The best thing about working at a University is also the worst thing: You get close to people. People who start out as strangers become family. Not just the people you work with day in and day out, but alumni and friends you come into contact with as a result of your job. And if you stay long enough, inevitably some of those people leave you.

In the ten years I have been at Norwich, I have had to say goodbye to a number of members of the Norwich family I had come to know well.

They were all unique individuals, each one deserving of a special tribute, but for now I’d like to talk a little about just one of them: George Garrison.

I got to know George and his wife, Nancy, through my involvement with the carillon.
George was a great supporter of the carillon, endowing two funds to ensure that the bells would be
maintained and played in perpetuity. As long as the Adams Bell Tower remains standing, a plaque honoring the man will remind us of his gift.

George was one of the most positive people I have ever met. The last time we spoke was during a brief visit I made to his home in Worcester, Mass. I knew he didn’t have long to live, so I made a special trip down from Northfield to see him. My final image of George is of him seated in a chair in his sunny sitting room, wasted by esophageal cancer, yet smiling, laughing, and telling Norwich stories as if it were the best day of his life. For all I know it may have been.

For as long as I live, no matter where I am, whenever I hear a carillon, I will think of George. This very humble man, by supporting something he believed in, managed to achieve immortality.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could all be more like George—within our families, in our communities, and in the workplace—and create shining examples for others to follow.

With this issue of the Record, I have tried to create a shining example of what it means to be a part of the Norwich family. May you read it with pride.

Diana L. Weggler

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