Deceased September 11, 2001
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In Memory
Mitchel O. Garrett died Sept. 11, 2001, in Southern California after being diagnosed in May with multiple myeloma, or bone marrow cancer. He had recently moved with his family to Australia but was evacuated back to Los Angeles during the summer.
He leaves his wife, Gloria; an 8-year-old son, Harry; and two stepchildren, Michael ’04 and Lauren. A memorial service was held in Johnson Chapel on the Amherst campus.
Two of his best Amherst friends, Chuck Berman ’75 and Jeff Jonas ’75, remember Mitch as an intense yet fun-loving friend, who lived life—as he “hummed” the ski slopes—at full speed.
First, from Chuck Berman ’75:
Since his death on Sept. 11, Mitch has been in my thoughts daily. While unrelated to the NYC September 11 attack, both events have stirred a reawakening of the sense of the fragility of our lives, the short time we have with friends and family, the blessings of good health and laughter, and a need to reach out and help others.
It has been more than 25 years since we were together at Amherst. Many of our colleagues’ children, including Mitch’s stepson, are now occupying the same classrooms and dorms we spent time in. A new generation has emerged in a blink. In another blink it will probably be our grandchildren there. And, similarly, in a blink Mitch disappeared.
Fortunately, all the memories are not a blink but instead are rich in color and texture. I remember Mitch from our time spent in greycoats working at Valentine, to long evenings spent at Chi Psi sharing our daily experiences and passions.
We spent several Januarys skiing together out West, trying to conquer our fears of steep chutes, huge moguls, and bottomless powder. After college, our common passion turned to golf. Mitch and I had the good fortune of playing together numerous times over the years while renewing our friendship and sharing new fears and triumphs. He taught me how to hit a specialized shot that, unfortunately, I have had to play too many times since. But, each time, his voice rings out reminding me how to hit the “Mitchel.”
He and I always spoke of playing together at Royal Dornach in Scotland. Now I understand he wishes to have his ashes scattered there by his friends. I will miss him.
And from Jeff Jonas ’75:
I have been at a loss to describe my feelings about Mitchel Garrett’s passing on Sept. 11. When Mitch suddenly took ill and had to return to California from Australia, I had the chance to visit with him at the hospital. Save for the physical changes one experiences with chemotherapy, Mitch seemed almost his usual self: introspective, thoughtful, more interested in what was happening in my life than in the events of his own. We spent the afternoon together, and though I understood the seriousness of his illness, I could not or would not appreciate the possibility that I might not see him again. On reflection, the strength of Mitch’s personality made it impossible to think he could simply succumb to illness.
I first met Mitchel in New York City, at the pre-freshman Amherst orientation at the University Club, where we were gathered to share the good fortune of our acceptance; and we quickly became fast friends after that. Mitchel was a true friend, who always listened and spoke his mind. Over the years, he developed a powerful intellect—restless, impatient, and probing. But Mitchel also had a joy for life and sought new experiences and adventure, so he never shied from change or challenge. As a result, he was a great, fun friend and companion.
Mitch earned his nickname “the Hummer” during our winter ski trips to Colorado. He enjoyed skiing alone, but would always let us know how his day had gone, usually telling us he had “hummed” down the slopes.
After college, Mitch and I kept in close contact and at times traveled together, including a memorable month in New Zealand, and more recently, joining Mitch when he raced his antique “pumpkin see” racer at the antique boat races in upstate New York. Most of all, Mitch was proud of his family and children, and he never failed to mention how happy they had made him.
Even in passing, Mitchel remains a force—a presence I never thought I would be without. But he is gone now, and I know that I for one will never forget him.
Jim Kennedy ’75 with Chuck Berman ’75 and Jeff Jonas ’75