Guest Book

Your parents played important roles in many lives, and Howard (“Morty”) and your family played such in mine. I’ll remind you I was a relatively poor, dumb rube from Holyoke who fell off the hay wagon into journalism and met UMass’s first actual ex-journalist teacher. In addition to hanging out in bars and lunch places, meeting very interesting people such as Fred Friendly and Jim Boylan and Mel Mencher, your father was the driving force in getting me to leave the nest at the Springfield Newspapers and venture out into the world. Eventually that took me through an MBA program and high flying jobs on Wall Street and in corporate communications (Yes, I was a very reluctant Sell Out).

I did have a couple of unique perspectives on your father. First, of course, we’re both from Holyoke (and its inbred Jewish community). Second, I was already working (part-time for Spfd Newspapers am & pm) as a reporter (obits, police, weekend duty mostly) when your father came to UMass from Urbana, post Chicago. Let’s just say he was different than his UMass journalism predecessors. Third, he roped me into The New England Daily Newspaper Survey, connected me with Loren Ghiglione (a true slave driver who worked on Christmas and expected me to, also; your father’s opposite in many ways), and began nudging me out of being a WMass rube. 

Hi everyone, I’m posting the final version of my mother Gillian’s remarks from the memorial ceremony here, as they’re a great rundown of the remarkable community that’s grown up among extended family and friends across the various houses in the area over the last 97 years! Sending much love to all and thanks to everyone who put together such a beautiful celebration of Jane’s life and influence.

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Jane and I were first cousins. Jane’s mother, Sara Murray Flanders, usually called Sally; and my mother, Roberta Murray Fansler, usually called  Bobby, were sisters and thus Jane and I were first cousins. Jane was born in February 1931, two days before my sister Cyndy.  (This closeness in age led to lifelong connection between the two).

In Spring 1929, my parents, Bobby and Tommy Fansler bought an old farm and farmhouse in Columbia County, known in the family as Heyshott. One year later, Jane’s parents Sally and Moll Flanders bought a nearby farm, one half mile away. Bobby, Tommy, Sally, and Moll – were all young – in their late twenties and early thirties.

The Flanders had two small children, Pete and Ellen; the Fanslers had one, Ruth. In February 1931 each family had another daughter; the Flanders had Jane and the Fanslers had Cynthia. In 1932, the Fanslers had a third child, Gillian (me).
              
The two young couples bought these properties not only as summer and weekend homes but also with a very definite and idealistic goal in mind. They wanted to share. So, they shared child care; they had picnics together; they built stone walls together. I remember the parents having long conversations and laughter.  There was always music; simple rounds that even young children could sing, and Gilbert and Sullivan. They shared the fruit of their gardens and fields and the repair of their old houses. They wanted to establish a kind of community here, and that is exactly what they did. This community has lasted almost 100 years.
              
The original group of six children became seven when Steve was born in 1941. The group grew up and married. Some of them outgrew the original houses and built houses of their own: the Ziff house, the Frisch cabin, the Lindop-now-Templin cabin. Most of us moved away through the years but many of us came back. Many of us feel a kinship to this place and these people that is unique.
              
In 1958, both Moll and Sally died. Bobby became Steve’s guardian and they developed an increasingly close relationship. At this time Bobby became a cornerstone for both families. She and Pete became quite close and had dinner every week when he came up to the Flanders farm. I think the relationship meant a lot to both of them. I know it did to Bobby.
              
But Bobby was getting more and more disabled – with both her eyesight and her hearing, and it became harder for her to carry out familial functions. And this is where Jane stepped in. She and her husband, Morty, began having annual picnics. Gradually these became a family event that we all looked forward to, as a way of keeping in touch with family and welcoming its newest members.
              
Jane’s hospitality is one of the reasons we still feel connected to each other. There were so many wonderful events at Jane’s house: annual picnics, music, and Shakespeare plays directed by Morty.  But it wasn’t just family that Jane welcomed.  It was also new friends; musicians, both students and experienced ones; and neighbors.  Jane was a true maker of the kind of community of caring for each other and sharing with each other that her parents and my parents wanted to establish.
              
I am grateful to my parents and to Jane’s parents for their vision. I am grateful to Jane for her carrying on the vision. I think it has enriched us all.

I’m so sorry, but Paul and I won’t be able to come to the event for Jane. I wish we could; your mother and father were both very special people to us. We’ll be thinking of you and your family.

Mitsuko and I are out of the country for several weeks and will be unable to attend the event. However, our thoughts will be with you and especially with your mom on this special day.
Eat, drink, enjoy music and have a glorious time.

On July 11th I will be thinking of Jane and of all of you sharing the memories of her well lived life. I will be listening to the Mozart Requiem.
 

I miss your mother and loved her so much, and missing celebrating her, and the stories that will be shared makes me very sad.I’m sure it will be a joyous and boisterous day. May the sun shine on all of you. I will be there in spirit.
Beth Wallace (Journalism Dept.): I want to thank you for inviting me to the celebration of your wonderful mom. I enjoyed any time I got to spend with her, including bringing her as my date to an alumni panel a few years ago. I also wanted to let you know we hosted a series of alumni guest speakers this year utilizing the Ziff Lecture Series. The events were all well attended, and students made great connections with alumni in the field. 

I will be thinking of your mother doing puzzles in her kitchen and saying “shit”
when something didn’t work.
And I will be thinking of your gathering to celebrate her life…especially with music.

I am very disappointed not to be there. I would love to touch base with your extended family. I have lovely memories of swimming in your pond, having lunch with Jane, playing music and talking. I will be there in spirit and Tamzen will give me a report of the day. I hope you have good weather!

Eve Vogel tribute to Jane Ziff, July 11, 2026

At “The Farm,” longtime family property and extended family community

New Lebanon, NY

I met Jane at a grief support group. It was fall 2012, and her husband and my mom had both died a few months earlier. We bonded because, in contrast to others in the group who seemed to be trying to find ways either to make peace with death, or couldn’t fathom how to go on living, we both felt and expressed our grief and rage as part of our continued living. I remember Jane saying something like “death is terrible!” and I think I immediately felt a resonance with her.

After the group, we stayed in touch. She looked a little like my mom, was two weeks younger, and had a similar forthrightness and practicality. They were also both WASPs who married Jews, and had hybrid children—although Jane’s northern and somewhat patrician roots were distinct from my mom’s ancestry of Texas farmers. I was an overwhelmed single mom myself and professor at UMass, and had struggled to find closeness and family in Amherst. For Jane, I think it was nice to have someone in town, since her kids were in California and the Netherlands—although of course, she constantly had other relatives coming through. In short, without saying as much, we both adopted each other as family.

It took a while for us to get into a rhythm. In those early years, she was busy with weekly meetings with her quartet, reading about a book a day, and constant family visits, and was gone, here, every summer. I think our weekly meetings may have started during Covid. In those days, we would go for walks, she with her walker. She always stopped to admire flowers and feed the ducks. When I adopted my dog Mocha that fall, she laughed to watch her happily running and jumping. We both loved and cherished the many living beings in this world.

Unlike most of you, I only knew Jane when she was old. As her mobility lessened, our weekly meetings changed to weekly dinners. Sometimes Jane would instruct me to sing a round with her, and we did. I think our best was “Dona Nobis.” Sometimes, when she felt poorly, she apologized. I would always tell her, it was no problem; she was a gift. I knew how precious time with her was from having lost my own mom earlier. Over this time, I got to know Tony well when he lived with her, and Max and Ellen and other family who came through—all gifts too, to know this wonderful family.

When she got really weak and her pain increased, sometimes she would talk about dying. She wasn’t ready to die, and was scared to die, but she knew she would not get better; her only trajectory was toward death. I think I helped her a little bit, as we both had in that grief support group, just by being present with the reality we will all face, while appreciating so much the time I had with her. I, too, throughout my time with Jane, felt fully accepted and loved by her, despite all my own foibles and challenges, and that shared acceptance meant so much.

To be frank, as Jane was, I was not sorry when she died, as her last months were really hard, and although she feared death, she also in some ways wanted relief. I grieve and rage at not only death but the bitter losses and declines that precede it. But mostly, I am grateful. Jane was, and remains, a gift.

After I retired in 2014, my wife and I became Jane’s closest relatives who had neither a job, young children, nor young grandchildren. We were also usually quite close to Amherst, either in Cambridge, MA, or in New Lebanon, NY. So we were often the first people to arrive after Jane ended up unexpectedly in a hospital. More often than not, that was due to a fall resulting from Jane’s overestimating her ability.

One typical case happened in the early 2020s, by which time Jane needed a walker to go any significant distance. She was on a path in the UMass campus and decided to take a shortcut to a path nearby but much higher up. So she pushed her walker into the woods and proceeded to struggle up the hill until she fell, and was unable to get up again.

She was rescued by the Amherst Fire Department (whom I eventually got to know quite well) and taken to the Emergency Room, because that’s what happens when you’re rescued. They decided there was nothing wrong with her and sent her to a ward to be discharged.

When Carla and I arrived, we got big smiles when we asked for Jane Ziff. We went to her room, where she proceeded to tell us all the details of the lives of the nurses that she had made friends with during her brief stay.

Jane had spectacularly poor judgment in many ways. But she had an indomitable spirit. No matter how limited her possibilities became, she always made the best of them. Far better to try too much and fail than not to try at all.