When Dreams Won't Die

Most of us reach a point in our lives when we decide we have to let go of some of our dreams.

It happens. Day-to-day living has a way of grinding down the shine and sparkle of youthful ambition. Vision fades; aspirations wither. Consciously or not, most of us pick between these options: releasing ourselves from the promises of our youth or aging before our time under the weight of our regret.

But sometimes, a dream that will not die hitches itself to a spirit that will not surrender. That is the story of Harriet Richardson Ames.

In 1931, Ames earned her two-year teaching certificate at Keene Normal School, now Keene State College, in New Hampshire. Her career, which started in a one-room schoolhouse, spanned 40 years. Like any devoted first-grade teacher, she touched a lot of lives — and early.

That wasn't enough for the young dreamer who continued to breathe high hopes into the life of the teacher, wife and mother named Harriet Richardson Ames, who yearned to earn her four-year degree once the college started offering it. Over the years and through the decades, she wedged college courses into her busy life.

Ames retired from teaching in 1971 after her eyesight began to fail. She asked the college whether she had enough credits to graduate. She needed one more course: public speaking. A bit silly, it seemed.

"I was already going around talking to panels," she told film professor Larry Benaquist, who interviewed her two years ago for a documentary about the college's upcoming centennial. "The ladies' circles had me come; the Rotary had me come. I was already doing public speaking."

"One course," she told him. "That's all I needed."

But her failed eyesight and advancing years had put that out of reach. Still, there she was at age 98, talking about how she always had wanted that degree.

After the interview, Benaquist alerted college administrators. That's when a whirling dervish named Norma Walker made Ames' dream her business.

"We started looking into it," she told me.

Walker is coordinator of the college's Golden Circle Society, which organizes regular luncheons for alumni who graduated at least 50 years ago.

She's an 81-year-old former teacher whose youthful enthusiasm left me feeling freshly caffeinated after our first phone conversation.

We started by talking about the two dozen robins making an unseasonable visit to her backyard and quickly segued into a discussion about her longtime friendship with Ames through the Golden Circle Society. Walker offered a kindly tutorial on the importance of real-life friends.

"I've become very close to this group," Walker said. "Together, we go through the loss of husbands and wives, children with cancer, all the things that can happen in a life. I know it's the thing now to use text messages and e-mail, but it's just much better to sit down together and chat. There is nothing like that human connection when you hold a friend's hand and share the memories."

We can build new memories with old friends, too.

On Jan. 13, Walker visited Ames to deliver a dozen yellow roses, a college certificate commemorating her 100th birthday and a dream come true.

"Harriet," she said, "I have good news. Your college diploma is in the works."

Their eyes met. "Are you sure?" Ames asked.

"Yes, Harriet," Walker said. "I'm sure."

Ames started to cry.

"Norma," she said, "if I die tomorrow, I'll know I have that diploma. I'm ready to go anytime now."

That same day, Walker called employees at the college and told them to put a rush on it. "Twenty people pitched in to make this happen," she said. "Administrators, staff, faculty — everyone wanted Harriet to live to see her diploma."

Nine days later, on Jan. 22, Norma Walker made a final visit to an old friend. Ames was visibly weaker, barely able to speak and in hospice care. As soon as she heard Walker's voice, she grabbed her hand.

Walker leaned in. "Harriet," she said, "you hung on, and I've brought your diploma."

She began to read aloud: "This certifies that Harriet Richardson Ames has fulfilled the requirements ..."

The college graduate died the next day.

Connie Schultz is a Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist for The Plain Dealer in Cleveland and the author of two books from Random House, "Life Happens" and "... and His Lovely Wife." She is a featured contributor in a recently released book by Bloomsbury, "The Speech: Race and Barack Obama's 'A More Perfect Union.'" To find out more about Connie Schultz (cschultz@plaind.com) and read her past columns, please visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.

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