Chris Ransom

Chris Ransom 72, passed away at Copley Hospital on March 3, 2025. Born in Binghamton, NY on April 8, 1952 to William and Joan (Reye) Ransom, Chris is survived by a sister and a brother in northern California.

During his last days he was kept comfortable and free of pain by the gentle and compassionate nursing staff at Copley. For many years Chris struggled with COPD, low blood oxygen, then lung cancer and, most recently, double pneumonia. In his last years, Chris lived at the West Branch Apartments on the Mountain Road in Stowe.

To his friends, Chris projected an air of fallen gentry. In fact, his fraternal grandfather was the Attorney General of the State of New York, then a consultant for formulating the legal foundation for the United Nations, a judge at the Nuremberg Trials and lastly on the World Court at the Hague. Chris’ father, William Ransom, was a trial lawyer in Binghamton, NY.

Chris' maternal grandfather migrated alone to the United States at 16 to avoid conscription into the Prussian-German army. He diligently applied himself and became a psychiatrist, practicing in Detroit. Chris, and all three of his siblings, agreed that Joan Reye was a "stellar mom" who contributed much to their town, including volunteering on the  boards of the public mental hospital and the Girl Scouts.

Chris inherited the burdensome trait of internal tension and a sense of justice that exploded to the surface at times. He ultimately saw that, despite all of the evil and unfairness in this world, caring and kindness are the best antidotes. Perhaps that realization helped to crystalize his urge to express the beauty he perceived in the world in metal and ceramics.

After surviving a harrowing adolescence, Chris grew to be a unique and special person who his friends loved and knew as kind, stubborn, brave, humble, obstinate, caring, resourceful, and optimistic. He was a marvel, a legend, he was famous and infamous. He could be a burr under the saddle for some of us, but we will all miss him.

Chris attended UVM briefly in the late 70's and then, by his own telling, after he dropped out, hung on in the pottery studio as "artist officinalis" under his old ceramic master. Leaving there with a van full of out-sized pots, he was seen giving them away to young ladies of interest on the streets of Burlington.

In c.1981 Chris bought the old Morrisville Foundry from Fred Greene and embarked on a Bohemian life of creativity and decadence, fueled by the remnants of a small inheritance and prodigious amounts of cognac. In those years he was a regular patron of the old Taylord's Tavern across from the Bijou.

For many years, Chris lived in his sandblasting shop at the foundry in a state of self-inflicted chaos. However, there were many bright moments illuminated by intense, complicated relationships and loss. The miracle of Chris' existence was the vow of sobriety which he kept for the last 40 years of his life. His sobriety was a testament to the fierce, inner fortitude that kept him going through all those challenging times.

Despite whatever inner turmoils were haunting Chris, he would always greet people with a nod and smile and express sincere interest in their lives and their families. Chris was a lover of books and art and engaged in endless discussions about the state of the world and town politics. He was sometimes characterized by townspeople as a gadfly about town. 

In the years before low oxygen took its toll, with a quick wit and sharp memory, Chris thrived on spontaneous repartee. He was a specialist in grim humor and many a creative disaster was turned into fodder for fantastic tales.

Tragically, in 2013 the foundry and his living space burned down, leaving him homeless. He managed to string together places to sleep for a few years, including squatting in the wreckage of the old shop, until he finally settled in at the "Alamo" in Stowe. He was determined to power through the last years of his life despite ever-worsening lung disease, all the time lugging around oxygen tanks and tangles of tubing. It was a miracle that he persisted all those years.

He was once found high up on a ladder trying to salvage some valuable junk from the burned-out foundry. His oxygen tank had fallen over on the ground and the tube had been ripped off the regulator. The police were called out of concern but he refused to come down, gasping for breath and yelling back, "Kindly hook me back up and I'll be OK”.

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