Newsletter
Volume 28 | 2005 | Number 1
Lamentation
By Nancy Hughes Lindsley, Ph.D.
My husband, Ogden Lindsley, moved through life like a comet - glowing with brilliant intensity. He died as he lived: courageous, dignified, engaged with and learning from his environment. His medical care team was impressed by his intellectual vigor even as his beat-up body began to let go. He didn’t believe in life after death, but at the end, he came to think there might be a transcendent connection of some sort. “That must be what makes the music work,” he said, hours before he died. It is my belief that Ogden’s energy simply expanded into the universe and that his music plays on within us.
Ogden was a scientist. He sought truth, documented it, and defended it with conviction and strength of character. Within the dedicated professional was a remarkable individual.
As a young man, Ogden’s sense of adventure led him from New England into the wider world, but he was a true Old Yankee: proud, patriotic, thrifty, moral, ingenious, industrious, private, loyal, excruciatingly and charmingly honest. His idyllic childhood and the early loss of his father taught him the role of good and bad luck in life and fostered his penchant for social justice. Ogden was always for the underdog. He was curious and observant, iconoclastic, quick-witted, arch, and frequently hysterically funny. He was a poised and graceful man, a gifted performer and musician and a skillful teacher. He adapted to his profound WWII hearing loss by using entertaining and instructing as a conversational style, sometimes leading others to think he didn’t listen to them…but he did when he could hear them.
Ogden had an artistic flair, a good eye, and a well-developed sense of color and design. With his understanding of engineering, superb manual dexterity, and infinite patience, he could fix or improve just about anything. He could be ribald, expansive, and was always great company. He was a kind and good man who cared deeply about others. People loved him and he loved people, although he was not social in the usual sense. He was a homebody with loner tendencies who loved to think and work.
Ogden’s father encouraged his son’s keen intellect and modeled discipline and self-reliance. His mother molded his sense of humor, creativity, and respect for the traditions that give life dimension and continuity. She also, I believe, nurtured Ogden’s sweet, sensitive core and the thoughtfulness and tolerance that made him a tender husband.
On April 14th 1972, Ogden Lindsley literally walked into my life. Our time together ended on October 10th, 2004, by nature, not by choice. Lamentum, Latin for weeping, wailing, deep sorrow and great mourning, hovers over me these days, but it doesn’t overshadow 32.5 years of joy and excitement as Ogden’s mate. I live in the halo of his love and trust.
Nancy with Ogden, Always.