't say that Susan was a friend around 1963, but I remember one day when Jane was not around, I was in your house with your mother. Maybe it was raining. I sat at a table near a cushioned window seat to the right as you entered the front door of your house. She made me some toast with butter and jelly on it and then went to take a nap. I probably did the same. It was a very peaceful moment. I believed that she hated to be disturbed during naps.
Even though it's natural that she would die after a long illness, I was surprised. I'm sorry for your loss.
Even though it's natural that she would die after a long illness, I was surprised. I'm sorry for your loss.
— Anne Dardis
There Are No Replacements
For many years Susan was a bright, electric, presence in Woodstock. She and Lowell lived just up the road...off Mead Mountain Road...when it was a much less traveled road. If you heard a car coming up Mead Mountain you knew that it was either the Bairs, the Cantines or us....Their house, with the most splendid view over the valley, was approached by a death defyingly steep road ...which both Lowell and Susan took great pleasure in maneuvering in the winter.... As we also had a jeep in those days...(the winters were much snowier & colder) Lowell and Edgar would vie to see who could get up their driveway without sliding off the mountain...luckily it was a stand off...no one lost....
Susan and Lowell, intensely smart and literate (knew everything, read everything) loved puns...had a wonderful mutty dog named Jacques E. Bair... No further explanation needed.
Lowell & Susan were wonderfully matched, with Lowell providing the quiet, sometimes bemused foil to Susan's flamboyant & engaging presentations. They had a wildly romantic back story... Susan's version was that when she was recently divorced in New York City with two young boys she was seeing a shrink, who asked her what she wanted to do with her life. Susan said she wanted to live in Paris and he said, Yes, that is what you should do...so she went to off to Paris with two young boys and (somehow) immediately met Lowell who was involved in starting up a new publication:The Paris Review. So in a magical way she landed in the midst of exciting literary ferment, in one of the most interesting and beautiful cities in the world, at one of the best times to be there and connected with her beloved Lowell (ie).
Susan was beautiful and amazingly stylish, she pulled this off without any of the usual aids (she did not wear make- up or sneak off to NY for a an expensive haircut) she just always looked terrific. Susan always had the most current and interesting information about what was going on and who was doing what, although this information was not always verifiable...it was always riveting. To run into Susan in town was always an interesting experience and somehow electrified your day. The landscape is much less interesting without her. There are no replacements.
Susan and Lowell, intensely smart and literate (knew everything, read everything) loved puns...had a wonderful mutty dog named Jacques E. Bair... No further explanation needed.
Lowell & Susan were wonderfully matched, with Lowell providing the quiet, sometimes bemused foil to Susan's flamboyant & engaging presentations. They had a wildly romantic back story... Susan's version was that when she was recently divorced in New York City with two young boys she was seeing a shrink, who asked her what she wanted to do with her life. Susan said she wanted to live in Paris and he said, Yes, that is what you should do...so she went to off to Paris with two young boys and (somehow) immediately met Lowell who was involved in starting up a new publication:The Paris Review. So in a magical way she landed in the midst of exciting literary ferment, in one of the most interesting and beautiful cities in the world, at one of the best times to be there and connected with her beloved Lowell (ie).
Susan was beautiful and amazingly stylish, she pulled this off without any of the usual aids (she did not wear make- up or sneak off to NY for a an expensive haircut) she just always looked terrific. Susan always had the most current and interesting information about what was going on and who was doing what, although this information was not always verifiable...it was always riveting. To run into Susan in town was always an interesting experience and somehow electrified your day. The landscape is much less interesting without her. There are no replacements.
— Cornelia Hartman
An Absolute Love
I remember the many days Susan and I stood on Woodstock's Village Green protesting the Vietnam War. We looked like Mutt and Jeff, and always joked that we never saw eye to eye. Physically seeing eye to eye was impossible; metaphorically, however, our visions resembled Siamese twins. We stuck together through thick and thin. Luckily, neither of us became too thick physically.
About Lowell, an absolute love, a great translator. Lowell is one of the kindest and most gentle men I've ever known. Lowell and Susan introduced me to two of their friends. Arthur Samuelson and Dan Friedenberg.
Dan met Susan when she left college, (became unmatriculated) and entered the wildness of life. Dan remembers how Susan beat him in chess. He was most certainly devastated; perhaps, because he was a young man full of a male hormone, testosterone, which also exists in women. Susan wanted PEACE more than anyone could imagine, except for all the people she chose to befriend.
I was lucky; she chose me and stuck with me through thick and thin. And one of those thin times was in 1989. My father had died; I went off to California; came back alone; we spoke and Susan knew exactly what I needed. She made a match between me and Dan. Often she told me not to cry “for more than a couple of hours over any man” she knew well the drama of love. If I cried for more than an hour over any man I would develop wrinkles, and then I'd never be able to find another man.
About Lowell, an absolute love, a great translator. Lowell is one of the kindest and most gentle men I've ever known. Lowell and Susan introduced me to two of their friends. Arthur Samuelson and Dan Friedenberg.
Dan met Susan when she left college, (became unmatriculated) and entered the wildness of life. Dan remembers how Susan beat him in chess. He was most certainly devastated; perhaps, because he was a young man full of a male hormone, testosterone, which also exists in women. Susan wanted PEACE more than anyone could imagine, except for all the people she chose to befriend.
I was lucky; she chose me and stuck with me through thick and thin. And one of those thin times was in 1989. My father had died; I went off to California; came back alone; we spoke and Susan knew exactly what I needed. She made a match between me and Dan. Often she told me not to cry “for more than a couple of hours over any man” she knew well the drama of love. If I cried for more than an hour over any man I would develop wrinkles, and then I'd never be able to find another man.
-- Abigail Robin
Monday, March 1, 2010
For Susan Bair - What a Gift She Gave!
Susan Bair had a good and generous heart. When she herself was not well, and physically suffering, she helped to serve meals to homeless people in Kingston. For a while, she managed her church's "Bail Fund," money donated to give to local people arrested who couldn't post their bail.
Susan, would, as they say "give you the shirt off her back." And, speaking of her shirt, and her other clothes as well - what a sense of style she had! She dressed with simple elegance. When she would go to the grocery store, she would look like a tall, handsome model that just needed to pop in and pick up something after a photo shoot!
Susan's sense of style extended to her surroundings. She could bring home found furniture, add some Library Fair offerings, and with these make a really groovy-looking room!
Susan worked in the Woodstock Library for many, many years. For a short time I worked there near her. Libraries can be a haven for people who are socially fragile and sometimes difficult to get along with. Where some of the staff lost patience with these people Susan never did. She was completely non-judgmental and embraced everyone as her equal. She was especially fond of, and uncritical of, our free-spirited, noisy little Woodstock child library users!
I believe she got along so well with children, because she herself never lost touch with her own inner child. She loved to be a bit outrageous and enjoy the effect on others. I remember when she and Lowell lived on the mountain, and Susan and I were chatting in the yard - Susan sitting on a stump. I realized that several hundred newly-hatched spiderlings were attempting to cross over Susan's sandaled foot. "Susan!" I shouted, "lots of spiders are climbing over your foot!" She stared me down steely-eyed, didn't move, and said, "So? I like spiders!"
Susan would swoop down the mountain in her yellow Jeep, pick me up, and show me Woodstock's magical places; hidden ponds, waterfalls, and where the wild strawberries grew in such profusion amidst silvery lichens on sun-exposed rocks at the old Gilmore property - a person could pick jars and jars of them - enough to make jam or even pies!
Susan was so bright, and so knowledgeable regarding music, art, politics, history and religion. For many years she worked on a special project of cataloguing all the music books and holdings for the Woodstock Library.
Susan was always very strong, athletic, and a terrific swimmer. She was always seeking out exciting new places to swim around Woodstock. One of her more unique concepts was to obtain a fishing license for the Ashokan Reservoir, park, go down to a secluded cove, disrobe and jump right in! And so she did!
Susan had a wonderful wry sense of humor. If you were to tell her you were agitated, or feeling blue, before you knew it she'd have you laughing at the absurdity of the situation, and you'd be feeling very much better. What a gift she gave! I will miss her forever.
Miriam Sanders
Woodstock
Susan, would, as they say "give you the shirt off her back." And, speaking of her shirt, and her other clothes as well - what a sense of style she had! She dressed with simple elegance. When she would go to the grocery store, she would look like a tall, handsome model that just needed to pop in and pick up something after a photo shoot!
Susan's sense of style extended to her surroundings. She could bring home found furniture, add some Library Fair offerings, and with these make a really groovy-looking room!
Susan worked in the Woodstock Library for many, many years. For a short time I worked there near her. Libraries can be a haven for people who are socially fragile and sometimes difficult to get along with. Where some of the staff lost patience with these people Susan never did. She was completely non-judgmental and embraced everyone as her equal. She was especially fond of, and uncritical of, our free-spirited, noisy little Woodstock child library users!
I believe she got along so well with children, because she herself never lost touch with her own inner child. She loved to be a bit outrageous and enjoy the effect on others. I remember when she and Lowell lived on the mountain, and Susan and I were chatting in the yard - Susan sitting on a stump. I realized that several hundred newly-hatched spiderlings were attempting to cross over Susan's sandaled foot. "Susan!" I shouted, "lots of spiders are climbing over your foot!" She stared me down steely-eyed, didn't move, and said, "So? I like spiders!"
Susan would swoop down the mountain in her yellow Jeep, pick me up, and show me Woodstock's magical places; hidden ponds, waterfalls, and where the wild strawberries grew in such profusion amidst silvery lichens on sun-exposed rocks at the old Gilmore property - a person could pick jars and jars of them - enough to make jam or even pies!
Susan was so bright, and so knowledgeable regarding music, art, politics, history and religion. For many years she worked on a special project of cataloguing all the music books and holdings for the Woodstock Library.
Susan was always very strong, athletic, and a terrific swimmer. She was always seeking out exciting new places to swim around Woodstock. One of her more unique concepts was to obtain a fishing license for the Ashokan Reservoir, park, go down to a secluded cove, disrobe and jump right in! And so she did!
Susan had a wonderful wry sense of humor. If you were to tell her you were agitated, or feeling blue, before you knew it she'd have you laughing at the absurdity of the situation, and you'd be feeling very much better. What a gift she gave! I will miss her forever.
Miriam Sanders
Woodstock
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