Chapter 11. Our Last Years Together
On May 29, 1969, Lew held his last seminar at New York University, but that did not mean he was ready to retire.
Until 1972, he kept up his seminars at the Foundation for Economic Education, where the intellectual atmosphere was so much to his liking.
At home, he was constantly reading. Once he was asked,
Don't you have a hobby? Oh yes, he replied, reading. His studio was his sanctuary, his books his treasures. The last thing he did at night before retiring was to go to the bookshelves and, like a gourmet studying the menu in a good restaurant, carefully select a book to enrich his evening. One of the last books he read with great interest was Louis Rougier's The Genius of the West. He had already read it in the original French edition, and he considered it to be a great and valuable book.
In the latter and hernia operations of many years before, Lew had an excellent constitution.
He was a healthy mind and a healthy body to the last year of his life.
His eyesight was perfect and remained so to his last days.
The only thing that depressed him was the deterioration of his hearing.
He could not participate in a general conversation, being unable to hear clearly when more than one person talked at the same time.
As a consequence of his poor hearing, he could no longer enjoy the theater.
Nevertheless, we kept up the subscription to the Metropolitan Opera that I had given him years before.
Thanks to our good seats, he could follow the performance as attentively as before.
The opera was the highlight of his later years.
Once in a while, he also listened to a chamber music concert on radio.
When I tried to get him interested in a good television show, he said,
It would take too much of my time.
And he specially objected to listening to commentators.
I can do my thinking alone, was his reaction.
An exception was Bill Buckley's firing line. Buckley's intelligence, his sharp and biting wit, his zeal and imminent productivity impressed Lew greatly. Lew was a steady reader of National Review, but often regretted that the magazine lacked sound economic articles, which he regarded as a mistake of Buckley's publishing policy. Lew's failing hearing was especially depressing to him in the discussion periods following his lectures, when he missed the questions that were put to him. In the last years of his seminars,
He changed that all questions be put to him in writing, and, for the benefit of the students, be read aloud to him.
Percy Greaves transmitted the questions to him.
Percy had such a clear and penetrating voice that even Lew could hear him.
This procedure proved satisfactory, and Lew's quick and brilliant answers always earned the admiration of the students.
The only disadvantage of the written questions was the interruption in the direct flow of thoughts between student and professor.
The deterioration of Lew's hearing, so natural at his age, made him feel lonely and isolated.
To avoid this, I invited even more people to the house than before, but he needed my
help more and more. I became sort of a public relations officer, the middle man between
him and his students. When meeting people for the first time, Lew usually asked for
their names in writing. He often told me the listeners at my lectures have a full hour
or more to look at me, to hear me talk, while I see them for only a short moment after the
In April, 1969, we flew to California for a series of lectures in Los Angeles. It was a quick trip, and we were back to New York after a few days. After 1971, he began to cut down on his traveling. The happiest summer of Lew's later years was that of 1967, spent in Middersill, a little village in New Hampshire. Middersill is like a tiny little village in New Hampshire, but it was a beautiful little town.
The house was roomy and charmingly furnished and had a well-equipped kitchen, so we could
either eat at home or walk the few steps to the Austrian restaurant.
The high point of our stay in Middersill was the visit of our little granddaughter Mandy,
June Gittem, my daughter, had brought to stay with us. When Lew saw the child, his eyes
lit up. She was a beautiful little girl, seven years old, slim, with blonde hair and huge
blue eyes. As I mentioned before, Lew hardly ever worked during his vacation. But when
he did, I would never disturb him. Mandy, however, did not recognize any rules. When
she wanted to have a word with her grandpa, she went straight into his room and he never
When she thought he looked too serious for her taste, she only needed to say,
Grandpa, smile! And immediately his expression changed, and a kind, warm smile brightened his face.
One day we visited Franconia College. The students recognized Lew and gathered around our car to pepper him with questions, mostly about Ludwig Wittgenstein,
the Austrian philosopher, who was in fashion with them at the time.
Lew, as always, answered every question patiently, while Mandy looked at the boys and girls around us. It was a strange crowd, their heads full of ideas and how to improve the world, their bodies scantily dressed. All were in bare feet, the girls with long flowing hair, and the boys had masses of beard framing their faces.
After watching these youngsters, little Mandy said, If all the boys and girls in American colleges look like this, I'd rather go to school in England.
Mandy, at that time, was a rather untidy little girl, and I tried my best to change her.
One day I told her, Mandy darling, each evening when I come into your room and find your toys
put away, and the room tidied and nice looking, I'll give you five cents. After a while you
will have saved enough to buy your mummy a nice present when she returns. When Lew heard
this, he explained to me that it was a bad educational practice to bribe a child, but
But that very evening he went into Mandy's room to kiss her good night, and told her,
Mandy, how would you like it if I gave you ten cents every night when your room was tidy?
Could anyone imagine that Mandy would not have liked it?
As usual, we had guests that summer, Elo and George Kutner, and Bettina and Percy Greaves.
We also became very good friends with the Austrian ambassador to the United Nations,
Baron von Heimerl and his wife, who had a little chalet very near to ours.
A year later, Dr. Heimerl became the Austrian ambassador to Russia.
They wrote us from Moscow, but the cards were so carefully worded that the unwritten words were more eloquent than the written ones.
In May 1970, Lew made his last extensive lecture trip.
It had been arranged by Charles Heatherly, at the time director of the Southern Intercollegiate Studies Institute
and later Educational Director of the National Federation of Independent Business in California.
This trip took us from Seattle, where Lew gave an excellent lecture before a full house of some 600 people via Los Angeles to Tucson, Arizona.
It was an exciting trip for us because it took place during the days of unrest on American campuses.
Many students wearing red armbands to show they were against participation in the Vietnam War were boycotting classes and lectures.
Others, frightened of being caught up in riots, simply stayed home.
Charles Heatherly accompanied us on the flight to Tucson.
At the airport, we were received by Dr. Luis Gaspar, a six-foot, 26-year-old bachelor who
was an assistant professor in the economics department at the University of Arizona.
Several of his students had come along to meet Lew, and all of them accompanied us to
the Pioneer Hotel, where they had taken quarters for us.
That afternoon, a friend of Leonard Reed invited Dr. Gaspar, four of his students, and our
This gentleman had an impressive library, and he immediately asked my husband to write a few words in his copy of Human Action, which was open on the table. He insisted that Dr. Mises was the only author besides Winston Churchill, whom he had ever asked to autograph a book.
Being familiar with Lew's views about Churchill, I am afraid I did not accept this news with the expected enthusiasm.
I would have liked to know, however, whether this so hospitable gentleman had really read all the books in his library and knew, as he stated, all their authors.
After a glass of champagne, he took us in his Rolls-Royce, driven by an elegant chauffeur, to the country club, where we had the best food we had eaten in a long, long time.
Next morning my husband preferred to stay in the hotel. The elegant chauffeur came with the Rolls, and Mr. Heathley went with me to the desert museum. This museum was a strange sight. Everything was in the open. We saw tigers, lizards, huge cockroaches, mountain bears next to caves, exotic plants, and strange looking flowers. I could not see enough of everything, but I must confess I was not very happy in that Rolls-Royce, and was glad when we were back in the hotel. There were only two Rolls-Royce
I was afraid the young people and their excitement might eventually become destructive.
Whenever there was time, I watched the riots on television and saw the mounting unrest among the students.
Lew's lecture was in the evening. We had to cross the campus again to get to the auditorium,
but this time we went in Dr. Gasper's car, so I felt no danger.
Gasper introduced Lew, reading the citation the American Economic Association had given him in 1969.
by the Association had given him in 1969.
Lew spoke about inflation.
As always, his presentation was clear and convincing.
Before and after his lecture, he got a standing ovation.
It lasted so long, it must have embarrassed him.
Mr. Headley had placed me in the first row.
During the question period after the lecture, I sent a question up to Lew,
printed to hide my handwriting and not giving my name.
What should undergraduates do if they are forced by their professor
by chance, Dr. Gasper took my piece of paper last, and it gave Lew an opportunity for a most impressive ending to the evening.
My actions startled me. Never before had I raised my voice or asked a question during one of the various lectures.
I failed to note down Lew's answer to my question, maybe because I knew in advance what he would say.
It was easy for Lew to answer my query. That must have been one of the reasons I sent it up.
That must have been one of the reasons I sent it up. I knew that the lecture in the following
half hour of questioning put a terrible strain on him, and I wanted to give him some relief.
As Lew's answer is more important than my question, I wrote to Dr. Gasper in February
of 1975, Do you by any chance have the lecture given in Tucson on tape, or could you give
me, out of your memory, a short outline of my husband's answer? Dr. Gasper answered,
I wish that I could satisfy your request at once from my own memory. Regrettably, my position
on the platform, the highest honor I have had, made me much the most nervous person
there, and therefore did not permit me to take notes as ordinarily I would.
With refreshing honesty, Dr. Gasper verified once more the bewilderment, adoration and
awe young people often felt when they first met my husband, only later would they realize
how humble and modest he really was. If I think about the answer my husband would have
given to his question, I am sure you would have advised the students to read what their
professor asked them to read. But read not only that, he must have said, read more. Read
everything about the subject from every point of view, be it socialist, Marxist, liberal,
libertarian. Read with an open mind. Learn to think. Only when you know your subject
from all sides can you decide what is right and what is wrong. Only then are you ready
The next morning, Lew and I visited the campus museum. When he became fatigued, we returned to the hotel. After lunch, the big rolls with the elegant chauffeur appeared again to take us through the campus to the auditorium, where my husband was to meet the faculty and then speak to the general public.
The faculty meeting was rather disappointing. Only about 25 members came to meet Lew. Dr. Gaspar explained they are like jackals, but don't forget the atmosphere of this campus is leftist, and the excitement about Nixon in Cambodia is increasing.
This was not very comforting, but in contrast to the faculty reception, the lecture for the general public was very crowded.
Louis spoke about the trade cycle and about gold, and when Gaspar asked some questions about the current economic situation, he gave his frank opinion in his forthright and honest way.
The public responded enthusiastically, and again my husband got a long-standing ovation. On Saturday, May 9th, we returned to New York.
That summer I rented a little house in Dorset, Vermont. It belonged to David Gilbert, former owner of the hardware store in the village.
Village. He was a self-made man who, when he retired, could not be without work and
had taken up picture framing, which he did extremely well and with great taste. We occupied
his original house, a lovely old building with a beautiful shady garden. Next to it
David had built for himself a small modern cottage where he lived with his wife Nora,
a very efficient and kind woman. We soon became good friends. By then we had been in Dorset
so often that Lew was known everywhere as the professor. Dorsa is easily reached from
New York, so we had frequent visitors. One day Percy Greaves appeared with four students
who had just attended a seminar at FEE. We already had met two of these young boys in
Seattle. They were most eager to see my husband again and to discuss various questions with
him. Lew held a seminar that day in the garden, beneath a huge, shady old chestnut tree. Afterward
In the neighboring garden sat our landlord David Gilbert, listening intently, making notes once in a while, determined to ask Lou later for explanation.
That summer we also had a most cherished visit from Gustavo and Lupe Velasco and Elenita, their young daughter.
Though Gustavo was an excellent driver, he had lost his way on the hilly back country roads.
When they had not arrived by eleven at night, everyone was worried. Even the owner of the Dorset Inn, where I had rooms reserved for the Velazcos. We went to bed without having seen them. Gustavo could not understand all the excitement. He was delighted to find a cold meal, cool drinks and fruit in his room, for the Velazcos had not eaten anything since lunch. They had hoped to arrive much earlier, but after eight o'clock it is very difficult to find a place in this part of Vermont where one can get a regular meal. Only three days later, when I asked Gustavo for
It was the middle of September when we returned from Dorset to New York. On October 21st we flew to San Francisco for another week of lectures. Lew gave his first lecture the next day, a short talk about money. For the first time I noticed that he was not as alert as usual. The trip and the change of climate and time must have affected him. To my great relief, I was able to get to know him.
On Saturday, Percy Greaves, who was with us all the time, had a lecture of his own in
Burlingame, where he spoke to a large audience for about three hours.
Lew came in at the end and finished the session with a short talk, lasting only ten minutes.
Then the questions poured in for Lew.
Percy, helpful as always, read them aloud and my husband answered, but I noticed a change
in his handling of the questions.
He used too much time in answering.
I sent him a note written in German, advising him to be very brief. Percy was rather humorous.
When he gave Lew the note, he did not know what it contained. He said, Professor, here
is a note in code, and everyone laughed. I was relieved that Lew understood. The audience
responded well, giving him huge applause, but I could not lose my concern about the
many lectures he had promised to deliver later that same year. I knew he needed rest and
Nevertheless, in November 1970, we went to Grove City College.
Hans Senholtz took good care that Lew was comfortable and had enough rest.
The audience, students taught under the guidance of Dr. Senholtz, were eager to hear the professor
talk.
The atmosphere was warm and friendly and the audience enthusiastic.
On December 10th, Lew gave a lecture at Plano University, and the following day he delivered
and a final short address to the faculty and student body at the university, where some
of Percy's students were graduating.
These were the last lectures he gave outside New York City.
His seminar in Irvington still went on, however.
The last time he spoke from the platform was on March 26, 1971.
He had always loved lecturing in Irvington, and he continued doing it as long as he felt
able.
It is fitting that the painting of Lew by George Augusta, the well-known portrait painter,
as a place of honor on the landing of the beautiful staircase of the Foundation for Economic Education.
This painting, initiated by Lawrence Furtig, was presented by the trustees of FEE to Leonard Reed
in honor of the Foundation's 25th anniversary.
I believe it may be of interest for the reader to know how this portrait came to life.
George Augusta practically lived with us from morning to night from March 8th to March 10th, 1971,
using these days for the basis of his work.
Our living room became his atelier. He shared his meals. He talked with us. He watched Lew's every moment. He tried to keep Lew interested, all the time observing him and watching his reactions. A psychoanalyst listens, a painter or a sculptor watches. The result should be the same, insight into a man's soul. For me it was fascinating to watch so closely an artist at work. All the time I had to sit next to Lew in a special location so that his eyes would rest on me constantly.
I could not have done this painting without you, Augusta often said, and I agreed that
my husband would not have wasted his time sitting quietly for three days without a book,
looking at nothing.
I love this painting, though in my opinion it does not show Lew as he was in 1971.
He looked more alive at that time.
The eyes in the painting have the distant look, the tired expression he showed only
in his last year.
But there is the tiny smile on his lips he always had for me and which I love so much.
For this smile I would have done more than sit still for three days.
Augusta also made a little color sketch of me and offered it to me as a present.
Knowing the value of his paintings, Larry Fertig had told me how much the trustees had
to pay for Lew's portrait.
I felt I could not accept the sketch.
But when he showed it to my husband, who did not know about the price, and Lew was so honestly
enthusiastic about it, he asked Lew whether he would accept it as a present.
Lew, really happy, accepted it.
Augusta said he would keep the sketch for a few days in order to finish it, show it
to a few friends, and then send it to my husband. But he must have forgotten about it, for Lew
never got it and was really quite disappointed.
A few months after my book was first published, I received a very kind letter from George
Augusta. He excused himself for not having sent the sketch. He somehow had mislaid it.
He asked me to accept, as a small compensation, one of the sketches he had made of my husband.
I was touched by this gesture and gladly accepted his gift.
Though I could never forget Lew's age, I set great hopes on the summer and the rest he
would get in the fresh unspoiled air of Vermont.
The Gilberts had rented their house year round, therefore for three months in the summer of
1971 I had taken a little house in Manchester, Vermont, and I was lucky to have found that
place.
It belonged to a Long Island lawyer who used it only in winter for skiing.
We lived in this house for the next two summers, and we loved this place more than we ever
had loved a place before.
It was located on a hill overlooking a beautiful green meadows.
It was a quiet little house with an open porch on three sides, which we could use at all
times of the day, for on one side at least there was, even in the greatest heat, a slight
breeze moving.
From the porch you could follow the road with your eyes far down into the village.
Lew often said the view reminded him of Austria, and perhaps this was one of the reasons he
loved the house so much.
We still walked frequently during the day, but Lew could not cover great distances.
We had friends living nearby, Professor Eric Hula with his wife Anne-Marie.
They had a house in Weston, and it was the most beautiful drive to their place.
They were the only people I ever knew who, having spent their summers in the country
for almost 30 years, could manage without a car, and they could not bear television.
We also visited with the former Indiana congressman, Samuel B. Pettengill, who lived the year round in Grafton, Vermont. He is the author of The Charming Yankee Pioneers, which gives such a clear description and picture of the country and people of New Hampshire and Vermont.
Lew still loved to have guests, even if he did not participate in the conversation as much as before.
Percy and Bettina and Frank Diersen spent a week with us, and George and Ilo Cutter spent a night with us, enthusiastic about the beauty of the place.
One day, Lew did not feel very well, so we went to see the local physician, Dr. Clifton Harwood, whose wife was a Vermont State Senator.
When the doctor heard Lew's name, he greeted him as an old acquaintance and as his most honored patient.
He knew Lew's books, and he knew much about him from human events, which was the literature laid out on the table for his patients.
Dr. Harwood was an unpretentious country doctor. His office was simple, with wooden chairs and a no-smoking sign on the wall.
But when he had office hours, which he had daily with the exception of Thursday, every seat was taken.
When a mother came in with a little baby and the child was crying, everyone had to wait. The child was treated first.
Clad in a simple white shirt, his trousers held up by braces, he was a humanitarian in the real sense of the word. His profession was to help and to heal.
Lew was very ill that summer with an infection, and I found Dr. Harwood to be a first-class diagnostician.
He took excellent care of my husband, arranging for him to be brought immediately to the hospital in Bennington.
When Lew was dismissed too early and had a relapse, Dr. Harwood came to the house whenever we needed him.
When Lew had to re-enter a hospital and Bennington was overcrowded, Harwood arranged for me to
take him to Williamstown in Massachusetts.
My husband wanted to have me with him all day long, so I had to drive 50 miles daily
while he was in Bennington, and 100 miles while he was in Williamstown.
People suggested that I stay near the hospital, but I longed to go back to our little house
at night to be there when the telephone calls poured in.
One day Percy Greaves came from Tarrytown to see Lew in the hospital in Williamstown,
And I asked him to stay overnight at our house. I had just received permission to take Lew
home the following day. Percy agreed, and when we left the hospital at eight o'clock
he followed me in his car. Suddenly a terrible thunderstorm developed. It was raining so
hard when we drove through the lonely mountainous parts of the country that we could not see
ten yards ahead. There were no roadside turnouts, nor any possibility for shelter. We simply
had to drive on. Percy followed me, watching my car closely, ready to help if I should
to Need Him.
We arrived at the house late and left early the next morning.
We had the same drive part of the way.
Percy was supposed to return to New York, so I described the place where our two cars
would have to part.
But when we came to that spot, I saw that Percy was still following me.
I stopped and he told me,
You don't think I would let you bring the professor home alone?
How could you manage?
And he went all the way back with me to Williamstown, took care of the formalities and helped Lew,
Louis recovered completely that summer, but he himself realized that he was no longer the same. He became very quiet, and I often wished he would tell me once again some of his war stories, which in former years he had told me so often.
He once said, the worst is that I still have so much to give to the people, to the world, and I can't put it together anymore. It is tormenting.
A few weeks after we returned to New York, Lew had his 90th birthday. Larry Furtick had arranged a small intimate party for about 20 good friends at the New York University Club.
As a special present, Lew received a two-volume Fest Shift from the Institute for Humane Studies in California.
The Fest Shift included 71 essays from scholars in 18 countries, former students and friends
of Lew's from all over the world.
The idea for the book, Towards Liberty, was conceived by Gustavo Velasco and enthusiastically
embraced by the president of the institute, our good friend Dr. Floyd A. Harper, and beautifully
produced by Kenneth Templeton.
I knew about this plan from the very beginning and had promised Dr. Harper not to tell Lew
What Lawrence Furtig wrote in Towards Liberty seems to me almost prophetic.
Economic historians of the 21st century will undoubtedly be puzzled by the reception accorded to economic theorists of the 20th century.
They will particularly be puzzled by what occurred in the span of years between World War I and 1970.
Great honors were showered on economists whose major accomplishments had been to promote a major inflation,
which, by the end of the 20th century, was acknowledged to be the source of tremendous social unrest and economic crises.
These were the fashionable economists who were sponsored by wealthy foundations, and indeed by most of the intellectuals of academia.
But when economic historians of the future came to evaluate precisely who had made the most significant contributions to economic theory,
to those broad and fundamental principles which explained human actions in the practical world people must live in,
their puzzlement increased, for they could find only a meager record of economic honors,
or Monetary Prizes by Leading Ivy League Universities,
according to one economist who had discovered and formulated some of the most brilliant economic theories of that century.
His name was Ludwig von Mises.
In the coming weeks, when Lew read all of the articles that were published about him in magazines and papers all over the world,
he said to me, the only goods he loved to see most were Larry Furtig, Henry Hazlitt, and Percy and Bettina.
You, he often said, I would not want to live any more.
I never believed the doctor when he told me in the last weeks of Lew's life that a patient
does not know when his mind is slipping.
My husband certainly knew it, and he saw no purpose for his living any longer.
The last summer, 1973, I was too tired to keep house again, and we flew to Switzerland,
to a health resort high above Lucerne, with the most beautiful view on the Vierwald-Steter
University, and the surrounding snow-covered mountains. The place had a beautiful park,
the owners were friendly and attentive, and Lew loved to walk in the park, but the medical
attention was poor and insufficient. We left after a few weeks, and the very day after
our return to New York, Lew had to enter the hospital, and never left it again. He was
not allowed any visitors, but when Percy and Bettina came to see him on his 92nd birthday,
He asked me to let them enter. Bettina wished him a happy birthday, and he thanked her and
kissed her hand. The Austrian gentleman had remembered the old Austrian custom. Bettina
and Percy cried so hard that I led them out of the room. I did not want my husband to
be disturbed. With the help of Valium, I managed to keep my smile for Lew all the time.
His last and greatest joy was when I read him part of the article that Henry Haslett
had published in Barron's for Lew's 92nd birthday. I read him only a short passage in which Hazlitt
says, These 92 years of his life have been amazingly fruitful. In conferring their Distinguished
Fellow Award in 1969, the American Economic Association credited Mises as the author of
19 volumes, if one only counts first editions, but of 46 if one counts all revised editions
and Foreign Translations. In his last years other honors have come to Mises, but such
honors, even taken as a whole, seem scarcely proportionate to his achievements. If ever
a man deserved the Nobel Prize in Economics, it is Mises. I read it twice to Lew to be
sure he understood, and he smiled, a sad resigned little smile. This same sad little smile I
I remember only too well when, on December 4th, 1969, Lew read an article by Winston
Duke published in the Harvest News, the Harvard University Business School community paper.
It was called, The Man Who Should Have Received the Nobel Prize in Economics.
I would recommend Mises' book, The Anti-Capitalist Mentality, to each member of the HB School
faculty as an exercise in introspection.
And to the serious student of economics, Mises' monumental work, Human Action, the greatest
piece of economic literature since the wealth of nations.
Human action alone is justification for a Nobel Prize in Economics.
It is a poor comment upon the economic departments of so-called liberal and open-minded universities
throughout this nation that this man's works are so systematically excluded from economic
texts in classrooms.
Likewise, it is a sickening comment upon the men who chose the recipients of the Nobel Prize in Economics that Professor Mises was not, even, nominated for that honor.
Lew's mind was especially clear the day before his death. He held my hand all day long, but he was very weak, and his voice was barely audible when he told me in the evening,
You look so tired. You must go home now and get some rest.
At 9 p.m. the doctor insisted on my leaving.
Shortly afterward, Lew went into a coma and never woke up.
He died at 8.30 in the morning of October 10th, 1973.
His doctor and three of the kindest young floor nurses were with him.
At 9 o'clock a.m. the doctor called me to the phone. Gitta was at my side.
When people get older their needs change, their wishes decrease, material things lose their importance, but even older people can dream, and sometimes these dreams become wishes more difficult to fulfill than material luxuries.
If I myself could realize one such special dream, it would be that every president of the United States should get for his inauguration a complete set of loose books, destined for the Oval Office in the White House.
These books should be marked for special recommended readings concerning government interference, socialism and inflation.
Perhaps they would help to preserve freedom in the United States.
My second wish would be that every university or college where economics and political science are taught would,
out of their own free will, add to their curriculum a course on freedom of the market.
I can best sum up my husband's character in the very words that he himself used in writing about the distinguished economist Benjamin Anderson.
His most eminent qualities were his inflexible honesty, his unhesitating sincerity and his
unflinching patriotism. He never yielded. He always freely enunciated what he considered
to be true. If he had been prepared to suppress or only to soften his criticism of popular
but obnoxious policies, the most influential positions and offices would have been offered
to him, but he never compromised. This firmness marks him as one of the outstanding characters
in this age.