If you feel so inclined, take a minute, reflect on your best and brightest career, life or, even better, fishing experiences involving John. If you have any pictures or videos you would like to share please feel free to email them to us at JohnLWise@gmail.com and we will add them here.
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I met John when I joined the I/O Program at UT in 1986. My first impression was, “Damn, this guy is HUGE.” But I couldn’t know how big a part of my life he would become.
He was an incredibly talented teacher. While all of our professors were good and some had deep expertise in testing, measurement and statistics, John was on another level. He had the ability to make these topics accessible and he give us actual skills to help us practice I/O Psychology. I learned more about measurement and data analysis from John than from any other source, and it’s those skills that have been responsible for much of the success I’ve had in my own career.
John genuinely cared about his students’ success and somehow managed to be accessible to all of us. This is possibly because he didn’t sleep. We could email him at 1:30 in the morning, and he’d reply immediately. Most of the students were night-owls, but I don’t think any of us stayed up as late as John.
More than a few times, I received calls after 3:00 am from John and I’d have to gently remind him that I wasn’t a vampire (or Warren).
He was, by far, the most accessible professor to graduate students in our program. He was completely inclusive… he invited everyone to his home and it was a rare time when there wasn’t at least one graduate student hanging out at his house on Lance Drive. Whether we were working on a project, watching sports, or just socializing, his house was joyous. It was constant chaos, activity, and noise. Kids, dogs, and cats would be running around and jumping on people and furniture, but everyone was happy to be there. John radiated positive energy.
I could write many stories about the fishing trips. When most people think about “fishing,” they visualize some relaxed, serene activity. But most people never fished with John. The visions (maybe “flashbacks” is a better word) involve hurtling down U.S. 129 in one of John’s giant cars towing his miserable fishing boat. U.S. 129 is the highway that leads from Knoxville to Calderwood and Cheoah Lakes. It’s also known as “The Dragon,” a road revered by sports car and motorcycling enthusiasts because it contains 318 curves in its 11 mile length. John would drive with one-hand casually draped on the steering wheel while he would hold forth on some topic, insisting on making eye contact with his terrified passengers (including those in the back seat) as he negotiated those hairpin turns. Eventually, we always reached our destination. The subsequent “fishing” might include running out of gas (without oars), nearly being killed by a dam (or being sucked into its generation pool), tense encounters with locals who could have been cast in “Deliverance,” broken bones, or hypothermia (in mid-July). These trips produced far more stories and memories than trout.
After I graduated, I managed to stay connected to John. I tried visit him in Knoxville about once each year. Warren Bobrow and I tried to coordinate annual visits coinciding with a home football game. We’d hang out with John and Lucy, and then we’d go to the game using John’s season tickets.
In September, 1998 I visited John in Knoxville. For some reason, Warren wasn’t able to come to Tennessee that year, so John and I went to the Tennessee-Florida game. Florida had been the Vols nemesis for years, and 1998 was the first year after Peyton Manning (who was 0-4 against the Gators) graduated. We knew we had a pretty good team that year. UT was ranked #6 and Florida was #2. But UT Football was one area where John’s usual positivity often faltered: He was convinced we were going to lose. There were almost 108,000 fans at Neyland Stadium. Because of the enclosed, steep-bowl design, Neyland is always loud. But it was absolutely deafening that night. The game itself was wild. Florida gained a lot of yards, but we forced 5 turnovers and the game went into overtime tied at 17. Tennessee kicked a field goal in OT, to take a 20-17 lead, but Florida quickly drove down the field and was set up for a 32 yard field goal to tie the game. The energy, tension, and noise was electrifying…and they missed the field goal, giving us the win . To say “chaos ensued” would be a huge understatement. The crowd lost its collective mind. The fans rushed onto the field, and for the only time in my life, I actually saw fans tear down the goalposts. John and I didn’t participate in that activities, but we did go out onto the field to bask in that moment.
I grabbed some of the grass from the field and put it in a Ziploc bag with the ticket.
Tennessee ended up going undefeated that season and winning the national championship.
I know this game was a great memory for John…he would mention it every time I visited him afterward.
John was truly bigger than life, an incredible, positive force-of-nature that we were all fortunate to have in our lives. The unfortunate consequence is that he’s left behind equally big holes that we’ll have to try to fill with these memories.
Outside of my mother and father, John Lounsbury was the single greatest influence in my life.
I met John my junior year in college and I was immediately mesmerized by his intelligence, sense of humor, and larger than life persona. I had never met anyone like him before. He had a unique gift that allowed him to instantly and effortlessly connect with other people. He was brilliant, inspirational, and I knew within a very short time of knowing John, that I wanted to be just like him. I actively sought his mentorship and guidance and he generously handed it out to me in spades. It wasn’t long after meeting John that I began working for his consulting company on the weekends and enrolling in every class that he taught so I could learn as much from him as possible. He welcomed me to his house with open arms, connected me with other students, and ensured that I had the support and mentorship I needed to succeed in college and in life.
John inspired me to pursue my dream of one day living in Los Angeles and painted a picture of how I could get there. He taught me about management consulting and introduced me to a world that was previously unknown to me. He gave me confidence that I needed to apply to graduate school and study I/O psychology. He reviewed my admissions essay, wrote a letter of recommendation for me, and guided me every step of the way. John made me feel like anything was possible through his support and he was there whenever I needed him. He immediately responded to my emails and made me feel connected to him at all times. How could I fail with this brilliant man in my corner? I couldn’t! I was accepted into every graduate school that I applied to.
After graduate school, I was able to live my dream of moving to Los Angeles and working for a prestigious management consulting firm, a dream that John was instrumental in helping me achieve. After settling into my career and living in Los Angeles for some time, I met a lovely girl and I decided to take her to a football game in Knoxville. Knoxville and John were synonymous to me since my time there was so heavily defined by the influence that he had on me and the work we did together. I hadn’t been back to Knoxville or seen John for over a decade, and it had even been a few years since we had last talked. But, I sent him an email to let him know I was coming into town and he immediately responded to me, just like when I was in college.
When I got to Knoxville, he welcomed me to his home and picked up our conversation as if I had never left from there. His detailed memory of everything about me along with our prior conversations from over a decade ago were effortlessly served up to me and beautifully articulated without hesitation. It was an astoundingly fresh reminder of the gift he had of connecting with other people and making them feel special. Throughout the meeting, I was beaming with excitement that John got to meet my girlfriend and see a more grown-up version of myself, a version that he help create. As I was leaving, I let John know how important he was to my life and his response was humble and gracious as if it were no big deal. But it was, it was a very big deal to me.
John was a father figure, a mentor, and a friend to me at a time when I very much needed all three. As a first generation college student, John gave me the guidance my family was not able to provide. He made my dreams possible and made my family proud and he was rooting for me all of the way until the end. I am now surrounded by successful business leaders and PhDs from prestigious universities every day in my career, but still to this day, I have never met anyone as gifted or as talented as John. I still try to emulate him in my writing and interactions with others because I know if I can do half as good a job as he did, I will be an inspiration to others just like he was to me.
Anytime someone asks me how I chose my career or took that path that I am on, I always start out by answering the same way by saying “I had a mentor…”. But really, the truth is, I met someone I aspired to be and he welcomed me with open arms.
I love you John! Thank you for everything you did for me. Rest in peace and I can’t wait to see you on the other side.
Cheers to you one last time!
With love,
Josh Daniel
John and I met back in the mid 60’s while attending Portland State. Spring break 1997, ready for adventure we decided to take a road trip to Indiana and visit his family. Items packed included my Smith Corona typewriter, a sleeping bag and my favorite Dylan Lp ~ that’s about it, maybe a toothbrush and a change of clothes. Enjoying the view, sleeping under the stars, eating at roadside diners, taking in Yellowstone. Then John’s car broke down and after repairs there was only enough cash between us to limp into Rapid City, South Dakota. John seemed pretty excited about the possibility of visiting the School of Mines and some geological areas and as for me I barely knew South Dakota existed on the map. It was all new territory, although come to find out years later family records revealed a great grandpa married and buried in Elk Point.
Anyway, pretty much broke, we headed for the employment office, who unimpressed with my skills as a silk screen artist and John’s resume sent us to Deadwood along with promises of finding work there. At that point it was surely a simple twist of fate, karma, maybe cosmic forces ~ the employment office in Deadwood sent me to the Saloon # 10 where I was immediately hired on as a barmaid and John was hired to work underground at the Homestake mine. We rented a little 3 room apartment in Lead and went to work. It wasn’t long before we’d made enough money to move on or at least get back to Portland by the end of the summer. Only life has a way of happening and I ended up staying while John went on to Indiana, then eventually back to Portland on his own.
Fast forward we reconnected again long distance in the late eighties when Kirsten was in high school. We also met up once out in Oregon and spent a fun few days together on the coast, Portland hang outs and along the Columbia River (photo). Then it was back to work for both of us, by now both single parents and the reality of time consuming jobs many miles apart. Me working for Custer State Hospital/SDDC as a special ed teacher, co-ordinator and John heavily involved with all of his body of work and teaching schedule at the university. John went on to marry Lucy; however, we stayed in touch after that over the years as friends, an occasional call or email to catch up and lend support. John always knew how to ask the right questions, to bring things into focus and make me smile and think about stuff from another angle.
Am going to miss you my friend, love always and god speed ~ “Cheers” as you would say,
Namaste, Tesla Starr
We, like everyone else, were captivated by John’s laughter, warmth, and genuineness. We often think of John as being like Big Bird on Sesame Street, accepting all and sheltering everyone under his wings.
Mary Ann and I always laugh when we remember John trying to protect the Koi he was trying to keep in a pool in front of his house. Herons were swooping down and having lunch at John’s expense. We do not think he succeeded as the Koi soon disappeared.
May his memory be for a blessing, and bring his kindness upon all.
Steve and Mary Ann Handel
Thank you John for being such a fantastic faculty colleague of mine in UTK. Thank you to his children for sharing him with us. He had a tremendous impact not only on students, but on his fellow colleagues and everyone he met. His humor and positivity were contagious.
I loved serving on dissertation and theses committees with him – I always knew he would treat the student fairly, respectfully, give thoughtful insights, and do everything he could to help them succeed. As soon as I learned he was on a committee I was on, I was SO happy. I also encouraged my students to select him for committees. I knew we’d all have a great time and learn so much without all the crazy academic drama and politics. He was savvy and smart without having to resort to games. He was the real deal and as genuine as they come.
John studied work/leisure research and he lived the “work hard, play hard” motto better than anyone else I knew! To this day, I remember some of his findings on the importance of vacations and the ways he’d share the data. I can see him smiling while he was telling me the results!
He was one of those faculty members we all loved working with – he significantly enhanced every experience! He was an advocate for every student- no biases, no ego, no games, and it was truly all about how to make them better.
John brought JOY into every room he entered. He brought FUN. He brought that booming laugh and his quick wit. He brought energy, intelligence, and compassion.
John made all of us better. He had such a positive impact that we will never forget him and what he taught us.
I am so grateful for having known him and worked with him. Thank you John. You made a difference!
I miss my mentor, my friend, and the enabler of bad small dog behavior.
John and I were just getting to know each other at what was a low point in his life—right after Karen passed away. What impressed me then was his spirit and resiliency. John never lost his desire to pursue what was important to him, regardless of what was thrown his way.
I first got to know John through playing pick-up basketball. Not surprisingly, he longed for the days when big men could play with their back to the hoop. I don’t know why he invited me to be in his group—I’m only 5’ 10” and it’s not like I had played that much. Maybe it was a generous way to welcome a new student or they just needed a 10th player that night. But, I appreciated the gesture and grew to know that it was the type of thing he did for many people.
John had the most generous spirit which extended into all parts of his life. Connections to people were very important to him. Before cell phones, you could try to call John and get nothing but busy signals for hours. I asked him why he didn’t want call waiting and he said because he thought it was rude to interrupt one call for another. That didn’t stop him from abruptly ending a call, but at least you had his attention during it.
There’s no one I’ve met who had a deeper intellectual curiosity. John was a voracious reader of everything from academic journals to mystery novels. Once he sunk his teeth into a subject he would not let go. This made him a great researcher and why his papers on work and leisure are seminal. A younger John would be having a field day now as the line between work and home are being obliterated for so many people.
My career trajectory would have been totally different if it were not for him. As a teacher, it was John who was able to explain statistics in a way which made sense to my brain. And I know that I am not the only one who had that experience. Teaching as a profession was important to John, so much so that he once shared with me his academic family tree. No one sprouted more branches on that tree than him. He averaged sitting on more than 9 graduate committees per year, in addition to his teaching and consulting. This led to nearly 350 master’s theses and doctoral dissertations across many psychology disciplines. Students sought him out because they knew he would be interested in THEIR work and help them graduate.
John invited me, and many others, to work in his firm while we were still in school. The industrial psych program saw itself as a trainer of future academics. John saw to it that interested students could get practical experience as well. I remember being at a factory very late one night doing a job analysis and John looking at me and saying, “WARREN (he always growl/yelled my first name), this is REAL I/O psychology.” He could not get enough of the personal stories of the people we interviewed, regardless of their backgrounds. The experiences working for him allowed me to gather my dissertation data and get PAID while doing it. And it was while hawking Resource Associates tests (poorly, I might add) at a trade show I was able to find what turned out to be my only job.
After I moved back to Southern California, we stayed in touch, particularly during football and basketball season. On several occasions Dave Futrell and I came back to Knoxville to see him for fishing and football weekends. In between we had conversations about sports (especially UT sports), psychology, consulting, politics, family—you name it. It seems weird not to be able to take about the epidemiological research of COVID with him now.
“So, when you were at UT did you study with John Lounsbury?” “Yes.” “Did you ever go fishing with him?” “Yeah, let me tell you when….” This was a conversation I had multiple times with total strangers at professional conferences. There was many a mid-morning when my phone rang, “WARREN, let’s go fishing. I already talked to Dave, Brad, and Sherman!” Instantly, my mind had to figure out how I was going to get my work done because the rest of the day (and likely half the night) was shot. I also had to figure out if we were fishing for fish (on the Clinch behind the Piggly Wiggly) or for scenery (at Tellico, Chilhowee, or Calderwood lakes) so I knew what to wear and the amount of provisions to bring. Oh, and notify next of kin, just in case. Whether it was a miscalculation of when water was released from a dam or someone falling into a canyon, fishing with John was rarely just tossing a line into water. In 2009, Matt asked some of us to write stories about fishing with John as a father’s day present. Dave perfectly described harrowing trips down Hwy 129 with a poorly equipped boat in tow. I distinctly remember a trip when we were
On a lake
In that metal boat
Under a bridge
During an electrical storm.
But, I also recall John leading us into a private lake cove in the middle of the night to catch enormous trout.
For a long time, I did not understand John’s love of fishing because in so many ways it was antithetical to him. Fishing requires calm and patience, but he liked doing things quickly. He spent his professional life in science gathering data to test hypotheses, yet, to paraphrase Will Rogers, there are two theories on catching fish, and neither works. There was nothing more random than fishing with John.
I soon realized that while fishing can be a solitary enterprise, for John it was social as often as possible. It was his way of getting to know people and enjoying their company away from the typical environment. We talked about anything and everything on those outings. Fishing was John’s compartment to get to know people and share a part of himself with them. He fished with his dad, he fished with his son, he fished with his students, he fished with his friends. Hell, he probably fished with some people he didn’t really care for, too.
As we remember John today, most assuredly not for the last time, I hope that in the last few months he had the chance to think back on the joyful things in his life. The 7 lb, 12 oz brown trout he pulled from the Little T river, the Vols beating Florida St to win the college football national championship, the students who appreciated him, colleagues who respected him, friends who adored him, and a family that loved him. Rest in peace, my friend.
It was so nice to see the photos and hear the wonderful inspiring and funny stories about John. We met him when Kate and Matt got married so only knew him in the later part of his life. We now have a more complete picture of John’s life. Thank you all for sharing your memories.
Linda and Craig Towers
While it makes no sense to say that a memorial service was a joy, this one was for me. Many thanks to John’s family. For Matt and Kirsten: your father was, I am sure you know, a force of nature. I only knew you when you were small, but John spoke constantly about you through they years, always in awe of your development and with that booming voice.
John often invited his community students to his house for some leisure. One thing i will never forget — we were on the deck during one of those stunningly beautiful East Tennessee evenings enjoying some mint julips which John “forced” us to try; one had no choice in the matter, and there was instruction involved. Paying due homage to some trees John had just planted, we watched as the kids played and then Matthew, about age 3, grabbed hold of one of the trees, pulled it out by its roots and proudly held it up. John’s reaction was one of horror that in an instant turned to pride and that wonderful laugh.
A few years ago my wife and I made the pilgrimage to K-town to see John and Lucy and to attend a UT football game. Kirsten, you came upstairs, walked into the room; and when you said hello, I almost lost my breath at how much you sounded and looked like Karen.
Hearing about those fishing trips, oh dear me, what experiences they were. Yep, almost getting sucked into that dam, time and again, and that scow of a boat! Joe, crawl up that bank and see what’s over that hill, only to get into so much poison ivy my eyes swelled shut. John calling in the middle of the night to demand i get an article from the library and bring it to him. And that time he called about 2:00am to warn me that a committee member was “gunning for you” at my orals the next day. They weren’t. And was it you John who arranged to set off the fire alarm during those same orals?
At one point John secured a large van to take four or five of us community students to MSU for some sort of informal conference. It was going to take about 10 hours. We piled in the van just before dawn, then we drove to John’s. Out bounded John with two arm-loads of books and papers. He plopped himself down in the back where there was the most leg room, of course. It soon became apparent that he had planned a 10-hour seminar. We had other plans, refreshment and actual leisure, not studying it! He was amused and a bit in disbelief that we would not want to work during the trip. But he smiled that smile and laughed that big laugh of his. It was like that with John. He respected us and genuinely listened when you disagreed with him, and he cared about us.
His style of mentoring wore off. Countless times during my career I intentionally drew on what John was to me in ways big and small, and It paid off.
I grew to love that man, and I am glad I told him so when we spoke last December.
So good hear Joni played. i recall he liked Emmylou Harris too. Your service reminded me how much he liked Dylan. I think Bob was somehow in the universe inspired to release a new song appropriately titled for John, “I Contain Multitudes.” He surely did.
Hi John –
I don’t have a better address for you, so I hope you get this. I just wanted to write you one more time. Maybe I’ll send a couple pictures too.
Okay, yeah, here’s one***. My freshman year at State Street Courts at Purdue: I don’t know why exactly I was attempting to hide under the bed, and you threw off the mattress to pull me out, but this picture is a fair representation of how you came to be my best friend (with no slight intended for Ski or Max, Perry or Miles). I’ve told you this before, but I wanted to thank you once more for (as I said at the time) cracking my shell and releasing me into the world. I was hidden and detached; you were a curious, and although friendly, an undeniable force.
That was quite some celebration on Saturday. All the stories of the same John, engaging, hugely impactful, commanding grand adventures. That niece Sarah is a bright light – you must love her as much as she loves you.
Here’s*** a picture you’ll remember. This is from what I believe we called the “girls Eastern trip”. Maybe you can’t make it out but that’s the Atlantic Ocean seen through your window. Well after midnight we had driven to the remotest tip of Cape Cod, where the road ended, and gone to sleep. That must have been your idea. Here’s you racked against the passenger window with a pillow after dawn. Pretty comical, the sizing of you and Ski over six feet tall (you way over six feet) and me in the back seat emerging from your red VW bug. I thought I still have it, but I can’t find that glossy booklet “Where the Girls Are”. Was it Harvard students who put it together, that guide to the prestigious women’s schools in the East? Just between you and me I want to smile at our arrogance for the time; no woman was cool enough for us at Purdue, so we thought on spring break we should introduce ourselves to the women of the finest schools.
Somebody mentioned on Saturday, as a subset of your interest in genuinely meeting everyone, your interest in meeting women. Reminded me when we just got our lunch at Grand Central Bakery in Portland (September 2018) and you began talking with a woman at the next table about enjoying conversation. I told her you were a great conversationalist and got up to get us silverware. I got back in time to hear her ask you to please call her, handing a note of her name and number. Did you end up having lunch with her? We had another lunch before you moved to Texas, but I forgot to ask you.
We haven’t talked about that recent Dylan song “Murder Most Foul” – what do you think/feel? For me it has an underlying rhythm like breathing and it takes me into a reverie, a mashup of past decades. As a country, it hasn’t gone as well as I hoped years ago. Like he sang in 1997, “it’s ‘Not Dark Yet’, but it’s getting there”.
Anyway, write me back if you get the chance. I’ll love you forever – Russ
***I can’t seem to get these pictures into this envelope; I’ll send them to John Wise; maybe he can get them to you.
Postnote – I’m weeping with Percy’s Song (the line “Oh, cruel, rain and the wind”) now as I go to send this. Fare thee well my friend.
I lived in Knoxville in the seventies and was friends with John, through other friends like Doug Cederblom, Tom Kohntopp, Tom Fahey, and Oscar Spurlin who were all in the Industrial Psychology program at UT. I was married at that time to Randy Humble who frequently played basketball with John, Doug and others. Though I moved to Hawai’i in the early 80s, Doug always kept me up to date on what was happening with John. And more recently, John and I exchanged a few posts on Facebook. I was so happy to be able to listen in to the wonderful celebration of his life – and what a life it was!!!! Rest in Peace, John.
Like Joe Hughey and many others, I thought the service was truly joyful. It was so wonderful to “see” old friends and hear their stories about the amazing John Lounsbury. I laughed out loud at Warren’s imitation of John’s growl. I’m sure we all got the same treatment: Cinnndddeeee. (I can’t quite capture it in writing!) I had forgotten about all the late night phone calls to discuss my dissertation on work & family, the topic inspired by his work & nonwork doctoral seminar. I had forgotten the constant busy signal when I called him at home (life before call waiting!), but I remember how energized he was when I finally got through for those 1am phone conversations.
The one thing that no one has mentioned was his love for Dolly Parton. I think it’s perfect timing that there is a movement to take down old Confederate monuments in Tennessee and replace them with Dolly Parton statues. John would be thrilled.
I am grateful to have had John in my life. I truly would not be where I am today—a tenured, full professor with published research on work and family—without his influence, guidance, and friendship.
My heart breaks.
Cindy Thompson
As it turns out, it sounds like my story is a common one. John W. Lounsbury was a hero to me too. He saved my sinking ship in graduate school at UT, rescuing me from an eddy of despair!
I tied my ship to his and found such good friends in pursuit of Community Psychology: Mike, Gail, Greg, Joe, Elizabeth, Carol – we all learned from the master. Our distinction was in being among his first students at UT. We fished with him, we worked on projects at his house, and drove long distances together to community psych conferences – even meeting John’s own major professor at MSU.
I recall a letter of support I wrote for him many years ago as he sought tenure; I noted he “brought out the best in people.” And I thank God he did! By most measures, I was not his best student, but with John I always felt I had something to contribute.
Years later, I visited John in Portland. It was great. We sat out on his porch, drinking a can of beer and recalling our shared contacts at UT. If only we could have gone fishing one more time.
I would like to quote one of John’s favorite Greek orators, Pericles.
“What you leave behind is not what is engraved on stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others.”
My brother was born nearly eight years before I was. For most of my childhood John was a towering presence in my life; both physically and emotionally. As I grew older, my relationship with my brother grew more complex. These are some of the adjectives that come to mind when I reflect upon my brother and what he represented to me.
Head strong, gregarious, opinionated, generous to a fault, brilliant, domineering, impulsive
John and I and my sisters grew up in rural Indiana. Indiana is flat and filled with farms. Where we lived, we had a view of a cornfield that lay across the road. The only consolation to our rural isolation was the proximity of the Wabash River which was a 200 yard walk across Farmer Ed Klutzke’s cornfield. At the age of sixteen, John was still an impulsive adolescent, who sometimes acted on an urge without thinking through the consequences of his actions. John was an avid fisherman all of his life, which was something he was able to enjoy in his youth, fishing in the muddy waters of the Wabash River.
One day in June, 1963 I looked out through the picture window in the living room of our house which sat on a small hill about 80 feet above the road and the cornfield in the valley below. I was surpraised to see a that path had been cut by a lawn mower leading from a spot across the road from our mailbox and extending clear across Klutzke’s cornfield to the Wabash River.
When I asked John about this path that led from to the Wabash, he said that he had taken our lawn mower and had made a walking trail to his favorite fishing spot. I was too young to think through what the consequences of John’s impulsive actions would be. The newly growing shoots of corn stalks that were about a foot high had clearly been cut down. It didn’t take Ed Klutzke long to notice that somebody had vandalized his cornfield. It was also quite obvious that the path led to our mailbox. Ed Klutzke called our residence. John happened to be the first person to answer the phone. John was old enough to have an adult sounding voice. This is how my brother John described what happened.
“The farmer (Ed Klutzke) was pissed and called our house to complain to my Dad. Dad was not home so I answered in my deep voice and told the yelling, cursing farmer that I would spank the hell out of my son when he got home.”
John never received a spanking for his misdeed. John emerged from this rebellious phase of his youth, when he moved away to Portland, Oregon in 1966. In his junior year at Portland State, John settled down and began applying his brilliant mind to doing well in school. His subsequent journey in life included marriage to Karen, higher degrees and eventually settling down in Knoxville.
I only truly began to get acquainted with my brother when I had finished my college years in Ann Arbor. My relationship with my brother was an uneven mixture of anger and amity. We clashed many times over the next thirty years. John was always initiating a project and wanted your support. John wanted me to kick in money to buy my sister’s children a computer. John wanted money to buy my Dad a new boat. John organized a trip to see my Dad in California. Everybody showed up except for John. John would always challenge you as to your reasons for not committing to one of his schemes. You had better have a well-reasoned argument for your position if your position wasn’t the same as John’s.
I rarely got to see the public and professional side of John. I knew that he was a well-loved teacher and colleagues in his field respected his knowledge and insights. John had a very engaging manner. He wasn’t afraid to approach strangers and pose them questions, if John could learn something from them. John was extremely inquisitive about everything he saw in life and read about the world, In preparing my remarks today, I took the time to review all the emails John had sent me over the past 20 years. I was surprised by the sheer volume of emails that were citations, usually from articles in the New York Times or New York Review of Books, John had read and wanted to share with me.
On the few occasions I got glimpses of this other side of John’s character, I was impressed not only by his demeanor and the depth of knowledge John would be demonstrating, I was also impressed by the admiration and esteem his students and colleagues held for John.
As I reflect upon my own life and the people I have known, my brother stands at the top of my list of people who have influenced me. On the Myers-Briggs Personality Type Indicator measurement for extroversion and introversion John measured at the extreme end for extroversion while I measured at the extreme end for introversion. It would be our common destiny that his extroverted nature clashed with my introverted nature.
There were times in my up and down relationship with John that I would turn to our mother and ask her how she viewed her first child, my brother John. My mother often would simply reply that as a very young child John was a handful. My mother was from another generation which regarded it impolite to speak ill or to defame a family member. So, my mother was never openly critical of John. However, more than once my mother recalled an incident that occurred in 1951 when John was only four years old when the family was living in Southern California.
The family was on a trip to Nevada. John repeatedly asked to have a coin to put in a slot machine. Thinking that John would put the coin in the slot, pull the handle and lose the money, my mother finally relented to his insistent requests. My mother reasoned that there could be no harm in John learning that gambling is a waste of good money. My mother gave John a single coin. Much to my mother’s dismay, the old-style mechanical slot machine promptly dispensed a copious quantity of coins. It was as if fate had determined that the slot machine would pay off big. This was not the outcome my mother had expected. This was not the kind of behavior my mother wanted to reinforce in John. Mother was forced to make the best of a bad situation where fate had undermined her attempt to teach John an important lesson about wasting one’s money.
John’s legacy to me is a legacy of altering my character and making me stronger, especially in social situations. He has made me more think through my reasons for everything I do. To this day, I often find myself using John’s counsel before I take an action. Pericles had it correct. What John left behind is clearly woven into my life.
I would like to close my remarks by reciting one of John’s favorite poems. John shared it with everybody at a time when John was already well into the problems that would plague him in the final years of his life. John was transfixed by the famous World War I poem, “In Flanders Field.” Although John did not believe in God (he was a lifelong atheist), I would like to think that what resonated for John in this poem was the idea that we should hold high the torch that the recently deceased have thrown to us and that we must continue on with the ‘faith’ or if you’re an atheist like John, continue on with the cause the deceased fought for. In words and deeds, John was passionate about injustice, and helping people he thought needed help. He was a man of ideas, possessing a joie de vivre and a deep humanity. Let us not break the mystic bond that ties us to John. Let us remember John by acknowledging what he has woven into our lives
In Flanders Fields
By John McCrae
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
I am so shocked! John was my advisor when I studied at UTK. He was the best professor I have ever met. I could not be the person I am without his help. He was nice, helpful, and professional . I can not explain my sad feelings right now. I am forever grateful. John, Rest In Peace.