Leslie Gray is gone. I learned of her passing from another Westridge student a week ago. She was 81 years old. Mrs. Gray, as I first met her, taught art. She was one of my favorite teachers. Tall, elegant, with a slightly avant garde, short hair cut, Mrs. Gray compelled your attention. Her voice was even and inviting. On the rare occasion when she was frustrated with our Middle School immaturity, her tone of voice would alter enough to give fair warning. 

My first class with her was a drawing class. Her patience and guidance led to thoughtfully rendered studies of our hands. Her hands were beautiful. They were strong with nails filed short and painted with the sheer opalescent color popular in the 1980’s. My own fingers at the time revealed nails bitten to the quick, never long enough to bother with polish. 

Later, I took Photography from her. Learning to take photos then developing the film and printing the images ignited my love affair with Fine Art. Anyone who has ever developed film knows that pungent, slightly sour smell of the dark room chemicals. At first, I wrinkled my nose, then I became acquainted with the magic that could happen in the glow of the safelight, and the smell transformed into an invitation. Photography was not the ultimate destination of my artistic exploration. However, it remained an important ingredient whether I was printmaking or experimenting with an encaustic process. 

Returning to Pasadena as a recent college graduate and an even more recent restaurant kitchen manager failure, I stopped by Westridge. Mrs. Gray was part of the administration at this point. She was kind as I explained that I was looking for a job. As it turned out, the woman with whom she shared a car pool was looking to hire someone.

This introduction changed my life. I met a friend for life in the owner of the children’s toy and book store. I was hired as the manager, much to my disbelief and received what felt like a fully employed MBA degree. I thanked Mrs.Gray multiple times over the years. Each thank you was a bit different from the prior one as the life lessons learned from my time at the toy store continued to yield valuable insight into my current stage of life. We stayed in contact because of our involvement with the Westridge alumnae. 

Retirement from the world of independent schools did not mean doing nothing. Mrs. Gray opened a beautiful home store in San Luis Obispo and later in Cambria. Of course, she had exquisite taste. Her spaces brought together plants, textiles, ceramics, jewelry, and more. A celebration of treasures made by hand, expressive and unique. If something was given a space in one of her shops then it had been carefully considered. Slowly making my way through the shop, stopping to pick up an item, holding it, reading the tag, felt like stepping into her world, a way to get to know her better. I knew her first name was Leslie and I never could break the habit of calling her Mrs. Gray.

Thank you for everything, Leslie Gray.