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For thirty-five years, Joseph Flummerfelt occopied an office next to mine. He was one of the most outstanding people it has ever been my privilege to know. Contrary to the popular notion that musicians live in a constant state of euphoria, music schools can be places almost medieval in their hard-scrapple egotism. Flummerfelt was not lovable but, and I choose my words carefully: he was a man of culture and class. He never engaged in the “I’m-the-best“ self-advancement that is all too common in the arts and that special modesty he exhibited held him back, I felt, held him back from gaining the wider recognition he so eminently deserved. He was a man of aristocratic demeanor. I never heard him say a cutting thing about anyone. That may be hard to believe, but when you share a common office wall for that length of time, you get to know a lot about a person. Westminster was a unique place. It is a shame that it fell victim to those who saw only money in it; after they had scavenged the campus of everything valuable and failed in selling the real estate to the Communist Chinese, they lacked the vision to know what to do with the ruins. It now serves, I am told, as an overflow parking lot for Princeton. I cannot help lamenting this, but at least while it lasted, Westminster was the golden city where men and women like Joseph Flummerfelt, who were made of music through and through, could flourish. 2601:85:C47E:1610:7D36:68D8:9194:9AB3 (talk) 01:52, 16 September 2023 (UTC)[reply]
