In Memoriam: Denny Lewis

The Crimson has published two articles about Ogden N. “Denny” Lewis ’01 since his death a week and a half ago. Both articles have featured a variety of comments and anecdotes from people who knew Denny. Given the pressures of time and the difficulties of deciphering the vast web of affection of which Denny was the center, however, we believe that the news articles have not provided a proper coda to our friend’s life. We therefore submit the following brief and woefully inadequate addendum.

Denny Lewis was born on Aug. 10, 1979, to Mr. and Mrs. Ogden Lewis, Sr. in New York City. Raised in New York, Denny attended Buckley School before moving to Groton School for his secondary school years. He matriculated at Harvard and graduated with the class of 2001, concentrating in history of science.

He lived in Leverett House and was greatly involved with the Freshman Outdoor Program (FOP), the Harvard Shooting Club, the Fly Club and photography. Since graduation, Denny had traveled extensively and engaged, like so many of us, in hashing out what career path to follow. Recently, however, Denny had decided he would study to become a doctor. Even so, he stayed firmly committed to the notion that the things of life are far less important than the friends and family who loved him and whom he loved in return.

Denny inspired a rare devotion, gathering around him friends from all different quarters and from every stage of his life. Proof of the deep affection others felt for him was illustrated at his beautiful funeral on Monday, Nov. 26. This service for Denny, held at St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church in New York, was matched in grandeur—but unequalled in passion—perhaps only by the grandest of state funerals. Nearly a thousand people gathered there to manifest their high regard and sincere affection for Denny.

The Headmaster of Groton spoke, his voice quaking with emotion, calling for those who remain to remember Denny and to honor him by imitating his fine example. And, in a wonderful display of magnanimity and grace, Mr. Lewis asked Denny’s innumerable friends to reflect on our own lives the light that Denny exuded during his. It will be our honor and our privilege to attempt to do so.

In his intimate friendship with so many people, Denny provided to us warmth and passion that was without end; he was in many ways a beacon of security. Those who cared for him may remember most vividly a certain hug from Denny, a trademark playful—almost mischievous—Denny smile aimed at them or nearly anything from his giant heart. Denny’s presence was so solid and large in our lives and in our hearts that he transcended our own individualism. He gave us a sense of being lucky to be part of the great web of friends that Denny seemed to have woven his loving arms around and sealed with his confidence and laughter.

Denny had made an indelible mark on all his friends. He was possessed of a quiet confidence, a confidence made sensible by a very human combination of sympathy and humility—qualities so often lacking at Harvard. He was not conniving, and he had that perceptive eye which sees through pretension and falsehood. Even those who saw him infrequently knew that they could always count on Denny and always trust him as a friend. Often reserved at first sight, Denny radiated a vivacity which was the envy of darker souls. He had a side-splitting gift for humor, as his roommates, dormmates and others will gladly attest.

Of course, this bare sketch of Denny’s life cannot convey the impression he left upon those who knew him and loved him. His loss has hardened into a permanent chasm matched only by the rift in the hearts of those who knew him. Our rift will never fully heal. While we live, we can only hope to see and hear him again by remembering and living up to his noble example of gentleness and integrity that we will rarely see matched.

Forbes R. “Renny” McPherson ’03, a Crimson editor, is a history and literature concentrator in Kirkland House. Elbridge A. “Bridge” Colby ’02 is a history concentrator in Dunster House.