Karen

O where is that thesis of mine
That S. Michael H will refine?
It shudders again!
The slash of his pen
Will rid it of ev-ry great line!

It is challenging to skip over the plethora of possible narratives that would illustrate Professor S. Michael Halloran’s brilliance, diplomacy, communicative dexterity, generosity, fantastic memory and even more fascinating delivery. But skip them I must, to focus on SMH’s chief role: that of Savior.

Having worked on my dissertation all summer in Vermont, I had come to Troy and installed myself in the glamorous Holiday Inn while waiting for an apartment to open up. On Sunday eve, I walked up the much renowned hill, aka “The Approach,” to visit the newly renovated Sage building which, it became swiftly evident, held approximately 2000 degrees of sick building air that lacked any conditioning, circulation, or  whisper of a welcome draft. (Rumor has it even to this day that the renovation aroused the humours of corrupting substances lurking beneath, from its prior use as a chemistry lab.)

And as to the spanking new Writing Center? No furniture. Nothing on the windows or walls. I sat on a carton. It began to implode. The Center was to open the next day. I was weary, hot, depressed, dissertation-logged, homeless, and furniture- and equipment-less. Nary a book. A blackboard with no chalk. What had possessed me to consider doing this? In this wretched condition, who ya gonna call? Ghostbusters was not even a glimmer in the eye.

So instead I, a damsel in ?distress — or is it ellipsis? — called Professor SMH at home. I said I was resigning as Writing Center Director. On the spot. Now. This would NEVER EVER work. “Well, do you think you can wait until morning?” he asked, with not a trace of sarcasm. I do not think that question was rhetorical. It did not have the nasty scent of erotema. We agreed to meet at 7 am at his office.

Next morning we talked and he urged me to give it a few days. He reminded me, “The ‘TUTE reigns. Ask not what RPI can do FOR you, but what RPI will do TO you if you disappear.” (Aha! I am the victim of a powerful though pulverized Antimetabolite!)

“Meanwhile,” said SMH firmly, “Do NOT visit or call or see Merrill Whitburn [then department chair]. Do not approximate his door. Slither closely against the walls. Wait.” Presumably he said some more empathic, comforting things, all of which I have forgotten, but I did remain the rest of the week, with “Do not approach Merrill” warnings ringing in my ears, oratorically speaking. By pre-arrangement, Michael and I met for lunch at Daisy Baker’s that Thursday. By then I had moved on to discuss this and that ordinary subject, and he finally had to remind me: Had I, then, decided to stay? Anticlimactically I said yes, and whatever RPI reaped and lost from the results of that decision may perhaps be attributed to, or blamed upon, none other than today’s honoree.

Michael, I am so grateful for your many insights, as well as your generosity in sharing them, again and again. For imparting Rhetoric, a la You. Nobody does it better.  Your astounding and graceful writing. Your ways of editing and helping me revise my writing, with such thoroughness and compassion. The laughter and the AHA! times. Conversations that would start and subside and develop over time, occasionally interrupted by the rest of life. So many of us, so much to celebrate about you! So, happy 80th birthday, S. Michael! Or, using your native tongue:

“at tu, Natalis, multos celebrande per annos, candidior semper candidiorque veni!”

Propertius, Elegies, 3.10, line 5

“But you, Birthday, come to your honors for many a year, come ever brighter and brighter still!”

KBLefevre@gmail.com