Louis Schmier posts his "Random Thoughts" to a number of mailing lists.
I am forwarding this message to the Ed-Tech list because of what he says
about valuing students. About 2/3 down he says, "every student--every
student--regardless of major, GPA, SAT score, scholarship, physical
condition, tattooing, athletic ability, gender, body piercing, skin
color, accent, sexual preference, ethnicity, sorority or fraternity,
special needs, etc is a sacred, unique human being. He or she is an
invaluable piece of the future that is entitled to be treated with
respect and dignity and consideration. And, nothing--not fund raising,
sports records, research, publication, curriculum, institutional renown,
title, reputation, resume--is more important in academia for the
administrator, staff person, faculty member, and student than that
realization."
Best day.
Bill Vilberg
305-284-3949 (work); 786-218-3052 (cell); 305-255-9138 (home)
-----Original Message-----
From: Professional & Organization Development Network in Higher
Education [mailto:POD@listserv.nd.edu] On Behalf Of Louis Schmier
Sent: Monday, October 03, 2005 8:02 AM
To: POD@listserv.nd.edu
Subject: [POD] Random Thought: In Memoriam
I lost a dear colleague and friend last week to the ravages of
pancreatic cancer.
His name is Fred Morris. Very few of you know of him. You should
have. For me, he was
a fellow traveler and kindred spirit. He tooled about in a motorized
wheel chair, but stood so tall I really never noticed it. Sometimes
he'd hobble around on crutches, but there was no hobbling of his spirit.
I regret I could not be at the "Celebrationof a Life" memorial service
on campus. At the time I was hosting a presentation in the "Witness To
The Holocaust" program I had put together to compliment my course on the
same dismal subject. Fred would not have wanted it to be any other way.
I wrote a few words to him and sent them on for someone to read in my
stead. Had I been there, I would have said how much he was an
inspiration to me and how much my memory of him will continue to be a
benediction to him.
We talked often. I'd bounce into his office to bounce teaching
ideas off him; he would bounce ideas off me. We'd celebrate when a
struggling student made a small, giant step and cry the loss when one
stumbled and refused to get up and go on. We'd cheer each other on and
encourage each other when the going got rocky for either one of us.
We'd shore the other up when we weakened. Our conversations were often
interruption by a faint knock, a slow opening of the door, a few fingers
appearing that weakly griped the door's edge, a single, hesitant,
peeking in eye of a student in need, and a needy, inquiring "You busy?"
The student would be met by an inviting twinkle in his eye and
compassionate smile on his face. Our focus immediately would shift.
Nothing was more important to Fred at that moment--or any other moment
for that matter--than that student. We'd look at each other. There was
no "wait a minute" or "I'll be with you in a few minutes." Be it
mid-paragraph, mid-sentence, or mid-word, I would quickly get out of my
chair and leave with a "Later." And, would return in a day or two and
pick up where we had left off.
Now, there are no more "laters." Now, there's a hole in my day's
schedule and in my soul.
I did not have that one last "later," that one last conversation
we both so desperately wanted. We had agreed it was to be a celebration
of life, not a bemoaning of death; a joy of what had been, not a sadness
of what would have been. We scheduled to have at discussion at his
bedside in his home, but had to reschedule, and reschedule again, and
again, and again until there were no more "and agains." It was not to
be. Both the cancer, advancing at a blindly rapid pace, and the equally
ravaging chemo therapy constantly and successfully conspired to deny us.
I will miss our searching talks about each other, teaching, students,
and life. I will miss his laughter and his smiles. I will miss his
"ugly puss" and his beautiful heart. I will miss his love of life. I
will miss his good counsel. I will miss his support and encouragement.
I will miss our loving bantering in the hall:
"When are you going to play some good music on that boom box of
yours? You'll chase the students out of the classroom with that noise,"
he'd yell out with a guffaw.
"Hell, you'll kill them before they have a chance to hear these
great tunes if you don't stop racing down the halls in that dragster
wheelchair of yours," I'll yell out in a laughing retort.
Now, there will be no more of that.
I will miss his unconditional love of each and every student and
his endless faith in each and every one of them and his boundless
optimism for each and every one of them.
Though our styles of teaching were different, our visions were not. We
always agreed about what was at the core, or should be at the core, of
we academics do. We agreed that if there is one central reality in all
of education, it is this: every student--every student--regardless of
major, GPA, SAT score, scholarship, physical condition, tattooing,
athletic ability, gender, body piercing, skin color, accent, sexual
preference, ethnicity, sorority or fraternity, special needs, etc is a
sacred, unique human being. He or she is an invaluable piece of the
future that is entitled to be treated with respect and dignity and
consideration. And, nothing--not fund raising, sports records,
research, publication, curriculum, institutional renown, title,
reputation, resume--is more important in academia for the administrator,
staff person, faculty member, and student than that realization.
We always talked about how it's so easy to find fault with
students. It's easy to treat them as an annoyance and intrusion. It's
easy to dismiss them. It's easy to cast them aside. It's easy to
criticize them and make them feel incapable and unwanted.
Anyone can do it. It doesn't take much effort to do it. You don't need
any training for that. What takes effort and skill, what takes patience
and kindness, what takes perseverance and commitment, what takes empathy
and faith, what takes a lot of hard work and dedication, what takes
consuming time and effort, what takes hope and love, what takes
awareness and "otherness," what takes heart and soul is picking each
student up and making him or her feel good about where he or she is, who
he or she is, and what he or she is capable of doing, and who he or she
is uniquely capable of being.
Many, far too many, academics don't understand that; many, far
too few, do. Fred Morris did.
Fred was one of those rare people who left the world a better
place than he found it and who has defeated the cancer by continuing to
live on in the souls he touched. He will in mine.
Damn, I'll miss him.
Make it a good day.
--Louis--
Louis Schmier www.therandomthoughts.com
Department of History
www.halcyon.com/arborhts/louis.html
Valdosta State University
Valdosta, Georgia 31698
(229-333-5947)
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