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Dear Professor Ridgway (may I call you Bruni?), 

Congratulations on your milestone birthday. 

I remember you as a teacher of such brilliance, passion, humor, and compelling presence that the many hours I spent in your darkened slide lectures have always seemed filled with light.

When I first encountered you in Archaeology 101 as a freshman and budding archaeology major in the fall of 1966, I knew I had met a force of nature and an inspiration.

You were a standout—and not simply in your ’40s-style dresses, looking as if you’d stepped out of an Anna Magnani movie, appealingly distinct from the typical faculty flannels and tweeds. 

For me and my classmates in those confusing mid-’60s years—when social norms still seemed to demand that young women make an either/or choice between a life or a life of the mind—you were riveting because you showed us how to be an intellectually accomplished woman as well as a wife and mother. 

Striding across the lecture hall platform, you spoke about your children and husband with the same confidence with which you shared your incisive views about ancient art and architecture, all delivered in your marvelous Italian-inflected English. 

My friends and I adored you. We kept notes of memorable Bruni-isms and strove to develop the analytic perspective you expected of us. 

You could take a joke as well as tell one, which is why we gave you a little pot we’d painted with a mélange of Greek and Near Eastern motifs that only an archaeologist would find hilarious. We still laugh, recalling the time you greeted a class at the start of second semester after a long winter break with, “As I was saying…”

Your combination of scholarly rigor, warmth, and wit formed an intoxicating elixir that kept me engaged with the subject matter, however dry the topic—even Greek moldings (apologies to Lucy Shoe Merritt). 

More than 50 years since our first meeting, I remain deeply grateful for the privilege of having been your student. 

Alice Chasan 
Class of 1970
10/29/19