JULY 13, 2025 – This afternoon I received a call from Erik Ibele. I hadn’t heard from him in several years and was pleasantly surprised when he announced himself. He’d called to inform me that his father, Warren E. Ibele, had died recently. Warren would have turned 101 next month. Erik and his three siblings, who lined up in age with my three sisters and me, inherited longevity genes: their mother Mary, or “Manna,” who died five years ago, lived to be 95.
Erik reported that his father’s final glide path was non-turbulent. By that I was relieved. I used to see Warren and Manna at Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra concerts (the Ibeles were regular attendees) in the years before Covid. They were every bit as alert, cheerful and gracious as I’d remembered them in my youth. On the call today, Erik and I reminisced about our family’s two get-togethers each year when we were young. During the week before Christmas, we were guests of the Ibeles in their gracious home “down in Minneapolis,” and on a Saturday in June or July, the Ibeles would pull up to our house in the “wilderness” of Anoka 20 miles up the Mississippi.
Until many years later, these were the only times I remember meeting up with the Ibeles. What our interactions lacked in frequency, however, they more than compensated in delightfully memorable substance.
The connection between our families was established by the moms, who had met in graduate school at the University of Minnesota and become fast friends. They shared much in common—pleasant dispositions, a keen interest in people, high academic achievement, intellectual curiosity, a deep relationship with music, and a sense of humor. When the dads entered the picture, they too became good friends. Warren was an acclaimed academician and distinguished professor of mechanical engineering at the University of Minnesota but had many interests outside of his professional life; likewise my dad, being defined by avocational pursuits as much as he was by his vocational career. Many of these interests—from music to woodworking to curiosity about people and places beyond immediate horizons—they shared.
These two couples were never at a loss for scintillating conversation, punctuated with resplendent humor. As Erik recalled in a text after today’s phone call, “One of the pleasures of our twice a year get- togethers was listening to [our parents] talk, laugh (continuously, at least in my memory!) and enjoy each other’s company.” That squares with my fond recollections of family visits.
We kids had plenty in common, as well. My oldest sister was already a word maven and high-achiever in all things musical and academic, and Erik was every bit her match. His sister Gretchen, who was Elsa’s age, was just as much the brainiac as was Erik, and clicked with Elsa, I noticed, as if the two were twins. That left Erik’s younger brothers, Mark, one a year younger than me and the other, John, a year younger than my sister Jenny. If John was still a pipsqueak, so was Jenny, at least, in my mind, and the two managed to get along just fine. Mark, my counterpart, was smarter than anyone I knew back in Anoka, and he proved it during one of our Christmas visits when as a third-grader he presented me with draftsman-quality drawings of the Berlin Wall. I knew that no one in Franklin School back in the Halloween Capital of the World was capable of pulling off what Mark had produced. What also impressed me about Mark was that he understood and on occasion, even contributed to, the sophisticated humor of our elders—that is, our older siblings.
But it was Warren and Manna who seemed to dispense the magic stardust over our gatherings. They were quite possibly the nicest, warmest, friendliest, most genuine grown-ups I knew. What impressed me most about them was that they never talked down to us kids as if we were . . . well, kids. They engaged with us as if we—even Jenny and I, Mark and John—were full-fledged people.
I’ll never forget the Christmas visit when, as in the tradition of all the others, Warren and Manna met us at the front door and ushered us in from the cold. After welcoming us with the warmth and cheer of the Spirit of Christmas Present, they took our coats and jackets, then returned with hot apple cider. Soon everyone except Warren and Jenny and I dispersed—Manna, Mother and Dad to the kitchen; the brainiacs to the family room, with Mark and John following close behind.
Warren remained behind to feed the fire, and still too shy and intimidated to join the kids, Jenny and I stayed to watch. “Have a seat,” he said to us, as he returned the poker to its proper place. “I want to hear all about what you’ve been up to. Jenny, how ’bout you go first.”
As I sipped my hot cider, I tried to think if I knew a single grown-up other than my parents, grandparents and uncle, who would be interested enough in my kid sister and me to sit down with us for a chat, when the other grown-ups (to be joined, in time, of course, by Warren) were already off to the kitchen, yakking and laughing. Warren’s genuine interest in our lives left a lasting impression, and that fireside chat comes alive when I find myself in the company of . . . pretty much anyone. By that simple example in front of the fire on that cold December evening, Warren Ibele was showing us how to connect with our fellow humans.
I was not all surprised, then, to read in Warren’s obituary, “Warren loved meeting people from all walks of life and could converse as easily with a handyman or farmer as with his academic colleagues. He was generous, gentlemanly, and always approached new topics and acquaintances with genuine interest and curiosity.”
Warren had a distinguished professional career. After graduating with a degree in mechanical engineering from Tulane University in his hometown of New Orleans, he served in the U.S. Navy Submarine Force for two years in WW II. He then earned his masters and doctorate degrees in mechanical engineering at the University of Minnesota, where he would become a full professor in 1959 and play a significant role in his field and in the academic life of the University until he retired in 1999.
But if as a kid I was aware of Warren Ibele’s affiliation with the University, I wasn’t aware of his stature, and what impressed me was not his knowledge of engineering—I don’t remember ever hearing him talk about it—but his interest in hearing and conversing about any subject that any of us brought to the dinner table, heavy laden with all the Yuletide dishes that came out of Manna’s kitchen. And always, it seemed, one of Warren’s graduate students from some far off land, was on hand to share in the feast. That impressed me too—Warren’s connection with people from worlds far beyond Minnesota, far beyond America.
As Erik remarked today, his dad “had a good run.” He certainly did, and his influence on countless lives will continue to have a good run. Of course Warren Ibele will be missed, but in his 100 years—and in Manna’s 95—this couple gave to the world gifts and treasures beyond measure. In emulation may these two grand members of the species be remembered always.
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© 2025 by Eric Nilsson
