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We are gathered here today to celebrate the extraordinary life of A. Blair Helman, who served as president of Manchester College for 30 years. We knew him as a public speaker, a scholar, a leader in higher education in Indiana and the nation. We knew his enormous intellect. We knew his courage, which reflected so vividly in the persons he invited to speak at Manchester College – Eleanor Roosevelt, Buckminster Fuller, Martin Luther King Jr.
We know these things of President Helman, and we are thankful. But today, Bunny and Patty, his daughters, also want us to know the A. Blair Helman that his family knew.
- The baby born in the mountains of western Pennsylvania on Christmas Day, 88 years ago
- The coal miner
- The family man
Few people know that the dignified A. Blair Helman who worked closely with Andrew Cordier and other international leaders was born to a 16-year-old mother in the mountains of western Pennsylvania. Her labor was so long and difficult that the doctor told Blair’s father he might need to risk damaging the baby’s skull in order for his wife to survive.
Blair’s father, agonizing at the thought of the death of his first child, went out on the porch and prayed. In the wintery, icy December night, he promised God that if they were saved, he would dedicate the baby’s life to God. As Blair was growing up, he heard his father tell about this promise many times.
Blair’s parents raised six children. They had one cow, two pigs, and a garden. They grew almost everything they ate. His father felled and sold timber for a living, but life was lean in the rural Pennsylvania hills. Blair’s mother actually learned to read from her children’s school books. She supervised their homework at the kitchen table, and all of them graduated from high school.
President Helman’s work life began when he was just 8 years old. He worked the farm, often unsupervised for the entire day when his father worked in the woods. When he was 12, he joined his father cutting timber to sell for ties in the mines.
His birth to a young mother on Christmas Day, like another baby whose young mother delivered him in a stable in Bethlehem on Christmas Day, always had a sense of purpose. Blair knew even as a child that his father had dedicated his life to God. Blair had a purpose in life, and it guided him.
Having a purpose, though, can mean that the road is not straight or easy. When Blair graduated as salutatorian of his class at Windber High School, he had opportunities to go to college. But his father was seriously ill, so Blair stayed in Windber, where he worked for three years in Mine No. 35 to support his family. He sometimes reminisced about spending all day on his knees with the crew that opened up new sections to mine; but in reality, the threat of cave-ins frightened him deeply. Even in his last years, he sustained horrible memories of the mines. After long days in the mine, he walked through the woods to get home, often arriving home after midnight. He said the last part of his walk home was easiest because he was guided to the house by the light his mother hung at the door each night. His supper awaited him on the table, and it always included half a pie. Not half a piece. Half a pie.
His parents gave him deep roots and, when the time came, they gave him wings. His mother encouraged him to leave western Pennsylvania because somehow she knew in her heart that his calling led him elsewhere. She was courageous to encourage him to leave at a time in history when it was difficult to stay in touch. This is such a contrast to today’s parents, who cannot give their children wings of confidence and independence. Blair listened to his mother. With a one-way bus ticket, one suitcase, and $50 in his pocket, he went to Chicago, enrolled in Bethany Bible School, attended college classes, and worked. He didn’t return home for seven years.
From the time he left home until she died, his mother wrote him a letter every week. The letters were almost the same and always began with “How are yours? Ours are fine.” Each letter ended “I pray every day you’ll be a great man.” Listen again: “I pray every day you’ll be a great man.”
After his time in Chicago, he enrolled in McPherson College, which gave him what he described as “the happiest time of my life” – and no wonder. He wasn’t working a full-time job in addition to school. He had time to become involved in track, drama, the student newspaper, and student government. Not surprisingly, he was a national championship debater. At McPherson, he met Patricia Kennedy, whom he described in some notes as the “lovely blonde coed.” Later, with Pat by his side, he was pastor at several Church of the Brethren congregations in Kansas and worked on his graduate studies at the University of Kansas.
He became president of Manchester College when he was just 35 years old. Patricia was 30. He was a …
- Highly respected scholar of Soviet history
- Leader in the Church of the Brethren, chosen as moderator of the annual conference, the highest elected office in the denomination
- Respected college president, helping to start what is now the Independent Colleges of Indiana.
He saw the importance of global understanding far earlier than most and was instrumental in the creation of BCA Study Abroad. The late Gov. Frank O’Bannon said simply of President Helman: “He is a fine human being.” When he retired from Manchester College, his successor, Bill Robinson said, “Blair left the College in perfect order.”
He became a great man in higher education, his professional calling.
But he was a great man in another context, too – when he was with his family, where he was the private Blair Helman. To most of us, he was the man in the dark suit and tie. Or the solemn man presiding at commencement or reading the State of the College address. Or the man behind the huge presidential desk who faced us when we sat in the chairs that sank nearly to the floor.
But the foundation of his greatness was with his family, and they lovingly remember that “he wasn’t president at home.”
He was a wonderful husband to Patricia, the love of his life. Their friends know that all was not harmony in their conversations. They playfully argued about almost everything, and he contended that he never really got to vote because her vote always cancelled out his. He studied Soviet history; she wrote poetry. He organized complex bylaws for new organizations; she sculpted. She wrote music for the annual show for faculty, and he sat patiently in the audience as the target for most of her jokes. He was reason to Pat’s passion.
He was on the road a lot when he was President, often on behalf of Independent Colleges of Indiana and fundraising for Manchester College. John Ryan, former president of Indiana University, said he was “one of the most effective presidents I have known.” Father Theodore Hesburgh, president emeritus of the University of Notre Dame and a close friend of President Helman, described him as “a first-rate human being, a fine educator, and a person of high moral principles.”
Blair Helman gave speeches – sometimes very long speeches – at hundreds of churches, faculty dinners, alumni meetings, and service clubs. What we didn’t know is that while he was gone, Pat loved to spend time on her artistic projects, and she often changed or re-arranged the decorations in Tall Oaks. When he got home late at night from travelling, long after Pat was asleep, he’d sit in the living room alone and look at the new things Pat had created while he was out of town. He would decompress by admiring what she had done. It’s easy to imagine him, sitting in an overstuffed chair, weary, breathing slowly, winding down, with that relaxed almost-smile on his face, admiring the artistic gifts of his dear Pat.
He adored Bunny and Patty. They said he was a quietly decisive father. He didn’t let them have everything they requested, but he never said it in anger or with a loud “no.” They just didn’t get it. It won’t surprise you to learn that some of his colleagues at the College also experienced those same silent refusals. Because he had serious heart problems when he was just 40 and the girls were still small, they didn’t wait – as many of us do – to grow up in order to value what a great father he was. They treasured him even when they were teenagers because they had a fuller sense of the fragility of his life. He told them there were only three times in life when he felt like something very close to him was moving away – Bunny’s wedding to Patrick, Patty’s marriage to Ray; and Blair’s passing the baton to Bill Robinson, who became president at Manchester College when Blair retired.
Blair adored his grandchildren. Since the time his first grandchild was born, I cannot remember a conversation when he didn’t mention them. He celebrated their individual talents and their differences. He was happy that some chose to study at Manchester College, others at the University of Kansas, and one brave grandson who chose Indiana University. He spoke with pride of their academic and athletic accomplishments.
Blair’s temperament was consistent in all settings – family, church, the College. He was never cross or grouchy. He was always the gentleman. Bunny and Patty were with him when he was in pre-op for cardiac surgery, when Blair said to the doctor, “If there’s any way I can be helpful to you, please let me know.”
He was a family man, and his wife, daughters, sons-in-law, and grandchildren felt absolutely treasured by him. They knew that when he was around, they would be okay. And today, even though he is not around, they are okay. And so are we.
We are all right today because of the many lessons we learned from him, lessons he taught by word, and even more by action.
He taught us the importance of hard work. Current member of the Board of Trustees of Manchester College, Jane Henney, observed that “his energy and enthusiasm for the College were boundless.”
He taught us the value of education and the discipline it takes to learn.
He taught the value of laughter and good jokes. One of my favorite conversations with Blair was his lengthy and detailed description of the true story of the cow in the administration building of the College. He reassured me when I became president by saying: “Jo, when you get 1,100 bright young people together in one place, situations will arise.”
Blair Helman was also a man of deep faith, and he taught us that faith and learning can walk side by side.
He taught us that family is important.
He taught us to take care of things we value. He took care of Manchester College, and he took very good care of his family.
And we are all better because of the lessons he taught us.
Every day, Luie Helman prayed to God that her son would be a great man.
Indeed, he was.
And this moment – gathered together on the campus he loved so much with people he touched in a hundred different ways – we express our deep thanks for the good life and the legacy of A. Blair Helman, a great man.
And all the people said: Amen. |
