Jean

Mikey: friend, role model, and scholar—
Creates an illusion he’s taller—
Than all the rest—
He is the best.
Students, colleagues, and others, just foller.

I’m not sure when the above picture was taken, but it surely was NOT the day in 1983 that I was graduated from RPI.  On that day, Michael, you may remember, it was blistering hot in Troy, and I was in a suit for my presentation and defense.  Unfortunately, I was also sweaty and exhausted after what seemed an eternity of thoughtful questions and discussion. (Unlike more traditional dissertation defenses, I had an audience of students, friends, and other faculty—in addition to my committee members–and I was at a podium at the front of the room.) You had been spearheading this very challenging discussion for what felt like a very long time when you asked, with that characteristic twinkle in your eye, “Is there anything else you’d like to say?”  And I responded with uncharacteristic cheekiness: “Yes.  If y’all don’t have any more questions for me, I’d like to get into my car and head south.”  Thus, my dissertation defense ended, and after heartfelt congratulations, I turned my overloaded old red Volkswagen toward Ohio where I was to teach for the next 32 years.  In fact, my departure was so hasty that I did not attend that year’s graduation ceremony, and you never hooded me, a ritual I deeply regretted missing. It was many years later, in 2003, when a Miami colleague was defending at RPI, and I traveled north for the ceremony.  I contacted you to let you know that I would be in Troy—and as I packed, I gathered my cap, gown, and diploma (I had them from graduation ceremonies at Miami) and set off.  Once there, it didn’t take but a proverbial New York second to get you to agree to finally make my graduation official by hooding me.  That’s the picture you see above.  It was one of the happiest and most special moments of my personal and academic life.

But there were many of those moments in Troy.  As graduate students, we respected you and maintained appropriate boundaries in the classroom.  But you were accessible to us in other ways.  For example, you and Mary Ellen frequently had us to dinner at your house: good food was always a treat, and so was the always excellent pasta, homemade by you and Mary Ellen, and most welcome, the wonderful stories of life, graduates, and colleagues, and lots and lots of laughter and stimulating conversation. 

And I was one of the lucky graduate students who was trusted to stay with your children:  red-haired Steven and dark-haired John, then too young to stay by themselves. I was even trusted with the cats—an honor I came to cherish then, and in my memories.

And I have more memories:  In the good weather, you and Mary Ellen would invite students to spend time at Lake George.  Those were golden times, ones that make me want to return to the past.  And there were funny times, too.   Remember going sailing with Annette Bradford–a very smart woman, but one who had no experience with sailing?  As you coached her in shifting from side to side as we tacked across the lake, Annette, in her rich southern accent, noted that she felt “useless as tits on a duck.”  For that moment, real sailing came to a halt.

As I reread what I have written, I “hear” that it sounds as though you were, and are, as much a friend as a scholar, adviser, and mentor—a contemporary example of a good man skilled in speaking…and that has certainly been true—and you are adept at being all of these at once, always without discomfort, to be strict and demanding, and always to earn and deserve respect.  I recall during my dissertation struggles, going into your office to discuss my prospectus.  I confronted a dismaying stack of papers on your desk; I despaired that you would ever find your copy of my work.  No worries necessary:  you rocked back in your chair and pulled the carefully annotated paper from those others without ever blinking an eye.   Your comments, always succinct and sharp, sent me off in a new and better direction. 

Intermittently, our dialogues continued.  For a long time at Miami, I was grateful for 4C’s to come around.  Besides stimulating my thinking and learning, the conferences were a chance to join “the RPI table.” These gatherings were welcome, warm, and informative, and I regretted missing them when I quit going to conferences under the burden of administration at my own university.

But I was not the only person who traveled.  Do you recall coming to Ohio?  Yes, you may remember that you visited Miami and gave a compelling talk to the composition and rhetoric faculty. I had the special pleasure of introducing you to my colleagues and reaffirming that I had studied under you. 

Over the years, Mary Ellen and I kept in intermittent touch at Christmas…as I have with Carolyn Miller—and so it is that I learned that Mary Ellen was not well.   When I talked with you recently, you had just lost her…and after we talked…I found a very special picture of the two of you, long held dear by me, and passed it on to you for safe keeping.  I was, as always, glad we were in touch, but so sorry for the reason.  We promised then to keep in touch, and here I am again to knock on your mental door and ask to be admitted to the thoughtfulness, humor, and twinkle that always  goes with your sharp and inquisitive mind.  Happy Birthday, Mikey….you do know that our group of graduate students always called you Mikey,. . .right?