I was saddened to read about the death of Jim Kenney. We got to know each other in the spring of 1952, in Professor Raymond Hill’s seminar on the French Troubadours. There were only three of us in the class; Peter Sutro, also ’52, was the third. I was a year behind them, in the class of ’53. It was a glorious spring – Jim and Peter were about to leave Mother Yale, and I was about to claim the lofty title of Yale Senior. The poetry was equally glorious. Jim and I socialized a bit that spring. He sang with the Spizzwinks(?), if I remember correctly. We kept in touch for a while after he graduated and went to Boston, but ... well, you know how that goes.

I went on to graduate school in English, became a newspaper reporter, moved all over the country, then went to work for a large corporation, and in 1975 I moved back to Connecticut. Shortly thereafter I ran into Jim in the lobby of the Temple Medical Building. We chatted a while and renewed our acquaintance. I consulted him professionally several times, and invariably as I lay on his examining table we would reminisce about Raymond Hill and regale each other with tales of our trips to the South of France with our wives. Jim and his wife were particularly fond of Rocamadour, as I remember.

I can’t say Jim Kenney and I ever became close friends. But we shared a bond and every meeting we had, in his office or on the streets of New Haven, was a pleasant occasion. He was a nice guy; the older I get, the more I value niceness in people.

And so another link to the springtime of life is gone. Rest in peace, Jim.

Michael Lazare, YC ‘53
Larkspur, Colorado