In Memory
his years of community service. He volunteered for Meals on Wheels, FISH Clothing Closet and Food Pantry, Wesley Thrift Shop and delivered books to shut-ins for the Crawfordsville District Public Library. He was preceded in death by his sister, Muriel Mortenson. He is survived by his wife, Marion Powell, 1041 W. Market St., Crawfordsville, IN 47933; daughters, Carol Lombardi and Karen McCarthy; four grandchildren; and one great-grandchild.
A Remembrance
VICTOR MORGAN POWELL H’55 Victor M. Powell died October 6 in Crawfordsville. Born November 25, 1919, in Fargo, ND, he was the son of Rev. George W. and Florence Powell. He married Marion Clark of Plymouth, MA, in 1947. He was a 1941 graduate of the University of Minnesota and received his master’s and Ph.D. degrees from the University of Missouri. During World War II, he served four years in the Army Air Force in New Guinea and the Philippines and achieved the rank of master sergeant. He taught for a year at Dartmouth College and came to Wabash College in 1947 as assistant professor of speech and debate coach. Powell served Wabash College in virtually every possible way: professor of speech, department chair, secretary of the faculty, dean of the college, executive vice president, and acting president. He officially retired from the College in 1989. In 1981, he received the honorary degree of Doctor of Humane Letters from Wabash. He also received the McLain McTurnan Award for Excellence in Teaching. He was named an honorary Wabash man, class of 1955. The Class of 1954 honored him by naming a classroom in Goodrich Hall after him. “He was one of the greatest of teachers at Wabash, and a consummate teacher of teachers,” said Wabash President Patrick White. “Anyone who ever had a conversation with Vic learned from him, and we all were fortunate to be his students.” On the occasion of his 90th birthday, the National Association of Wabash Men paid tribute to Powell, saying, in part, “Let this resolution demonstrate the gratitude of all Wabash men— and particularly this Board—for his lifetime contributions to the College and for his personal friendship to generations of Little Giants.” In Crawfordsville, Powell served on the school board nominating committee. He was president of the Parks and Recreation Board, City Council member and Board of Police Commissioner member. He also served on the boards of the Christian Nursing Service, Family Crisis Shelter and Adult Day Services. In 1991 he received the Rotary Club’s Paul Harris Fellowship award for
Vic Powell was a man of words. He taught rhetoric and speech for nearly half a century, he delivered countless spirited speeches at the podium of Pioneer Chapel, he vigorously lured colleagues and friends into debates at the Scarlet Inn roundtable, and always garnered an audience for a story. There was one occasion, however, in the basement office of his Market Street home, when I stumped the grand orator. I had been meeting with Vic to record his reflections of his life and career for my senior history seminar project. Professor Peter Frederick had assigned us to chronicle the lives of emeritus faculty members as an exercise in crafting local history. Vic had declined Peter’s first request to participate. This casual humility would serve as the largest obstacle in crafting an accurate and personal biography of the man many have esteemed as a “legend.” As our conversation turned from stories of his colleagues and friends to questions of how he would, one day, be remembered, Vic stumbled through a response. Brushing away the implication that he profoundly changed the lives of many, Vic later would say the thought of imagining an official oil portrait of him gracing a Wabash classroom to be “horrifying.” For all that Vic has meant to Wabash students, faculty, staff, and community members, he was the last to acknowledge his influence. “A man does what he has to do” was a phrase I heard him mutter several times in our interviews. It was one of the phrases his daughters heard often from him.
for the Scarlet Inn. When I sat next to Vic and Marion at basketball games, our conversations could be interrupted at any moment by their energetic outbursts. When his daughters, Carol and Karen, were in town, and I was invited to be the fifth chair at the dining table, their recollections of childhood easily mingled with stories of their roles as parents. I realize that my time with Vic depended upon the generosity of those who loved him dearly. But any story of Vic’s life must conclude that we all leased time from him. Marion, his wife of 64 years, would joke that Wabash came first and she came second. Carol and Karen shared that same joke, but also recognized their parents’ marriage served as a model for the men they would eventually marry. Their father served as the largest single influence in shaping their careers, their adult family lives, and sense of self. And as Karen shared, memories of her father were synonymous with memories of Wabash College. “My sister was married in the Wabash Chapel. I know I will have to say my final goodbye to my father in that same Chapel.” We have lost a Wabash legend, a man who genuinely engaged with students and friends for more than 64 years in Crawfordsville. We have also lost the College’s unofficial oral historian of Wabash culture and lore, an anthropologist who offered perspective on contemporary issues. As Dean of the College, Vic made this closing remark to graduating seniors in 1973: “Wabash is in large part an entailed inheritance from those who have built their lives into its history. It is what it is because of what has been lived here as well as what has been taught here.” It’s our time now to share the tales that Vic Powell told, this time adding his part in the story. —Mark Shreve ’04
I INTERVIEWED VIC in his basement office, surrounded by volumes of speeches from Lincoln and books on Aristotle, files of talks delivered at Monon Bell Chapel and syllabi from countless Speech 1 courses, photos of fellow legends like Dan Evans and W. Norwood Brigance, and family portraits from travels in the western United States. Bookending his desk were a typewriter and colorful iMac computer, physical artifacts of the span of his life and career. I allowed the tape recorder to capture his stories for historical record while I observed the way in which he told these tales. “Room-filling energy” was a principle not reserved for a thirdfloor Center Hall classroom! Vic did all things with gusto. When I would see him on his daily walk toward campus, he would slow his stride a bit so we could enjoy a few minutes of conversation before he turned
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