Franz Alexander—1891-1964

Franz Alexander's build was somewhat like that of Babe Ruth. He loved skiing, tennis, and golf. An athletic vigor and sharpness permeated his thought, gestures, and speech, and shone in the twinkling of his eyes. One morning, in a paralyzing blizzard in Chicago, he came to the Institute on skis. The walls of his living room were completely filled with books, and they reflected the breadth and depth of his interests. From earliest childhood his divers interests were encouraged by his father, a professor of philosophy who had a keen appreciation of science and its history and development. Franz Alexander was a warm and generous host and one quickly sensed that he had been a loved child for he radiated ease, confidence, and security in his social relations. His sister, Lila, adored him and he spoke of her and his younger brother with affectionate admiration. Born in Hungary, he married Anita Venier, a painter with an unusual touch and authority, and they had two daughters, Sylvia and Kiki. He was devoted to his family.

Alex, as he was affectionately known, relished the amenities; they were part of his natural zest for life. He enjoyed good food, good books, good company, good conversation. By the time he was forty he had achieved such a degree of object interest that his enthusiasm was roused by almost every conceivable topic—history, the physical sciences, the history of philosophy, the mechanics of the golf swing, the latest art exhibit or movie or humorous story, or how Norbert Wiener could learn Japanese in only a few weeks. He was 'unbelievably good', as Franklin McLean put it before inviting him to the University of Chicago. One might paraphrase the Scottish saying: Where Alexander sat, there was the head of the table. This was a natural, unconscious response of people to his knowledge, insight, intellect, humor, and judgment. The transition from Eastern Europe—where to be seen at work in the afternoon was a disgrace—, to