Wheeler was my godfather, and I am so grateful that my parents chose him (and that he accepted). He was my father's dearest, oldest, and best friend, and the namesake of our German shepherd - Wheeler's wedding present to them. Having Wheeler for a godfather was an experience! One day he came to visit when I was quite small and gave me the most glamourous present of my childhood. A big, be-ribboned box from a top department store contained (amid masses of tissue paper) two expensive stuffed animals - a black and a white lamb with satin ribbons around their necks. I already adored Wheeler but now I was a fan for life. What was marvelous was there was no reason to give a big present. No birthday, no holiday, just Wheeler being Wheeler.

I also remember many trips to Scripps Insititute of Oceanography, Wheeler explaining with great enthusiasm his latest projects among the bubbling aquariums and specimens. I particularly enjoyed our visits to his Hopi Indian house by the sea. What a magical place that was. Nothing like it existed in La Jolla - a perfect replica of an Indian dwelling he inherited from his mother Flossie, who all agreed was a wonderful Grande Dame. I'm sure she was responsible for my godfather's impeccable manners and relaxed charm. In my mind's eye I can still see him in front of that unusual house which fit his unconventional character so well, surrounded by iceplant and views of the Pacific, and smiling in the sun at his little toddler he called Hannah Banana.

I remember visits to his Ali Baba-like cave of a garage and watching him noisily polish abalone shells with a special machine. One of these shells is still by my bath looking as lovely as when he gave it to me. Then there were the abalone steaks he would bring around to my grandparents and I remember him in the patio, pounding them with a mallet to make them tender. How delicious they were! and in my mind, terribly exotic.

Not too many years ago I was invited to a house party at an English lord's ancient, massive "stately home" called Stoneleigh Abbey in Warwickshire. The guests were all seated at the dinner table in the huge dining room and the English lady next to me was talking about her recent stay at Wood's Hole, Mass. and her interest in oceanography. I mentioned Wheeler's name and she practically fell off her chair. "Oh, I met Dr. North! He's very well-known in Oceanography, and he's your godfather!?" she exclaimed. She was clearly extremely impressed by my connection, and it was fun to be discussing Wheeler in the middle of the English countryside. But then I was accustomed to reading about Wheeler's achievements in my husband's Caltech alumnae magazine, and occasionally, articles on Oceanography in the International Herald Tribune would quote Wheeler and describe his findings. So until this winter, through the press, and in Christmas cards and letters I was able to know Wheeler's news whether I was living in Paris, or London. Now, I wish I had kept his letters and cards as they were so funny and warm. I will miss him terribly as will my parents. He greatly enriched my childhood in so many ways and for that I am thankful. I wish everyone could have a godfather like the incomparable Wheeler J. North!

Yours Sincerely,

Constance Chalmers Binst

P.S. Has my father told you about when they were boys how they hauled a big unexploded bomb home from the U.S. Army artillery range? Or surfing with large tiger sharks circling underneath in La Jolla Cove? My father and Wheeler agreed that they had an idyllic childhood, and my father has countless stories about it if you're interested.