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September 18, 2009

Dear Colleague:  

     I attended a reception honoring undergraduates of Letters & Science who have received scholarships in recent years. It was held in Tripp Common of the Memorial Union. When I walked in, the hall was already packed with students, parents, relatives, and donors. Some were standing in line for the hors d’oeuvre. I joined them, for I didn’t want to miss the College’s largesse. With food and drink in hand, I looked for a table and found one that had not been occupied. Of course, I expected to be joined by others, but no one came. All the other tables meanwhile blossomed with bright happy faces—students and their proud parents—smiling, talking, eating. As I sat there nibbling at the food on my plate, I felt decidedly odd. Why was I there? I don’t normally accept open invitations of this kind. I accepted this one because Cathy Webb wrote me a letter, inviting me to the reception as a future donor. She mentioned the scholarship in my will and said that she hoped it would be many years before it is activated. Her words rang in my ears as I stared into space and imagined myself a ghost hovering benignly over the crowd, an actual benefactor and not just a potential one.

     The fact is, although I was bodily present at the reception, I felt as unreal and disconnected from what went on as I would if I were pure spirit—and the year not 2009 but, say, 2012. At this point of my reverie, a young man was brought to my table by an assistant dean. His family couldn’t come and I obviously needed company. Immediately my ghost rejoined my body and I felt real again. The student is Matthew O’Brien. He is in his third year, majoring in materials science, modern history, and African Studies. Yes—all three! Astonishing, isn’t it? He politely asked about me, what I do, and I found myself telling him about doing fieldwork in Panama in 1959, as part of a naval project to blast—with nuclear bombs!—a new canal through the Panamanian isthmus. How ancient I must seem to Matthew. Sitting by me, it could occur to him that even his grandfather is young. The other side of the coin is, how incredibly young Matthew looked to me. If I had a grandson, he could be older. At this point, my thought turned to the parents. What images raced through their minds as they looked proudly at what they had contributed to life and world. “Oh death, where is thy victory?” must have a real meaning for them—not just a familiar phrase from the Bible, but a personal shout of triumph.

     You may detect a note of envy in me, a life-long bachelor, when I start to talk about parents. On the other hand, I am immensely grateful to them for lending me their talented offspring. At times, I feel that the parents just might envy me, for I see their children, often on an one-on-one basis, when they are most attractive and intellectually alert. The parents toil to pay the bills and I get the benefit. Even in the brief time I chatted with Matthew, I felt charged up by his vigor, intelligence, and hopefulness. I was also delighted to hear a student’s official remarks from the podium. She is Kimberly Krautkramer, a senior in molecular biology and philosophy. What a promising combination of disciplines! Kimberly is surely heading toward a brilliant career. Finally, while waiting for the program to begin, I watched slides projected on the screen that showed comments by scholarship recipients. One said something like this. “I am grateful to my professors at UW. As Marcel Proust said, ‘Teachers are the gardeners of my soul.’” After this, dear colleague, it is hard to be dour even if the arthritis still hurts.

Best wishes,

Yi-Fu