|
Edited on Sat Aug-14-04 10:07 AM by Padraig18
Some of you may know that I'm a budding historian, and that my particular area(s) of interest are American history, the American Civil war and Illinois history; if not, you do now. Any way...
One of my classes in the fall of 2002 was one dealing with the Civil War, and a 35-page research paper dealing with some aspect of that war was a requirement. As my subject, I chose to write about the role of the Copperhead Democrats in Illinois during the relevant period, with a particular emphasis on the Charleston (IL) Riot of 1864 in which 11 people were killed, including the County Clerk. As I began my research, I kept running across articles and references to relevant articles written by a Dr. Donald F. Tingley, Professor Emeritus of history at Eastern Illinois University. As Fate would have it, I happened to meet Dr. Tingley at a Democratic party meeting; in the process of becoming acquainted, I told Don that I had some idea of who he was, and how I had come to know it. Having discovered a mutual interest, we soon found a quiet corner to discuss it, and he questioned me closely about my paper and research. He told me many things I had not known about the subject, pointed me in directions I had not yet thought to explore and offered to critique my effort periodically. We exchanged e-mail addies and phone numbers, and I promised to be in touch soon.
About a month later, I had finished my intital research and drafted an outline of my paper, and I rang Don to ask him if it might be convenient for me to drive up to Savoy for him to look at what I'd done. He told me that he would be delighted, and asked when I thought I'd be arriving, gave me directions to his assisted-living condo unit, etc. . After I arrived, he welcomed me warmly and explained that we'd best go out on the patio, as his wife was napping; he later explained that she suffered from Alzheimer's, that caring for her was a big job, and that the chance to 'do something different' (critique my paper) was a welcome change of pace. Putting on his glasses, he looked at my research, notes and outline without saying a thing for about 15 minutes, which made me wonder if what I'd written was going to prove an embarrassment. Finally, he took off his glasses and said, "Young man, this is good--- very good". I don't think I could have been more pleased at that point if I had found a $100 bill lying on the sidewalk, frankly.
Don then said something else which completely floored me: he asked if I had ever considered taking my research and writing a book, instead of just a research paper. I told him truthfully that the idea had never crossed my mind, and asked him why he asked. He said that on the basis of what he'd seen that day, he saw a book that "needed to be written", and hoped that I'd at least consider the idea.
The drive back home remains a blur to me, because I was somewhere between shock and one of the highest 'highs' I'd ever had---- a pure adrenaline rush. I considered what he'd said over the next few days, then discussed it with Tony one night after supper, and the next morning called Don. "I've been expecting your call" were his first words to me after I said "Good morning, Dr. Tingley". I asked if I could take him to lunch and talk about the book idea, and he agreed to meet me that day in Urbana at a place he liked. Over a burger-and-beer lunch, we fleshed out the idea of the book, and i asked him if he would agree to edit it if--- if--- I decided to write it. He immediately agreed that he would, and gladly, but warned me that he would be my most brutal critic and that he "wouldn't blow smoke up my ass, like some editors will". I told him I wouldn't want that, and with a handshake and a beer toast, the deal was sealed.
Since that day, I've been writing our book (how I think of it), and I've been most fortunate to have found not only a scholarly editor and mentor, but a dear friend, as well. We've laughed together, fought like cats tied together over a clothes line, dissected historical minutiae to it's sub-atomic level, commiserated over Democratic misfortunes and cheered on Democratic victories. We grew to share an intimacy between writer and editor that is hard to explain to someone who has never been in either position. Most importantly, however, we found in each other something which we each lacked, which is always a basis for forming a strong, fast friendship.
Last Memorial Day, in the living room of his home, Don dropped a bombshell: he had just been diagnosed with a particularly aggressive form of leukemia, and at age 82, he had decided not to subject himself to the various treatment options available. "They've told me my options, Pat, and they're all lousy. I'm an old man, and I'm going to die. I have only two regrets; I won't be able to see Jeanne (his wife) through to the end, and I won't be able to help you finish your book. I'm sorry, Pat, but you'll have to finish it on your own, and I have every confidence that you can". We got no work done that day, needless to say, although we did do more work together in the next 6 weeks.
Don entered the hospital last Monday, and I saw him for the last time Thursday evening; I knew the end was near, and so did he, so we said our goodbyes without ever acknowledging to each other that that's what we were doing. His final words to me were "Finish it!", delivered in a strong voice as he pointed his finger admonishingly at me. "I will, Don" was all I could manage to choke out without dissolving into tears, which would have embarrassed him terribly.
Don wanted no funeral, and there will be none. There will be a private family inurnment some time next week. At Don's request, memorials in his name should be made to MoveOn.org, or the Democratic National Committee. In Don's memory, I will finish Dare They Call It Treason?.
Godspeed, my friend!
:cry:
|
Printer-friendly format
Email this thread to a friend
Bookmark this thread
(1000+ posts)
Send PM |
Profile |
Ignore
