Mike Stanford's Letter to Suerk

After turning in my assignments we settled into a weekend of visiting. We watched lots of Indians baseball -- including a seven run, 9th inning come-from-behind victory over Tampa. Suerk levitated. I visited with his friends, cooked out with his amazing Cohen cousins and worked on getting the house on Hilltop Road back into shape -- an ongoing project.

The words I used in the June entry regarding Suerk's having "taken to the bed" have taken many people aback. I make it a point to discuss the issue as often as possible during our daily talks. Suerk points out that the 'rehab/therapy' really wasn't rehabilitating anything. His paralysis is permanent. And more importantly, though he is a 'quad,' Suerk has a tremendous amount of feeling from the chest up. Even the slightest physical manipulation causes him tremendous pain -- neuropathy. He does not like to be moved. So for now he has in fact taken to the bed.

Today, on the first anniversary of the fall in his kitchen on 8 July 2008, I can say with certainty that Suerk looks forward to each new day. He has an amazing ability to compartmentalize that which causes him emotional pain. And he is sustained by the outpouring of love and appreciation that his friends and students have shared over the months. Here is one letter that goes a long way in helping to sustain him.



Paul

There's no reason at all you should remember me, out of the thousands of students you taught, but this is Mike Stanford. I took sophomore English from you at Mercersburg in 1968-9. Short, pretty nerdish, glasses, not too popular. If that helps.

I discovered my lifelong intellectual passion--poetry--in your class, as you led us through Perrine's anthology Sound and Sense. I still remember some of the comments you jotted in the margin of my papers. For example, "Don't flaunt erudition," after I'd quoted an obscure poem by Hilaire Belloc just to impress you with my 15-year-old brilliance. You were impatient with all pretension and sloppy thinking. But ultimately I did very well in your class. Your praise made me believe I would grow into a writer and a scholar.

I have an indelible memory of the way you led the class--*conducted* it, really--your arms raised, gesturing, your whole body visibly vibrating with your joy in the works you were leading us through.

Your influence certainly followed me, after I left Mercersburg, went on to graduate from another prep school, then served three years in the Marines, graduated from Duke where I wrote a lot of poems and edited the literary magazine. I worked for a couple of years in publishing in New York, then moved to Charlottesville and took a PhD in English at UVA. I wound up teaching humanities at the university level for 19 years, then got restless and went to law school in my spare time, becoming a lawyer at the age of 53. I'm currently a public defender in Phoenix, of all unlikely places.

You seemed to believe in my literary talent so much that I've always hesitated to get in touch with you because my writing career never really took off--I published some poems in my twenties, a handful of scholarly articles in my thirties, But just last week I learned that my first book--an anthology of poems about the law, by writers from Chaucer to the present--had been accepted by University of Iowa Press. I have another book--a critical study based on the anthology--underway. And I’m noodling around with some more creative stuff based on my day job as a lawyer. So your influence has rippled forward to inspire me with some late-in-life ambitions. Rather, I guess, like your taking up marathon running after reaching 40.

Two days ago I thought to Google you and was saddened to learn of your accident. At the same time I was struck though not surprised by the outpouring of love and support you've received. At this point in my life I've taught thousands of students myself, but I can't imagine that I've made as deep an impression as you have.

One day in class you read Tennyson's "Ulysses" and then turned to me and said, "Did you like it, Mike?" At the time I was a little embarrassed to be singled out, but later felt nothing but fortified by your gift of those lines. You're a tremendous teacher, Paul, and a fine man. You continue to inspire us all--to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

with deep affection and respect

Mike Stanford