90 Years Later, University of Utah, Family Cycles

My Son's Masters Degree Hits Home

In 1932, my Grandfather graduated with a PhD in anatomy from the University of Minnesota and no job. Stuck in the midst of a worldwide depression, he sent out letters to every University looking for new professors. A state school in Utah with a medical school less than 30 years old made him an offer, all by letter. He accepted, purchased his first car, was taught to drive by the car dealer, and headed west with his wife and their new son on that same day.

In 1935, my mother was born in Salt Lake City. Now, in 2025, 90 years later, my eldest son, her grandson, the new professor's great-grandson, received his Master's degree from the same institution. This was his second degree from the UofU. But maybe it's the round numbers. Maybe it is because they had the post-graduation celebration on the lawn in front of the buildings where his great-grandfather taught.

When my son first moved to Salt Lake City I reached out to the archives and asked if they had any records on my grandfather. After a few weeks someone sent me the contents of his long ignored folder. Along with a list of his papers and the classes he taught, was a picture.

Charles M Blumenfeld in the mid 1930s at around 27 years old. This was the photo in his official University of Utah file.

And here we are, so many years later, celebrating another graduation and the resemblance is there:

Benjamen Charles Miller at his Masters Degree graduation at 27 in 2025.

If you look at it one way, it really doesn't matter. They are two very different people. The University is a very different university. Salt Lake City is a very different city. One was a professor with a PhD in anatomy, and the other was a student with a master's in Game Design. But both are smart, intellectually inquisitive, and full of both confidence and insecurity. Most of all, they both share a puzzlement that borders on frustration for those who don't share their quick and deep minds.

Places matter less than the people who occupy them. Location has less of an impact then the history shaping the humans living there. My Grandfather's life was shaped by the massive unemployment in Utah at the time, contrasted by the sons of the state's elite who were training to be doctors. He told stories of being invited to huge mountainside mansions with scurrying servants to dine with the parents of his students. He also shared with horror how he and other professors would volunteer to make trips to the hidden parts of town to render free medical care where thousands were starving to death.

Currently, the version of the city where my son lives is booming. Technology companies, defense contractors, and the migration of the wealthy seeking a quieter, mountain-adjacent lifestyle have transformed the city. At the same time, the descendants of the doctors my Grandfather trained have moved out of the city into their own, newer mountainside enclaves.

Standing there in the grass where brick paths have been replaced by concrete sidewalks, I can't help but picture my Grandfather looking out of his round glasses and smiling at his great-grandson and his classmates as they raucously passed by in their gowns. My Grandfather’s ancestors made so many sacrifices for him, and in his sometimes contradictory way, he did so much for his children and grandchildren. Now, a new generation is moving into the world to make changes and make a mark on the world. I know Charles Morris Blumenfeld would be very proud of Benjamin Charles Miller.

My son, Ben, on the left, with his friends and classmates standing in front of the President’s Circle area of campus, which his great-grandfather crossed countless times. Maybe his grandmother played in the grass as a toddler?