The Passing of a Friend

My mother, who died in 2014, graduated from John McDonough High School in New Orleans in 1940. At the time, it was an all-girls public high school. She remained close to many of the girls who graduated with her, and she never missed a high school reunion for the next 60+ years. And then the reunions stopped. The time came when the number of the 1940 graduates still living had dwindled to less than five. My mother said that they decided that reunions had become too depressing, too much of a reminder of what, and who, was gone. 

I thought of my mother when I read a Facebook post last week. It almost seemed nonsensical. A friend posted a short item of the passing of a mutual friend, Paul Stolwyck. It was a shock. I didn’t know he’d been ill. Over the next few hours, I learned what had happened. He died from a brain aneurysm. No warning, no sign, just a collapse. 

To continue reading, please see my post today at Dancing Priest.

The Legacy of a Teacher

In 1983, a colleague at work suggested I might be interested in a new masters program at Washington University in St. Louis. It was the Masters in Liberal Arts, and it had been designed for “older students,” people who had been out of school and working. I looked into it, talked with the program coordinator, and decided to try it. It was only one night a week per class, and my employer generously subsidized college-level courses as long as they were part of a degree program. I figured it was extremely low-risk; if I didn’t like the program, I could simply stop.

The deal clincher was what my colleague said about the professors who taught in the program. They were among the very best professors at the university; in fact, there was something of a waiting list to teach MLA courses. The reason: the students were older, more experienced, firmer in their convictions, more inclined to challenge the teacher, and interested in the subject being taught for its own sake.

To continue reading, please see my post today at Dancing Priest. 

Photograph: Dr. Michael Friedlander, 1928-2021.