Tribute by Jim Dator, Futurist, University of Hawaii

Magda Cordell McHale died Thursday, February 21, in Buffalo, New York, according to SUNY Buffalo, where she taught. She was 87.

Magda and her husband, John McHale, were among the earliest and most important futurists. She was from Hungary and he from Scotland, and the two were like oil and water--or fire (Magda) and ice (John). They were a true couple in that one completed the other, so much so that when John died suddenly with no prior warning at 56, Magda struggled to go on without him.

But she did, magnificently, and carried on the work that they had begun in England (as founders of the kitsch and pop art movement called "The Independent Group"--indeed, John and Magda were the originators of the term "pop art"); brought to the US where they worked initially with Buckminster Fuller; then to the University of Houston where they established a futures center called the Center for Integrative Studies; and, after John's death, at the School of Architecture and Planning of the State University of New York at Buffalo.

fuller quotes and stories
From KI News; the newsletter of the Kehillat Israel Reconstructionists Congregation, Vol 55, issue 4



During my first year of college at UC Davis, I was given the unbelievable opportunity of being sent to a three-day conference at UCLA in "Art, Culture and Changing the World."  It was a whirlwind of world-class teachers and presenters, and I remember the amazing experience of spending part of the day with the brilliant philosopher/inventor, Buckminister Fuller. What struck me about "Bucky's" presentation to all of these college students, was not only his endless passion and enthusiasm for life at a very advanced age (this was shortly before he died), but the message that he taught by both his words and his life.

"His life was so important that it shines almost with the same intensity now that it did when he had it."
--John Cage

A Visit to Black Mountain
by Joe Lewis

"Walking down this dusty road...pine trees and fishing holes everywhere... I don't even like to fish." Jacob Moore, a lanky, fourteen year old, had only been in the foothills of Black Mountain for five hours and already he was bored. He loved his Aunt Nan and Uncle Ted, but a four week long visit was just too much. This was the summer of 1948, and he wanted to be back in Raleigh with his friends. "I'm going to miss half of all the serials at the movie house," Jacob mumbled to himself as he walked on.