Violet Wightman, Fullerton College Poet, Dies at 97

Violet Wightman, the 97-year-old poet who charmed classmates at Fullerton College with her written and spoken words, has died.

“She’ll be missed,” said her son, Don Wightman, 60, owner of the Hillcrest Park Village Apartments in Fullerton, where his mother, who had cancer, died in her sleep Tuesday night. “We will miss her.”

Wightman startled students at the college seven years ago by marching into a freelance writing class and announcing to the professor: “I don’t have to do anything you say because I’m older than you.”

Over time she became a dominant force and an icon on the campus, where she still attended classes this fall. Six months ago, the college recognized that status by printing a volume of Wightman’s poetry, the only book ever published by Fullerton College.

“She made a contribution to the students through her inspirational writing and the very fact that she came back to school at the age of 90,” said Julie Davey, head of the college’s journalism department and Wightman’s instructor. “She was a vibrant personality and a very creative individual who was a lot of fun to be around. She was both inspirational and enjoyable and could relate to people of all ages. That was her gift.”

Born in 1901 in Globe, Ariz., Wightman spent much of her life as a concert pianist, making a tour of Europe’s major cities and once performing for a crowd of 25,000 at the Hollywood Bowl. Later she married a prominent Los Angeles dentist, with whom she had four children. That union ended tragically in a 1951 automobile accident that left Wightman widowed at the age of 50. In 1963, she moved to Fullerton, where she lived in the 90-unit complex owned by her son.

Throughout her life, she meticulously recorded every event in stories, poems and memoirs filling more than 150 cardboard boxes in her apartment. She also regaled her classmates with tales of a life spent hobnobbing with Charlie Chaplin, Dorothy Chandler, Sergei Rachmaninoff and Amelia Earhart, who she said was a friend.

“I will remember her strength and the way it was tempered with kindness,” said Ann Betancourt, 32, a classmate who said Wightman inspired her to write more poetry. “She still had things that she wanted to do, stories that she needed to tell. I hope I never lose that hunger for knowledge. She lived life to the end. I just wish that I could have had a little more time with her.”

A recent Times article on Wightman stirred interest in her work, resulting in what Davey described as a “deluge” of phone calls to the college, including one from a TV show seeking interviews with the poet and another from a musicologist who wanted to put her words to music.

It also spurred brisk sales of her book in the campus bookstore. Students and staff had planned a poetry reading featuring her work for late January. Now, they say, the reading will be a memorial.

Wightman’s book is titled “Sitting on a Cloud,” a reference to her often-repeated promise to fellow students never to die but instead to “sit on a cloud and be the wind against your cheeks.”

“I think that I will imagine her sitting on her cloud looking down on us,” classmate April Miller said. “I’m sure she’s sitting there right now writing her stories and thinking about Amelia Earhart. That’s the way I’ll remember her.”

In addition to her son, Don, Wightman is survived by daughters Linda Vandorn, 58, of Rancho Palos Verdes; Elaine Phillips, 64, of Cleveland; 22 grandchildren and 18 great-grandchildren.

Funeral arrangements are pending.