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Frances Riecken Memorial Gathering
Grand Oaks Assisted Living Community
Washington, D.C.
July 23, 2011

Nicholas Johnson


The members of the Riecken and Johnson families have seemingly always been a presence in each others' lives, even when separated by time and distance.

My mother and father, Edna and Jack, are no longer here to share their bountiful memories of Rieckens going back roughly three-quarters of a century, so my sister, daughter and I will fill in for them.

My first memory of Frannie was when I was a small boy. She was standing in our living room and smiling down at me. She could have been in her twenties for all I know now. But boys my age saw humanity as either children or grownups, and she was clearly a grownup. My limited experience with older women was that most seemed to ignore little boys, unless they were scolding them. Whenever I drifted out of sight, one of my mother's favorite lines to anyone handy was, 'Go see what Nicky is doing and tell him to stop it.'

Ever after I remembered that lovely woman who had smiled at me, and provided my first insight into what only in later life I came to describe as 'the natural superiority of women.'

My sister, Kate, who is out of the country, wrote me:

I remember Fran as a warm, interesting person who always seemed very interested in us. She and Hank gave me a call once while passing through New York and I visited at their hotel. I think she had fond memories of staying in your room upstairs when I think she was a grad student. She was very fond of our parents and they of her. I remember staying at her and Hank's house. I loved her pottery.  I remember she made an effort to help me track down an old friend. Wish I could be there.  Love to all her family.
My daughter, Julie, wrote:
Some of my memories are of windows with plants and pots, and clay wind chimes hanging artfully throughout the house. But my most precious memories include the smell of clay, as I would watch Fran create beauty . . .. She would hand me some clay, and with her encouragement my creative spark was lit. I still smile when I remember a clay lion I made with her support. Years later, in high school, I spent hours in art class at a kick wheel making bowls, cups, plates and tea pots. It was those hours at the kick wheel that helped me through my parents' divorce. . . . [T]he pottery I made is long gone, but I still have one of Fran's pieces. The pitcher I have is not a particularly good example of her work, but it holds my memories of the person who sparked my creativity. Whenever I think of Fran I smile, and if I take a deep breath I can still smell the clay.
It took another seventeen years before I was willing to risk another marriage. And during the initial devastating weeks it was Fran and Hank who provided not only smiles and support, but meals and a place to live until I could find an apartment.

As with Julie, there was something calming for me as well about Fran's pottery '  the process as well as the product.

In fact, it made such an impression on me that I commented about it in my book, Test Pattern for Living — a 1970-style presentation of the virtues of the simple life.

I wrote,

If you can't make your own furniture and other household objects, you can try to buy them from people who do. Fran Riecken, a woman I have known since I was a very small boy, has taken up pottery in the last few years -- with non-toxic glazes. Her pieces are so nice that I really prefer the "seconds" because they look more handmade (and are cheaper). They are all about my office and home . . . and add to my pleasure.
There is a biography of Hank Riecken titled, 'Present at the Beginning (Many Times).' Indeed he was that, as well as a most worthy role model for me. His 1954 book with Leon Festinger, When Prophesy Fails, is still in print. And with reason, as we all found out last May 21st when the world survived its latest predicted demise.

I kept up with Susan through her beautifully illustrated calendars, and the extraordinary work she and Allen did creating libraries in Central America.

Gilson gave me the wonderful line from a drawing instructor, 'I can't teach you how to draw. I'll just teach you how to see. You'll have to teach yourselves how to draw.' I use the law school equivalent in class. I gave Gilson, in return, a letter of recommendation to his local draft board, explaining his potential as a lean, mean, killing machine for Viet Nam. And while I was living in his house, he was working in my FCC office. [Old Link: http://www.mpplaw.com/gilson-s-riecken/]

A family friend in Iowa City, who recently showed me with pride three of Fran's pieces, told me of driving in Palo Alto with Fran and Leon Festinger's wife, Mary, when they spotted Annie hitchhiking. They gave her a ride — along with some advice about hitchhiking. Today Annie carries on the artistic traditions of her mother and siblings, as chair of the Arts Council in her New Hampshire home town.

But even they, and perhaps especially they, would acknowledge Fran's ability to center — her life and the lives of others. You had the sense she could have centered those pots without even turning the wheel.

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