Remarks by Kathy Saitas, Reed College Director of Advancement

I am Kathy Saitas. For the past 18 years, it has been my great good fortune to work in Reed’s advancement office as a charitable gift planner. It has been a complete pleasure--and honor--to have known so many alumni… going all the way back to the early 1930s and in every decade in between. When I started at Reed, a friend and former staff member just laughed at me: Working at Reed is not a job, she said, it is a full body contact sport. She was right --- I can say from experience that Reedies are certainly passionate, incredibly smart …. and just so much fun. And Moshe, as you heard from others, occupies a singular place in the Reed pantheon.

But, I first met Moshe when I was working as a young lawyer downtown. Moshe confused me with my colleague Laura, and softly yoo-hooed in my direction-- Laaa-uuu--rrra, he--llo. I knew who he was, even if he didn't know me. I walked up and introduced myself. Hi Mr. Lenske, I am Kathy Saitas. I think you might have thought I was Laura Liebman. Moshe looked right at me and said, I am happy to know you, Kathy Saitas. I will remember you.

The next time I saw him, some years later, we were at Reed, and he did remember me. Our friendship was almost instantly familial. I never knew either of my own grandfathers, but when I imagine them, I like to think they would have been Greek-speaking versions of Moshe. 

Like a grandfather, Moshe called on my birthdays and when family members were ill. And he would leave the best voice messages --- It's Mo- oshe, just checking in.  --- Or, It’s me, calling to reminisce. Sometimes he would sing a whole song on the answering machine. His favorite was You Are My Sunshine. He’d drop by the house with treats, like mangoes and Cam-pa-ri tomatoes (favorites of his and mine).

He was constantly giving me books. Poems of the American South, connecting me to my childhood days in Georgia. And, true to his Reedie self, Sexual Life in Ancient Greece …as a wedding present.

Once, I accompanied him to meet Reed's new president. Wearing a flannel shirt and suspenders, fresh from cleaning his gutters, he picked me up in his mid-70s Volvo. He put on a wadded up tweed blazer from the backseat as we walked in. Turned to me, and asked, How do I look?

Moshe was completely unpretentious. You had to work at teasing out the strands of his life.
Sometime in the late oughts, he joined a family dinner when a few of our kids were there.  I overheard Moshe telling them stories I never knew about him — stories of his friendship with Alaska Senator Ted Stevens; and having spread beat poet Phil Whalen's ashes on Mt Hood; about his invitation to the Carter White House and his friendship with my legal idol, Sarah Weddington, who successfully argued Roe v. Wade before the Supreme Court. 

After dinner, as Moshe was preparing to leave, he paused at the door and said, I suppose I ought to sing for my supper. And with that he shuffled to the piano, sat down, and played from memory Chopin's Nocturne. Perfectly.  Set his hands down. Got up from the piano, walked to the door, and said goodnight.

Who knew he played piano? Who knew he and Sarah Weddington were friends? And that he knew President Jimmy and Ms. Rosalyn? I wonder if anyone knew all of his stories -- I suspect Hilda did. But the rest of us were left to imagine the mosaic from the few pieces of tile each of us held.

One thing I did know is that he had served in WWII. But he never spoke of it -- that is until the very end of his life, at which point it seemed like the one memory he most wanted to revisit. A few weeks before he went to the 80th commemoration of DDay, I was up at the Bi-Mart on Woodstock buying annuals for my patio pots. I was nearly through the checkout, when I heard this commotion behind me. I turned around --and there was Moshe. Baffled to see him on this side of the river I said, Moshe? is that you? And like your grandpa, he didn't bother with pleasantries. Kathy, I need a ride home. Apparently, he’d taken a taxi from Rose Schnitzer Manor back to his old neighborhood BiMart and the taxi driver had ditched him.

In the car, I asked him what on earth he was doing? He said he needed to get new clothes for the upcoming trip to Normandy. And he pulled out a pair of pants, a new shirt, and a new pair of underwear --  $13.88.  How did I do? He asked.

Moshe would always say to me, Kathy, it’s not when I go, it’s if I go.... a shrewd comment to make to your favorite gift planning professional. I guess he said it so many times, that I began to believe it.  But in July, if turned into when. Reedie Mela Kunitz ‘87 and I visited Moshe a few days before he passed away. He wasn't really able to speak, but he held our hands so tightly, we knew he didn't want us to go. We sang to him: You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. And somehow, he was able to add a labored "my sunshine" ---the last words I heard him speak. We told him we loved him --- that Reed loved him.

Today, Dear Moshe, it is with great joy for having known you, at least a little bit, that I can say, I will remember you.