From Betsy Ullery:

Dear Phil, Bill and I received your terrible news about Mike Ott and find ourselves so sad and shocked by this -- even after a 10-year absence. A testimony to the impact we can have on each other. We will send our thoughts to Genna and the children. We know only that Mike had some kind of head trauma ... How did something like this happen to such a gentle soul? We are thinking of all of you with this huge loss.

From Ray Tricker:

Phil, I am absolutely stunned by the tragic news of Mike's death. Could you please let me have his address, as I would like to send my condolences to Genna. I'll write again when I feel a little more recovered from this stunning news.

From Marilyn Carlson:

Dear Phil, I just returned from vacation and was very sad to hear of Mike's death. Yes, I too remember him as a very kind person who extended himself to all with whom he had contact. Although I've had sporadic association with the MadDogs, I recall Mike as someone who always made an effort to make me feel included. What a tragic loss! Thanks for keeping me informed, and I hope that all else is going well with you.

Phil Montgomery's remarks about Mike Ott:

Memorial Service -- Michael E. Ott -- July 22, 1996

I remember well the first time I encountered Mike. Several people, principally from the math department but also Larry Brady and Harold Yarger, had begun running in the early '70s under the "gentle" prodding of Jim Brewer. At some point, either in the Spring of '73 or Spring of '74, there was an "intramural" track meet at the stadium. We all entered the half-mile for faculty and were absolutely certain that Jim would win. Well, it was not to be that way. Mike quickly took the lead; the outcome was not even close.* Jim, never one to take defeat lightly, unless it was to a friend, went over and talked to Mike afterward. I'm not too sure what was said, but the result was: if you can't beat him, get him to join you. This was basically the start of our running group, know for the past 12 years or so as the Mad Dogs and Englishmen.

When Mike joined the group and we started running together, I of course began to know him a lttle better. he was a more-or-less carefree bachelor, was an artist and a member of the fine arts faculty, got his clothes from the Salvation Army, and had a weird sense of humor. Some of this humor crept into his paintings. In those days, Mike painted on big canvases, 4 foot by 8 foot ro so. One of these was quite memorable. (It's probably still around because only someone with Mike's sensibility(?) would every buy it.) It was a very nice mountain landscape overlooking a lovely lake -- Mike had a special way of dealing with bodies of water and a lot of his paintings had lakes. Wending its way through the painting was a winding highway. The painting was titled "Doggone." The title mad no sense until you looked closely at the road and saw what was clearly the remains of a dog that had lost a battle with a timber truck. On another occasion, I remember Mike going to one of the art students' parties dressed as Mr. Wimple, the grocer, with hi role of Charmin toilet paper.

As time passed, our lives changed, Mike's perhaps more than others. He met Genna and we celebated their marriage with Janie's 10K. John was born and a year later, we had John's First, which started at Clinton Overlook and ended at their new home on Crescent. After John, first Alexander and then Eleanor were born into the family.

As his family grew, Mike remained carefree, but now his life had a center. His painting interest changed from landscapes to people and he then began his "shirt" series. These paintings, although they had no people in them, were about people and their lives. One of these -- "Cowboy, Cowgirl, Cowchild," featuring three cowboy shirts -- hangs in the City Commission chamber at Lawrence City Hall. The second and third of this particular series celebrated each of his other children's birth and life. Honors came his way. He was named Governor's Artist for his work, he became chair of his department, nad he was asked to be a member of the CEEB Advanced Placement judging committee for Studio Art, became Chief Reader, and was also a member of the Test Design committee. He had just completed his latest term. He had numerous shows and exhibitions throughout the country.

But in spite of all the honors and acclaim, Mike did not change his independent, quirky self. He remained friendly and generous with his time and talents (most of us Mad Dogs have T-shirts that he specially designed for us). The only times he ever said no to one of my many requests for help were when his family or students had prior claim. He was devoted to Genna and each of his children. Working on his paintings and water colors at home, he was able to develop a special relationship with them while they were growing.

I don't ever remember him losing his temper or becoming angry (although there were reports of him having a word or two with other racers after a couple of races). The low times were at the death of his parents, especially his mother. He always had a pleasant, personal word for his friends (acquaintances didn't remain acquaintances very long; they quickly became friends), and in spite of his busy schedule, he always had time for more than just "Hi - how are you - good to se you - got to go."

His friends were very important to him. He was quick to praise an accomplishment, provide just the right words at a despairing time, or just participate in a chat. He constantly thought of others and was a source of information to me about runners who had left Ku for different places. He kept me up on Danny Dugan, Jo and Herschel Stiles, and, just recently, on Gabriel Thompson, a law student who is now in Manhattan.

The last time I saw Mike was in late May, prior to his annual trip to Princeton for ETS. I was getting out of the car, and he was tatking his semester grades to the Registrar. After exchanging news on each other and our families, he told me that he wanted to get together with Nick Vacarro, a friend and department colleague who had recently had an operation to remove a cancer similar to mine from his spine. He thought that the rehab program I go to in Topekamight help Nick's recovery also. His friends were always in his thoughts.

So that's how I will remember Mike. Walking across campus, with his bag over his shoulder, not in a particular hurry but on his way to do something for others, although he never thought of it in that way. With his family and friends always in his mind and his heart.

Let me finish by quoting part of a poem that I recently read:

"Do not stand on my grave and weep; I am not there. I do not sleep.

"I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the autumn's rain. I am the soft stars that shine in the night."

"Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die."

Mike will live on in our minds and in our hearts. His spirit did not die and will always be with us.