|Photo taken by me on our last day in Barbados.|
Morgan is holding a postcard I had everyone sign.
I was crestfallen to be informed by one of our mutual friends that Morgan Broadhead, a former professor of mine whom I was fortunate enough to also claim as a friend, passed away on Sunday. I ran a quick Google search to see what I could learn. I got to the end of the obituary and saw that he had requested there be no funeral service, no visitation. I laughed. That was precisely how I would have ever guessed he would have wanted things, and I know it's because he knew how many lives he impacted and touched over the years, and how great a fuss we all would have made over him, gathered in one place. He was far too humble for that sort of thing.
Well, unfortunately, one of the things I learned from him was the concept "Obedezco pero no cumplo" - "I obey, but I do not comply", an accepted way for a seafarer to respond to royal decree, the idea being that by the time the orders had been delivered so far out at sea that things had changed and that compliance with the specific directive would not have been favorable. So, respectfully, I will obey my mentor's wishes not to organize or attend a formal service, but I will not comply with his wish not to make a fuss over him.
In fact, the closest to celebrating I know of him doing was there for a few consecutive years, he and his lovely wife Ann would host me for a combined birthday dinner; his birthday was the day before mine. Ann would cook something warm and delicious - I remember her hot brown being particularly wonderful - and we would sit in their kitchen or living room with a bottle of wine and have the storytelling equivalent of a guitar jam for the evening. Morgan's sense of humor was sarcastic but without the undercurrent of meanness that seems to characterize everyone else's sarcasm.
He was also whimsical; I remember one occasion after a symposium on evil, the three of us and my then-girlfriend (whom I met through them) went to dinner. When asked a name, Morgan gave not his own name or that of anyone in the party, but a name plucked from the annals of history. Ann digressed how embarrassing it was when he first started doing that with her, but that she had acclimated. I sometimes try to think of a clever pseudonym to give when someone is taking my food order, and I owe it to Morgan to feel that it's okay to do something like that. One of his favorite names to give was Vercingetorix, the Gallic leader who opposed Julius Caesar. (One of my classmates had that as his middle name, so I found that particularly amusing.)
Morgan took me under his proverbial wing early in our first course together. I can't recall now what the assignment was, but he made a point to praise my writing. When I expressed to him my intention to become a history teacher, he was thrilled. He was the first history instructor who ever taught me to get away from trivia and focus more on the big picture; that it was less important to know exactly who was present when something occurred than it was to understand why we still discuss today that it occurred at all. I've never cared for the marketing phrase "making history come alive", but it's fair to say that through his tutelage I came to understand how the discipline of history is not static.
When I still envisioned myself taking over a classroom one day, it was unquestionably Morgan I had in mind as my template for how I wanted to conduct myself. He held firmly to his expectations and standards for all of his pupils, but he was also so genial that I think we all wanted to meet them regardless of what they were. Reflecting on him now, I see him as having been a lot like Dickens's Fezziwig:
"Why! Is it not! He has spent but a few pounds of your mortal money: three or four perhaps. Is that so much that he deserves this praise?"
"It isn't that, Spirit.He has the power to render us happy or unhappy; to make our service light or burdensome; a pleasure or a toil. Say that his power lies in words and looks; in things so slight and insignificant that it is impossible to add and count them up: what then? The happiness he gives, is quite as great as if it cost a fortune."
It really felt that way for me. I studied numerous courses under numerous instructors over the years, and few wielded their authority as benevolently or as encouragingly as did Professor Broadhead. I felt him actively rooting for each of us to have our own epiphanies and successes along the way. He was one of those rare, special people who truly wanted everyone else to succeed in life.
His commitment to that ideal was not restricted to being passive, either. He made himself available to all of his students during lengthy office hours, though far fewer took him up on the offer than he hoped each semester. He taught courses at the prison, because he believed strongly in the role of education in creating new opportunities for a part of our community many would just as soon never help again. Morgan rejected that cynicism, and added to his full workload each semester for years to see to it that the inmates who shared his optimism had as fair a shake as he could create for them.
More than once, he remarked how of all the students he ever taught either at Jefferson Community College, the University of Louisville, or the prison, that it was the prison students who consistently asked detailed questions about the assigned reading. "You read the book?!" he would laugh, incredulously, because the rest of us - and I embarrassingly include myself here - were too privileged to read the textbook more than was absolutely necessary. We skated by on his lively lectures; the inmates delved into their assigned readings with more dedication, and I know without ever having met a single one of them that they did that because they believed that he believed in them.
It's easy to talk of valuing things like redemption, but awfully easy to excuse ourselves from participating in someone else's. Morgan Broadhead believed in people. He wanted them to succeed. I haven't gotten into a classroom, but I truly hope that I've lived up to the example he set for me in other ways over the years.
I've discussed often the impact that going to Barbados with the Broadheads in 2000 had on me, including a spattering of pieces in this very blog. Mine was one of seven groups fortunate to have that experience. There is something of a brotherhood of us Barbados Bound alumni, a fact that I was reminded of just a few months ago when a friend of a friend spied my Barbados Sea Turtle Rescue Project baseball cap and began chatting with me that she had taken the course in a subsequent year. Our specific experiences varied, but the impact that our time there had on us was very much the same.
|Morgan introducing to us Winston Farrell, poet laureate of Barbados, and my friend who broke this sad news to me.|
Our penultimate night in Barbados, I asked to say a few words to everyone. I had begun those two weeks quite a different person from the one who was getting ready to leave. I knew that in all likelihood, we would lose track of one another (this was before MySpace or Facebook, mind you), but I was also prescient that we would all find that a part of ourselves remained there in that island country. I won't presume to speak for Morgan's spiritual beliefs - a subject we never discussed - but I feel reasonably comfortable saying that there will always be a part of him there, not unlike the Ragged Point Light House shown at the bottom of this writing. He offered guidance when I and countless others needed it, and if there's a greater calling than that, I don't know what it is.
On the last day of class I had with him as my instructor, he shared with us the one piece of advice his mentor had given him. I'm not sure how it fits into this memorial, but I feel compelled to pass it along just the same:
"When you get into things that took place in your own lifetime, it's time to shut up." Maybe it will mean something to one of his myriad other former students who didn't get to hear that from him for one reason or another.
|Ragged Point Light House in Barbados, 18 May 2015. Photo taken by me.|