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A Posthumous Tribute: Boris Vishnevsky, Walnut Hills High School Class of 1962
Deceased February 21, 2018
Boris Vishnevsky was born on March 22, 1944, in Dachau, the oldest and largest of the Nazi concentration camps. He was the only child of two prisoners, Drs. Vasily and Maria Vishnevsky (originally Vishnevetsky), a pair of Soviet physicians whose medical work in the Ukraine of the USSR was halted when Nazi Germany’s invading forces overran the area. After capture, they had been taken with the retreating German troops to Bavaria where they were interned in separate areas of Dachau. There, Maria was able to successfully assist a woman’s delivery in the camp dispensary; for that, Maria was accorded clinical status. She then asked that her physician husband be relieved of manual labor in another part of the camp in order to also serve in a medical capacity. During the fateful period of Maria’s pregnancy, 1943-44, Nazi extermination of other camp prisoners was carried out on an incredible scale. There was no reason to expect that the Vishnevsky family would survive the camp internment or the ongoing and worsening war. With the camp’s liberation, April 29, 1945, the Vishnevsky’s joined millions of European “displaced persons” seeking help from the International Red Cross, other charities and the US and Allies’ military governments.
Accepted for post-war immigration to the USA, the Vishnevsky’s first settled in southern California and later moved to Pueblo, Colorado. When Boris was 11, his parents had found medical and nursing employment in Cincinnati; they bought a two-story frame house on Windsor Street directly across from the 1890s brick and stone Windsor Elementary School. In September 1955, he was placed in the top tier classroom for 6th grade. Already then, his school sport was baseball; it was civilized, was American and utilized his large frame and strength. In June of 1956, he and four others of us from Windsor (W Webster; L Ottaviani; D Jarman; and D Lawrence) were excited by the opportunity go to the nationally ranked 6-year combined college preparatory program at Walnut Hills H.S.
Entering WHHS in September, perhaps he already anticipated following his father and mother – respectively, now a Cincinnati hospital anatomic pathologist and a nurse -- into medicine and the sciences. Boris was quiet and not outgoing but gracious when fellow students sought his friendship. Years later, when asked about his favorite class, he always mentioned the non-science WHHS course he had found perhaps most stimulating: Modern European History, taught by Mr. Knab. Boris’ family origins near the boundary of Eastern Europe and western-most Asia perhaps enabled him to appreciate that course as could only few other WHHS students whose families had immigrated to the US in response to the events of WW-II.
After WHHS graduation in 1962, Boris pursued a pre-med program at the University of Cincinnati, majoring in U.C.’s notably challenging BS in Chemistry to which he added a minor in Mathematics. Whatever his courses -- physical chemistry or theoretical mathematics -- Boris always sought further depth and breadth by finding innumerable additional reading source material. Once again, but now at U.C., his favorite non-science course was Medieval History taught by a young assistant professor – later a famous U.S. medievalist -- who had emigrated from Russian and whose U.C. classroom presentations covering a thousand years of history was electrifying.
The most frequent and prolonged period of my contact with Boris was when we were both U.C. pre-meds and spent untold hours studying chemistry, physics, and mathematics until midnight across his family dining room table in his home on Windsor Street. In their home, I came to know his courageous parents. In study breaks, I got to enjoy their large collection of classical music of highest audio fidelity; it was sublime. Our paths diverged when I left Cincinnati at the end of my junior year (and without the BS/chemistry) to begin Duke Medical School; he continued, earned his BS in chemistry, applied and was accepted to the U.C. College of Medicine. Just before he started in medicine in the Fall of 1966, he visited me and met my future wife at Duke. I was able to escort him on a tour of the Duke University campus that so resembled the gothic architectures we had studied in Medieval History at U.C.
Enrolled at the U.C. College of Medicine in the fall of 1966, he began the medical curriculum for which he had so long prepared. Its lightning fast pace of presentation -- of vast and sometimes disparate material -- was antithetical to his appreciation of a progressive, sequential and linear manner typical of academic didactics in physics, chemistry and mathematics. Massive memorization was not enjoyed nor even admired by him. He withdrew, reconsidered, but then confirmed his dissatisfaction a year later; his formal academic career ended.
Once outside the cloisters of academia, he encountered a turbulent USA at war in Vietnam and at war with itself and its principles. By 1968, there were shocking assassinations, cities burning, campus riots and a near insurrection across the nation. He felt his family and he had seen enough of war. They were not alone. Some US citizens, including a WHHS classmate of Boris, chose to hear a “call of duty” to join another kind of society, in Canada.
Once Boris cut loose the mooring lines that had held him to formal academic pursuits, he began a process that would occupy most of the balance of his adult life. Driven by his unique personal and family saga – and encouraged by his confidence of the broad intellectual preparation of his WHHS education -- he began a lifelong “Independent Study.” He read voraciously across vast disciplines, focusing on modern Western philosophy, social movements, ethics, logic, political science and the role of religion in Western society and history.
Over five decades, he formulated and revised his views of the motivating concepts behind human behavior at the individual and societal level. His intellectual acumen and searches revealed the soul of a social scientist and philosopher. He could be discussing theoretical mathematics with friends and, only a bit later, be exchanging with them his concepts of western civilization and politics to the very present. He was not reticent to point out the foibles and fallacies of political theories nor the intentional misrepresentations that often lead to national obsessions, irrationalities and injustices.
A PERSONAL TRIBUTE:
Having not seen Boris in decades, I was mindful, nevertheless, of what I had learned from his parents and through our history courses together when, during 1998-2002, the U.S. government’s National Institutes of Health (Bethesda, Maryland) assigned me to serve as a liaison to the Russian AIDS Vaccine Program and to present at their national HIV/AIDS and cancer conference held in St. Petersburg (formerly Leningrad).
WHHS Alumni events over the last decade facilitated my reconnection with Boris who, by then, had moved to northern Kentucky to live with his long-term companion of the latter half of his life. There, in their home, I met Geraldine (“Gerry”) Lykins whose own mother had fortuitously left Germany before the Nazi era. She had heard about – and, indeed, had met -- other of Boris’ WHHS classmates. These including the late Robert Weber, MD, of Florida, and our classmate, Steven Bush: dramatist/actor and instructor at the University of Toronto. When Steven and I recently shared reminiscences, we agreed Boris had experienced lifelong intellectual curiosity – science, math and music in early life, but later focused on the impact of human ills and aspirations on history.
In his last couple of years, Boris’ increasing chronic kidney failure had necessitated ongoing hemodialysis. His progressive frailty prompted his beloved Gerry to move with him, only months before his demise, to Grand Rapids, Michigan, where she had close, medically trained family members who loved Boris and where medical care was accessible. When Boris quietly passed away on February 21, 2018, surrounded by them, the regrettably necessary formalities included providing an answer to the question, “What was the decedent’s occupation or profession?” Pausing only a moment, the unanimous choice was both accurate and emblematic: “Scholar.”
Respectfully submitted (April 4, 2018),
Dale Nolan Lawrence, MD, MPH,
Fellow, American College of Physicians and
Fellow (Emeritus), Infectious Diseases Society of America.
CAPTAIN, U.S. Public Health Service (Retired)
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Michael Swenty
Thanks, Dale, to the eloquent, moving and informative tribute to Boris. And a “hi” to those who have commented before me (Rollon. Jeff, Barry, Peggy, Jerry, and particularly to Chris who was equally as thoughtful and eloquent and happens to mention me by name as well).
I note a recurring theme: “I didn’t know Boris that well, didn’t know THAT about Boris, and wish I had.” I have to admit I also fall into that category. It seems that outside our circle of a few close friends, we learned little about the backgrounds of our fellow students. I suggest we had other things on our minds at that point in our lives (school, homework, sports, social activities, etc.) that ranked higher in our priorities. I would have liked to attend our last reunion but care for my aging doggie prevented that. Perhaps the next one. Of my small circle of close classmates, none of them have registered their profiles on this website, and I’ve lost touch with them as well. That’s too bad.
Had I known Boris’ background, I’m certain we would have established a bond as I, too, was born in Germany (less than 2 months later than he). My father had a Jewish heritage and was persecuted by the Nazis. He married my mother (in 1930 – the good times before the mess – in a few words) who was of “Aryan race,” a mixed marriage which is probably why I’m here at all. The Nazis did not get to this demographic class, at least in full force, by the end. My father was picked up and incarcerated TWICE, but my mother, who was a legal secretary and knew the law, was able to convince the authorities to release him both times. But he wore the Star on his clothing, received reduced rations, was limited in travel, and was made to do forced labor (repairing rail lines and clearing rubble). Lucky, I guess. My father’s parents, however, took their own life by taking poison together in February 1942 after receiving their "summons" from Nazi officials to report to a certain location with only a small suitcase. Not so lucky. (I don’t know if Holocaust statistics include this in the “six million murdered by Nazis.”) My maternal grandmother died in 1938, and my grandfather died of medical complications in 1945 just after the war ended as a direct result of poor nourishment, so I never knew any of my grandparents; another direct effect.
My mother was a terrific storyteller and keep anyone who wanted to listen fascinated for hours. My father, who also had his stories, mostly kept quiet. Unfortunately I did not write much down so my dim memory of my parent’s WWII stories will also fade further with me. That’s the way it is, I guess.
Anyway, snippets of Boris’ and my history are here for a few to read. May he RIP. - Mike
Christopher Von Volborth
To better understand Michael's history I suggest viewing the film ROSENSTRASSE.
Anne Mayer (Hesse)
I feel such sadness not knowing Boris, Michael, and Chris better than just to say hello in the halls. If only we had the wisdom, foresight, and knowledge we have now in our golden years to guide us back then.
Sue Biehle (O'Donnell)
The word resilience is defined by most as the ability to recover from setbacks, adapt well to change, and keep going in the face of adversity. I think this describes the many families who endured the horrific times of WWII.
The many mothers who bore children within the confines of concentration camps were RESILIENT. And, upon freedom, raised RESILIENT children, filled with fortitude, dreams, and strong character.
I am thankful to have known freedom all my life. And, thanks to the above tribute to Boris and eloquent responses, am even more grateful.
Thinking of our many deceased classmates at this time....and how special they made our class of '62.
Sue Biehle O'Donnell
Erich Tiepel
There was a small group of our ‘62 classmates who shared a common, but unspoken, bond. The bond of having our families live through the horrors of WWII, of being refugees to American, of trying to fit into a culture that was strange to us and desperately hoping to somehow fit in. This is how I remember Boris, my quiet friend, whose quick smile and willingness to help spoke volumes to me as I sought friendship and acceptance. While we were aware of our European heritage we spoke little about our families’ past.
As I recall there were five classmates (maybe more) who shared this common background, which was seldom spoken of because we were either ashamed or afraid of not being accepted. There was Boris (whose family was from the Ukraine where they were captured by the Nazis and were incarcerated in Dachau, Germany); John Mazaraups (who was born in Latvia and whose family escaped the Russian invasion of the Baltic states); Chris von Volborth (whose family was persecuted and who escaped to America); Mike Swenty (about who I recall little other than that he was from Germany … what a shame, as we could have swapped many of the stories as told by our parents) and myself (who was born in Lithuania and whose family also fled the Russian invasion of the Baltics).
So here we found ourselves at WHHS … poor but intelligent, with parents that struggled to get by but who were determined that their children have a better future and each of us, in our own way, trying to find ourselves through the complexities of being a teen, but living not like most of the teens around us. In some ways though, we were all lucky to be in America, to have survived the horrors of WWII and to be able to live a free life. As we came to Ellis Island I remember my father saying, “Children, this will be our new home and we should never look back.” I can only image what life would have been like for our family (and the families of these other four classmates) had we not had the opportunity to come to America. For us it truly was the land of the free and the home of opportunity.
I feel that I have somehow missed an opportunity to share life with these special people in our class. My recent reconnection with Chris VV was very special and I wish that I would have had the opportunity to connect with Boris. Boris, you will be remembered as that gentle soul that was kind to all who sought you out. May you rest in God’s grace and love.
Erich
Howard Powles
Wow - thanks to you all and especially to Dale and Chris for your thoughts about Boris - eloquence and wonderful stories and sentiments. As another young lad drifting on my ice floe and trying to figure out life during high school I didn't know Boris or most of the other classmates well but it is good to reconnect this way. Take care all, Howard
Maureen (Rene) Cummins (Klein)
I just want to echo Annie Hesse. When I read Dale Lawrence's beautiful and eloquent post about Boris, I cried, because he was just one of so many people from our class that I didn't know except as a name attached to a face.
Something Chris said really struck home with me "The student body at WHHS was a microcosm of society at large, and social groupings seemed to reflect specific suburbs, religions, socio-economic status, and physical appearance. "
I think so many of us, and this really applies to me, were in our own little bubble. Walnut Hills was a struggle for me, and I barely looked out of my bubble to learn about my fellow students. I believed that I was the only one with an academic struggle, that I was the only one who felt she didn't fit in at Walnut Hills. Attending reunions taught me that neither of those things were true. Now, as we are so much older, I keep learning other interesting things about members of our class, and I find myself going back and reading the profile questions and answers on this site. It's sad that in some cases the only way I've learned these things is from obituaries and beautiful memorial pieces.
Jonathan Best
I hope/trust that Boris' family has access to the string of thoughtful and reflective comments elicted by the announcement of his death that were made by classmates at Walnuts Hills—some of whom, like me, now feel regret that they did not really know him. I imagine that these in-memorium comments would be as meaningful to his family as they have been to me and evidently to a number of others.
Victor Benson
Jonathan Best took the words out of my mouth and expressed the exact thoughts I was going to post. I won’t repeat. But I will add that I have been blown away by the Tribute, this string of comments and the emotion behind them.
I always enjoyed the few interactions I had with Boris, but, like so many others, regret that I did not get to know him better. I think we would have been good friends. I am touched and sad due to the circumstance, but feel enriched by now knowing Boris’ story and the impact it has had on many of us. These heartfelt expressions provide a tribute beyond words.
Jerold Kaplan
As I read the above comments,I realize that many, if not all of us, were relatively isolated beyond our smaller or slightly larger immediate social groups. In reviewing the names of just the 15 of us who have commented on Boris, I also realize that although I "knew" all of you, I really didn't know much of many of my classmates, let alone knowing more than a handful well. Although it is over 55 years, perhaps it is possible to correct that. I would suggest that we create a section within this forum (does anyone know how?) to write autobiographies, not necessarily 1000 page tomes, but in more detail than the brief profiles that most of us have posted. I would suggest that they include memories of WHHS as well as our lives since then. Any thoughts my friends?
Jerry Kaplan