I saw Bob for the last time about a month ago, and I was totally unprepared for the text message I received last Sunday. In the days since Bob's passing, I've been fortunate to share memories with others who knew him and to jointly attempt to deduce exactly what those qualities were that made him so uniquely special - so Bob, so "The Hawk." As already mentioned here, it is clear that his sense of humor is at the top of the list. As others have mused, Bob had fun. Despite the sometimes less-than-ideal minutiae of his job, Bob showed up, everyday - and he brought a sense of sincere joy with him. There were few stresses that a trip to the Bistro couldn't fix, or at least assuage (a double americano - occasionally accompanied in the afternoons by the most recent cookie out of the oven). It seems this joie de vivre was the source of some of the qualities I will remember most about Bob: he unwaveringly supported his students, he didn't back down from a challenge, and he had a sense of academic adventure.
It's funny; I'm sure I interacted with Bob over the course of my work with WEB and an attempt to revive Glee, but I remember my first personal conversation with him taking place in my final year at Willamette. I had scheduled a meeting with Bob to discuss the possibility of bringing some potentially controversial speakers to campus; specifically, I wanted to host a discussion about feminism and the growing number of women in positions of power (in a business sense) in the adult entertainment industry - not only that, but I wanted his office to help me pay for it. While a lesser administrator would likely have tucked tail and run, Bob didn't bat an eye. As we discussed my proposal, our conversation meandered from the evolving waves of feminism to my own intellectual evolution, from the research proposal I was working on to his experiences growing up on the South Side and as a young campaign volunteer, from my experiences as a Politics major to the changing political climate of the student body over his tenure at Willamette (explained as an exemplary microcosm of broader national politics, of course). I believe that when I left Bob's office nearly an hour later, he had pledged somewhere around $500 in funding for my event. We discussed the potential for criticism from parents, alumni, and the Salem community and I felt assured that we would go down together if it came to that. As it turned out, the only real complaint Bob's office received was from a Portland-based adult film producer who was quite outraged that she had not been invited to be a panelist at the event; Bob took great pleasure in making me squirm and think "oh no," as he built up the story of this complaint from "a very concerned citizen" while I stood behind the Bistro counter preparing his afternoon americano. Bob was willing to go out on a limb for me in the name of academic and intellectual exploration, and I still appreciate that.
As many can attest, Bob's fearlessness in the face of a challenge was not limited to simply academic matters. Later in 2008, a group of us Politics seniors held an off-campus, end-of-the-year gathering for our departmental cohort and faculty. At some point in the evening, a challenge was posed to the faculty members present to prove their mettle in an activity involving red plastic cups at which college seniors tend to be quite skilled. I doubt many were unfamiliar with this particular activity, but the professor/student (even of the over-21 variety) dynamic complicated the matter. Not wanting to seem too eager (or, perhaps more accurately, unsure how to politely decline) our guests sequentially pawned our request off on colleague after colleague until finally it was pointed out, "Look, the Dean of Campus life is here; it's up to him." And so, we explained the rules to Hawk: it's a relay; the winning team is determined far more by skill, precision, and dexterity than stomach capacity or lining; everyone can use the beverage of their choice - no pressure (seeing as this was all in good fun, and we weren't freshman, after all); just one friendly round. Bob listened intently, nodding and thinking it over. His response? "Competition! I like it!" And so we lined up, seniors vis-a-vis our professors, along either side of a ping-pong table that had seen better days. I happened to be positioned directly across Bob, and after his team had been handily defeated, he pointed a finger at me across the table, incensed, and issued a challenge of his own: "I want a rematch, Michaelson - you and me! Mano a mano!" I assured him I would be game anytime. Sadly, that rematch will have to wait.
Of course, Bob and I had more serious interactions as well. We discussed my time at Willamette. He praised my choice of an advisor. We talked about my possible career path and he offered practical wisdom about grad school. In our interactions, I always felt a connection with Bob, but I realize that that was how he related with all students. While I never took a class from him, I was no less a student of his. Bob was a teacher in the truest sense of the word; he derived the greatest joy from sharing his passion for learning with others. It was apparent through conversations about my classes (as well as on this blog) that Bob was as attentive to, and proud of, his colleagues as he was his students. He saw us not simply as professors and students, but as a community of learners: growing, evolving, and discovering together. Compatriots on the journey, for Bob, we were all here to better understand the world and our place in it - and to hopefully find our passions and callings as he had so clearly found his.
As I think about Bob and his deep sense of community - mentor and friend to colleagues and students alike, able to engage in a juvenile activity with a group of 22-year-olds one minute, and to teach a class on political theory or discuss the future of the university over coffee with colleagues the next - I think of the generations of students, now spread across the globe, whose lives he has touched. And familiar words come to mind bearing a whole new meaning: Non nobis solum nati sumus. Not unto ourselves alone are we born. Bob gave freely of himself and his loss will be felt for years to come in our institution, in our department, in our hearts and minds, in our community. We'll miss you, Hawk.
Stacy Michaelson
Class of 2008
No comments:
Post a Comment