Thanks, Roy

I first met Roy in my History-711 course. I had heard the rumors--being that he was an amazing albeit "quirky" professor. I also knew a little bit about him from the very small office up in Robinson B that then housed CHNM (back in the 90s when CHNM was a handful of computers and Elena had short hair and the website was in all black with colored typeface).

He arrived to class with his ever-understated presence, the high-tech, mustached and bespeckled professor, toting the very low tech coffee-maker right into our classroom (complete with sugar, cream, and milk!). It was then that I learned that he had a love of coffee and an appreciation for students in need of caffeine at the end of their long workdays to sustain and awaken them for their exciting academic evenings. Coffee with Roy went long beyond that class.

Time with Roy was fast, hours felt like minutes, and trying to hold onto him (in health and sickness) was like trying to hold onto water with your fingers. In his own words, "The fastest way to reach me is often through electronic mail, which I usually check quite regularly." And, that was true. Emails from Roy came at all hours. Over the weekend I opened up my boxes of papers from my three courses spent with him and the year he employed me at the Center, and I looked through my archives of student-to-professor, employee-to-boss, post-employee-to-Roy.

Roy was critical in helping me enter the Ph.D. program, he was critical in the establishment of the program. He gave me a job at the Center after I lost my own job after September 11, 2001. He changed my life in so many ways.

The last time I saw Roy in person was on the Orange Line Metro in early spring 2006. He was on his way with a new CHNM fellow to pursue a new grant for the Center. We talked about my job and especially about Larry. I wish I had been brave enough to overcome the funny awkwardness that was characterized by his overuse of the word "like" and funny pauses and hug him. Instead about 6 months later, after losing Larry, I wrote to him to thank him for encouraging me to get in touch with Larry while I still had time and for being the inspiration (along with partner-in-crime Paula Petrik) for what has become my career.

Roy introduced me to Larry Levine, they became the bookends of my academic aspirations. Roy had the first TiVo out of anyone I knew, whereas Larry still couldn't quite get the hang of e-mail. Roy (and Paula) turned me from typist to techie and Larry turned me from confused to confident.

For GMU, our history/art history departments, the undergraduate, graduate, and those in pursuit of their Ph.D. The loss of these two amazing men in less than one year is devastating . . . the pain of their absence is palpable, is heavy, is hard to bear, because heroes (academic, non-tight-wearing ones) -- well, they don't do things like die.

I have this hope that Larry brewed a pot of the most delicious coffee and he was standing by ready to share one cup or ten cups and catch up with Roy . . . wherever they both are.

And, as for the rest of us, still here, left behind, I'm thankful that both Roy and Larry shared enough of themselves that they're in us all. That some of Roy's quirky mannerisms have been adopted by any one who spent enough time with him. That people like Dan Cohen, Mills Kelly, Kelly Schrum, Sheila Brennan, Lee Ann Ghajar, Peter Strong, Greg Goodale, Elena Razlogova, Tom Scheindfelt, Paula Petrik, Jim Sparrow, Jeremy Boggs, Rob Townshend, and Katja Herring, and the many, many more who emulate a love for technology and history and learning and excitement and appreciation for coffee (except for the pumpkin-kind that sat in the chnm fridge for too long)---that they all keep a little bit of Roy around at all times.

Cancer is terminal and temporary. Coffee, history, CHNM, scholarship, and friendship are forever.

-Chrissie B.