Death of a Colleague

The "normal" trials of Makinzie and I living in different cities were exacerbated last week when I learned that Scott, a professor in my department who I had been getting to know this summer, died unexpectedly in his home on Monday. Scott was kind to me from the first days that I stepped foot on the UNT campus, and I was able to know him better after he was assigned to observe my teaching during my second year review. I stressed and stressed for that review, going over every minute of my class plan in detail before the actual date of the observation. I was relaxed by the time that Scott showed up and took a seat in the back of the classroom, though, and I ended up following my class plan quite well. I still remember waiting for Scott's final evaluation, and I remember even more clearly what he wrote: "We made a great choice in hiring Matt. He's the cat's pajamas." I'm pretty sure that this is the first time "the cat's pajamas" has appeared as a qualifying adjective in the tenure review of a university professor.

After that observation, Scott asked me to come by his office at some point because he wanted to show me a technological innovation he had thought about while observing my teaching. (I'm not sure what he saw technology-wise in my own class. I think my grand innovation during that class period was using Powerpoint). When I had time one day I dropped by Scott's office, and Scott was clearly excited as he gathered up a mouse from his desk and told me to watch what he had come up with. He then walked down the hallway about ten yards, pointed the mouse towards the computer in his office, and began moving the mouse over his upturned palm. Surely enough, the pointer on his computer moved analogously. Scott was so proud that he had "invented" a wireless pointing device, and he gave all the credit to his observation of my class that semester. So far, I haven't received any payout from the invention...

I was able to spend more time with Scott this summer as he and I wandered into the local coffee house around the same time every morning. Scott always stopped to sit for a few minutes and talked with me about things ranging from Judith Butler and semiotic theory to the question of whether or not Brett Favre would return to the Vikings this year. I looked forward to these conversations and had hoped that Scott and I could trade papers in the near future since we shared similar theoretical interests.

So, the office on the second floor now feels hauntingly empty every time I pass it. Scott's boxes of books are still piled up outside the door. I think that humanities professors think our legacies live on through the contributions we make to the scholarly tradition through books and articles, but I remember Scott primarily as a person, through his kindness and interest in my own life.