Edwin Wolfe was born in 1893 and brought up in Rochester, New York in a middle class family. Gifted at birth, I am certain, with a pleasant disposition, throughout his formative years he amused his friends and classmates with humorous imitations of people, and of foreign accents, so often that it seemed natural to him to come to New York City after his high school graduation to try to become an actor.

After some formal training, he played the lead roles in two silent films, then succeeded in gaining fairly steady employment both on the Broadway stage, and in traveling stock companies. Although he enjoyed acting, shortly before the United States entered World War I he enrolled as a student in medical school, an indication that he wanted something more from life. However, after the war broke out he entered the army as an ambulance driver and, following the armistice, felt he was too old to ask his father to support him while he continued his medical studies, so he returned to acting. He made a modest living, traveled about the U.S. a great deal, drank quite a bit, was addicted to reading mystery novels, and often played cards with fellow cast members for whole days. In his own words, he “didn’t know what to do with himself.”

In 1927 he saw a notice that an old acquaintance of his, a student of psychology named C. Daly King, whom he had never taken very seriously and whom he mentally referred to by his nickname, “Pudge,” was going to give a talk on “psychology” at a bookstore. Mr. Wolfe went to the talk expecting to be entertained at King’s expense, though with his innate tact he would never have openly offended King. However, unbeknownst to Mr. Wolfe, King had come into the Work in 1924 and was a member of A. R. Orage’s group. His talk, which consisted of several of Gurdjieff’s basic ideas, made a tremendous impression on Mr. Wolfe. He told members of his group, in about 1980, that when Daly King said that our various functions such as thought, feeling, movement and sensation were controlled by separate brains, or “centers,” “I rose straight up to the ceiling—and haven’t come down yet.”

Mr. Wolfe immediately realized he had come upon something of the utmost importance that he had long been vaguely aware was missing from his life, that a dream he had never dared to dream had come true. Now that he knew “what to do with himself,” he became a very conscientious student, and soon went to the Prieure in France to work with Gurdjieff.

Mr. Wolfe’s good luck continued. While at the Prieure he met Dorothy Hunt, the love of his life, whom he married. In 1933 he answered a call for directors, and entered radio, which was becoming immensely popular, as an actor and director of soap operas. He was very successful and prospered.

Between the ages of ten to thirteen I used to come home from school, which was nearby, to have lunch. While I ate, I listened to a few soap operas. The best one by far was called “Ma Perkins.” “Ma” was a mature woman who often made shrewd and interesting remarks. She had a knack for seeing through people’s pretenses and for discerning offbeat significance in various situations. There was also a character on the program who always refused to inner-consider anyone. I still remember his name: Roger Dineen.

Several times, I remarked to myself that I had learned more about life from listening to “Ma Perkins” for fifteen minutes than I had the entire day at school. The program always ended with the announcer saying, “Ma Perkins was directed by Ed Wolfe.” Occasionally I would repeat those words to myself, sing-song style, a few times. Could it have been a sign, a portent, that nearly twenty years later the door of an apartment in New York City would open, and that behind that door, waiting to admit me to the Work, was Edwin Wolfe, once the director of “Ma Perkins?”

After Gurdjieff’s death Mr. Wolfe became a group leader, and was a founding trustee of the New York Foundation. His intelligence was so obvio