Like many of my friends and colleagues, I was shocked and deeply saddened to learn last week of Jerry Gaus's passing. Although I did not know Jerry closely for very long--he joined Arizona less than two years before I finished my PhD, and I only saw him occasionally in the many years that followed--Jerry served on my dissertation committee and made a deep and indelible impression on me. So I would like to say a few brief things to celebrate the remarkable person I knew him to be.
The three most obvious things to me about Jerry were his kindness, brilliance, and all-around sunny disposition. Anyone who met Jerry knows that he was nearly always smiling and laughing. He was simply a joy to be around, and was always willing to chat--often for hours on end, either in his office or a pint of suds. But Jerry wasn't just a joy to be around: he was a deeply kind man. I've often shared my grad school struggles on the Cocoon. Jerry never batted an eyelash, so to speak. His support for others, as many others noted here, was unflagging and truly uncommon. Then, of course, there was his intellect. Here, I'll just say this: I think Jerry was hands down the most brilliant person I've ever met. The sharpness and clarity of his mind, and breadth and depth of his knowledge, were just awe-inspiring.
Because these are things that nearly everyone who knew Jerry has mentioned, let me conclude by sharing a more personal anecdote--the thing about Jerry that made the single biggest impact on me: the example he set as a person, mentor, and educator. In addition to patiently chatting for hours on end, I'll never forget showing a few of my friends the kind of feedback Jerry gave on written work. If I gave Jerry a 30-page dissertation chapter draft, he would give something like 1-2 pages of handwritten feedback per page (often filling, for example, the reverse-side of every page with detailed comments). On the one hand, this might seem like a small thing: professors are supposed to give students ample feedback. Then, on the other hand, you might have the same initial reaction that some my friends did when I showed the feedback to them: "Whoa, that's way too much - that must be demoralizing and debilitating!" The thing is, though, Jerry's feedback wasn't any of those things. Every word was a gift--not just in terms of the philosophical knowledge and wisdom it conveyed, but also, more deeply, as a model of how to treat others, particularly those who depend on us as teachers or mentors: namely, to unfailingly and generously give people our very best. I suspect that many others who knew Jerry had similar experiences and took them in a similar way: as a model of what kind of person and educator to aspire to be, and to try pass on to others in our own lives. A wonderful gift indeed.
I don't know if there is life after death or 'immortality of the soul', though I dearly hope so. And again, I did not know Jerry nearly as well as many others, who will almost certainly give him vastly better memorials than I have. But what I do believe, from the relatively short time that I knew him well, is that these aspects of Jerry will live on in the lives and being of other people, in ways seen and unseen, and in ways that can only continue to help make the world a better place. I wish that I had told Jerry more of this while he was still here. But if he is out there somewhere, I hope the impact he has made on so many of our lives makes him beam that wide smile and let out the hearty laugh that all of us who knew him will dearly miss.
Recent Comments