In Memoriam: FJW

A few months ago, I had a dream about FJW. I was so happy to see him again. He died in 1988, when I was pregnant with my first child. He was hit by a car; he was younger than I am now, FJW was a famous (as such things go) literary scholar. I told Tom that I had dreamed about F. He said, "That's wonderful. I bet not too many people dream about him any more." It was a kind and understanding comment, attesting to the short (in so many ways) life of teachers and teaching. So I was happy to have this man of infinite kindness and humanity--along with intelligence--in my life once again, even in a dream.

I met Frank in an odd way. I was on an airplane going to Portland. The plane was filled with interior decorators who had attended a conference in New York City. A woman sat down in the seat next to me, exclaiming "Thank God, someone reading a book. Can I sit next to you?" J was a woman of incredible refinement and intellect. She said "My husband would love you! Come to Seattle and meet him."

I didn't think much of this. I told a few of my teachers about the encounter and they said "He's famous! Do it!" So I took the train to Seattle and spent an afternoon with them.

Of course, I lost touch. Then, when I was in grad school, I had to take a summer course on a particular topic. To my amazement, he was the teacher--brought in as a visiting eminence! He didn't remember me, though J did. He was so amiable and encouraging, not just to me, but to everyone in a large class. He wrote me a letter of recommendation.

F and I shared a love of seventeenth century prose. He told me that he had taught Sir Thomas Browne in a class on metaphysical poetry. I said, "But it's not poetry." He said that it was the only way he could get students to read Browne--through subterfuge.

I wrote a paper on Browne in graduate school. The course was team taught. One of the teachers was remote and somewhat forbidding. The other was a young fellow, who was verbally abusive to students. I reported his abuse to my (female) mentor. He ended up not getting tenure--probably because of lack of publication and not because of my report.

F remains for me a beacon--he was among the few truly supportive of women students in those days.

I was rereading Thomas Browne--marveling at my notes and annotations, my efforts at understanding a complex text.  My paper for F was on the subjunctive mood in lyric poetry (Ronsard, Spenser, Herrick and a few others...). Still I thought of him all the while I was reading Browne.

From Religio Medici, a favorite.

Now for my life.  It is a miracle of 30 years, which to relate were not a history, but a piece of poetry and would sound to common ears like a fable. 

For the world, I count it not an Inn, but an Hospital and a place not to live, but to die in. 

The world that I regard is myself.  It is the microcosm on my own frame that I cast mine eye on, for the other world, I use it like my Globe and turn it round sometimes for my recreation.

Men that look upon my outslde, perusing only my condition and fortunes, do err in my Altitude, for I am above Atlas his shoulders.  The earth is a point, not only in respect of the heavens above us, but of that Heavenly Celestial part within us.

That mass of flesh that circumscribes me, limits not my mind.  That surface that tells the Heavens it hath an end, cannot persuade me I have any.  I take my circle to be above 360, though the number of the arc do measure my body, it comprehendeth not my mind.

Whilst I study to find how I am a Microcosm, or little world, I find myself something more than the great.  There is surely a piece of Divinity in us, something that was before the Elements, and owes no homage to the Sun.

Nature tells me I am the image of God, as well as Scripture.  He that understands not thus much hath not his introduction or first lesson and is yet to begin the Alphabet of man.

I am the happiest man alive.  I have that in me that can convert poverty into riches, adversity into prosperity.

I am more invulnerable than Achilles.  Fortune hath not one place to hit me.

In brief, I am content, and what should Providence add more?  Surely this is it we call Happiness and this do I enjoy.  With this I am happy in a dream, and as contet to enjoy a happinesss in a fancy as others in a more apparent truth and reality.