I did not know Liz yet reading these remembrances from her loving friends I share their respect for her life. May her memory forever be a ? blessing.
Stan R. ’61
Simply the kindest and most giving soul in our class.
Just. heard about this from Chuck Cercone. Can’t say it any better than the other classmate posts – gentle and kind. Did not stay in touch after Williams but always such a totally nice person in a world sorely in need of them. Requiescat in pace Elizabeth.
“I ate it.”
Lizzie, “you ATE it”?
So it would go when Lizzie’s wonderful Boston accent turned “hate” into “ate.” We had our routines. Vaudeville-like. Same old jokes. What a delight it would be to have such an exchange with Lizzie right now! I see her bright-eyed and laughing. What a dear friend she was to me in college and beyond — so sweet and good and supportive and kind, so patient and loyal, so fun to be with. I depended on her buoyant spirit. Lizzie kept in touch over the years, even as her circumstances grew more difficult. She wrote and called. My sons have gifts from her: pillows and mugs with their names on them. My wife, Annie, never met Lizzie, but feels she knows her. She’s sad, too. We send love and thanks to you, dear Lizzie.
My memories of Liz are most vivid from freshman year and then many years later.
As I sought to navigate the at times choppy transition from an adolescent to an adult that was my freshman year of college, Liz’s warm heart and brilliant smile, so genuine and so constant, stood out in the early days of my life at Williams. So many of my memories from my college days have faded to black. Her smile and unconditional friendship remain bathed in light.
Years later she was added to my list of classmates to reach out to as an associate class agent. When I first reached her hearing her voice echoed many fond memories. Over the years I looked forward to reconnecting with her. She never said much about her life’s journey but I sensed her path had not been an easy one. But everytime we spoke, we laughed. Genuine and true moments of joy.
Elizabeth and I were co-JAs. I loved her voice and sparkle and genuine sweetness. She cared deeply about the young women in our entry, anyone who was suffering, and all animals, in addition to her family and friends. The year we lived together, she couldn’t get enough Diana Ross and the Supremes. Many mornings, she started playing “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” on our rickety old record player before 7 am. It was a great way to wake up. Elizabeth also had a wicked sense of humor; we shared many long laughs in our common room. She was a very, very gentle soul in a tough and uncompromising world, and I will always miss her. Peace at last, my dear friend.
Tina, how wonderful to see your name. I lived upstairs from you in Lehman freshman year–I know you remember me. You were like Liz–non-judgmental, and accepting of people’s frailties and humanity. You were super cool about my being gay when others were not, and I thank you for it, because suicide entered my mind a number of times during the first year in the land of perfect people. I just wanted to say thank you for being so accepting of your gay dorm-mate, and for allowing me to come by and chat with you whenever I wanted to, even if you were busy, and mostly seeking reassurance that i wasn’t a bad person because of my differences from the prepsters. Your good heart must be sorrowful now as well, so let’s cherish the memory of these friendships, the good ones, even they aren’t followed up with correspondence, for their goodness endures even if we fall out of touch. A friend is someone who wishes another person well, and is glad when good things happen to them, and sad when bad things do, like with beloved Liz. Tina, take care, write a note if you wish–I’d love to hear what you’re up to–and stay well. I know you are still the open-hearted, non-judgmental person you were in that very conservative, oppressive place (then, at least; perhaps Williams has changed). Seeing your name made me glad. best, Mike Mahana ’80 mahanaland@gmail.com btw I still talk about the greek gods and write books about them that nobody reads lol. michaelmahana.com
Liz, You were one of the few friends at Williams in those days who offered me refuge as a gay man in the early 80s. It wasn’t cool to be my friend then, but you were open and generous with your affections. We laughed over lunches, we made fun of ourselves and of everybody else–in a funny way, never a cruel way–, we wrote to each other for a while after school was finished. I found you so down-to-earth and real that this news comes as a shock and disappointment that you can’t be here to enjoy more of life, and that we stopped writing letters, but I know your good heart lived its fullest by loving without asking to be loved back, by accepting people as they are–even if society didn’t approve of it yet–and be being so encouraging always to whatever problems assailed us or hopes that drove us on. The Greek gods, my obsession, were instantly a part of your parlance, and we conversed in this private language freely, sharing our multiple selves and accepting contradictions as an adaptive way of living. Hermes the friend, Athena the alumnus, and Demeter, who is the family self–for you treated me like family, waiving any social pretenses despite our considerable class differences–I was just a military brat and the first in the family to get an eduction, yet you didn’t judge me as crass (which I was) and being just a human being, all of these gods love you, as do I. Sadly, with tears I’m fighting back only until this letter is finished, I now bid you farewell, but you will be with me with your kindness, your ability to allow pain to enter our lives instead of pretending it’s not there, and with it, the compassion of being a mortal human, as we all are, though we tend to forget that important, defining fact. I loved you and I’m going to weep now, and I hope this confirms to others what I knew the moment I met you: you are a refuge of love, and I’ll carry that love till I also meet my doom. love ‘forever’–if only!–Mike Mahana ’80
Liz was a sweet soul. She brought light and laughter to any room. Blessings and peace. Miss you.
Liz, one of the kindest humans to have existed on the planet. I remember your laughter, your twinkling dark eyes, late night talks, and your oh so kind heart.
Rest peacefully my friend Lizzie – you will be remembered.
My friend Liz, one of the absolute kindest humans ever. I have thought of you many times over these years – you will be missed and remembered for your laughter, your kind heart and twinkling eyes. I know you have found your peace.
I did not know Liz yet reading these remembrances from her loving friends I share their respect for her life. May her memory forever be a ? blessing.
Stan R. ’61
Simply the kindest and most giving soul in our class.
Just. heard about this from Chuck Cercone. Can’t say it any better than the other classmate posts – gentle and kind. Did not stay in touch after Williams but always such a totally nice person in a world sorely in need of them. Requiescat in pace Elizabeth.
“I ate it.”
Lizzie, “you ATE it”?
So it would go when Lizzie’s wonderful Boston accent turned “hate” into “ate.” We had our routines. Vaudeville-like. Same old jokes. What a delight it would be to have such an exchange with Lizzie right now! I see her bright-eyed and laughing. What a dear friend she was to me in college and beyond — so sweet and good and supportive and kind, so patient and loyal, so fun to be with. I depended on her buoyant spirit. Lizzie kept in touch over the years, even as her circumstances grew more difficult. She wrote and called. My sons have gifts from her: pillows and mugs with their names on them. My wife, Annie, never met Lizzie, but feels she knows her. She’s sad, too. We send love and thanks to you, dear Lizzie.
My memories of Liz are most vivid from freshman year and then many years later.
As I sought to navigate the at times choppy transition from an adolescent to an adult that was my freshman year of college, Liz’s warm heart and brilliant smile, so genuine and so constant, stood out in the early days of my life at Williams. So many of my memories from my college days have faded to black. Her smile and unconditional friendship remain bathed in light.
Years later she was added to my list of classmates to reach out to as an associate class agent. When I first reached her hearing her voice echoed many fond memories. Over the years I looked forward to reconnecting with her. She never said much about her life’s journey but I sensed her path had not been an easy one. But everytime we spoke, we laughed. Genuine and true moments of joy.
Elizabeth and I were co-JAs. I loved her voice and sparkle and genuine sweetness. She cared deeply about the young women in our entry, anyone who was suffering, and all animals, in addition to her family and friends. The year we lived together, she couldn’t get enough Diana Ross and the Supremes. Many mornings, she started playing “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” on our rickety old record player before 7 am. It was a great way to wake up. Elizabeth also had a wicked sense of humor; we shared many long laughs in our common room. She was a very, very gentle soul in a tough and uncompromising world, and I will always miss her. Peace at last, my dear friend.
Tina, how wonderful to see your name. I lived upstairs from you in Lehman freshman year–I know you remember me. You were like Liz–non-judgmental, and accepting of people’s frailties and humanity. You were super cool about my being gay when others were not, and I thank you for it, because suicide entered my mind a number of times during the first year in the land of perfect people. I just wanted to say thank you for being so accepting of your gay dorm-mate, and for allowing me to come by and chat with you whenever I wanted to, even if you were busy, and mostly seeking reassurance that i wasn’t a bad person because of my differences from the prepsters. Your good heart must be sorrowful now as well, so let’s cherish the memory of these friendships, the good ones, even they aren’t followed up with correspondence, for their goodness endures even if we fall out of touch. A friend is someone who wishes another person well, and is glad when good things happen to them, and sad when bad things do, like with beloved Liz. Tina, take care, write a note if you wish–I’d love to hear what you’re up to–and stay well. I know you are still the open-hearted, non-judgmental person you were in that very conservative, oppressive place (then, at least; perhaps Williams has changed). Seeing your name made me glad. best, Mike Mahana ’80 mahanaland@gmail.com btw I still talk about the greek gods and write books about them that nobody reads lol. michaelmahana.com
Liz, You were one of the few friends at Williams in those days who offered me refuge as a gay man in the early 80s. It wasn’t cool to be my friend then, but you were open and generous with your affections. We laughed over lunches, we made fun of ourselves and of everybody else–in a funny way, never a cruel way–, we wrote to each other for a while after school was finished. I found you so down-to-earth and real that this news comes as a shock and disappointment that you can’t be here to enjoy more of life, and that we stopped writing letters, but I know your good heart lived its fullest by loving without asking to be loved back, by accepting people as they are–even if society didn’t approve of it yet–and be being so encouraging always to whatever problems assailed us or hopes that drove us on. The Greek gods, my obsession, were instantly a part of your parlance, and we conversed in this private language freely, sharing our multiple selves and accepting contradictions as an adaptive way of living. Hermes the friend, Athena the alumnus, and Demeter, who is the family self–for you treated me like family, waiving any social pretenses despite our considerable class differences–I was just a military brat and the first in the family to get an eduction, yet you didn’t judge me as crass (which I was) and being just a human being, all of these gods love you, as do I. Sadly, with tears I’m fighting back only until this letter is finished, I now bid you farewell, but you will be with me with your kindness, your ability to allow pain to enter our lives instead of pretending it’s not there, and with it, the compassion of being a mortal human, as we all are, though we tend to forget that important, defining fact. I loved you and I’m going to weep now, and I hope this confirms to others what I knew the moment I met you: you are a refuge of love, and I’ll carry that love till I also meet my doom. love ‘forever’–if only!–Mike Mahana ’80
Liz was a sweet soul. She brought light and laughter to any room. Blessings and peace. Miss you.
Liz, one of the kindest humans to have existed on the planet. I remember your laughter, your twinkling dark eyes, late night talks, and your oh so kind heart.
Rest peacefully my friend Lizzie – you will be remembered.
My friend Liz, one of the absolute kindest humans ever. I have thought of you many times over these years – you will be missed and remembered for your laughter, your kind heart and twinkling eyes. I know you have found your peace.