Remarks in Memory of William Whalen
by Leigh Anderson
11 October 2012, Boston
When Melody asked me to say
some words about William, I thought about how important words are to him. I
will illustrate that point with a story from his undergraduate days at Rice
University.
William was rooming with
Austin Bay. Neither William nor Austin could have been accused of excessive
culinary pretensions: dinner usually came out of a can, a staple being Wolf
brand chili. As William told us the story, he would routinely ask Austin what he
wanted for dinner, and as often as not Austin would answer “How about that
can of Wolf chili?” Not “how about a can
of chili”, or “how about some chili”, but “THAT can of Wolf chili”. Austin’s
use of the demonstrative adjective “that” intensely annoyed William, as it
wrongly implied something special about the routine contents of their pantry.
This went on for a long time,
too long. Eventually William snapped. One evening, without warning, after
hearing the familiar “that can of Wolf Chili” William seized Austin by the
throat and with maniacal strength began choking the life out of him.
Fortunately for both, the fit passed before the point of fatality.
Now in general William was a
gentle and civilized man, and as far as I know, this is the only charge against
him of violent assault. But the story illustrates the importance he attached to
words, and therefore the challenge I feel in meeting his standards while
speaking of him.
But then it occurred to me
that there is someone else better able to speak of William: and that person is
William himself. Bettie and I have preserved his letters to us over the years,
each one a small gem, and I want to use portions of those to remember William
in his own words.
To begin, you should know
that William’s letters strictly adhered to a literary form of his own design.
Each letter begins with a preamble that is both apology and ominous warning of
what is to follow. I’ll give examples extracted from several of his letters
over the years:
1978:
“If there is a recording angel in heaven (or, more likely, hell) who is in
charge of correspondence of unremarkable persons, he must have a particular
aversion for my letters, since they all begin in the same way – with abject
apologies about lateness and hurriedness and inadequacy.”
1988:
“Last Christmas I experimented with an
annual summary letter, and the results were not too bad. This is a horrible
genre – the epistolary equivalent of fruitcake. One runs the danger of turning
into a Pollyanna or Job. Nonetheless, it is regrettably one of the few times I
can send around a (more or less) systematic bit of correspondence, and I had
better take it.”
[I would just like to
reassure William there is little risk he will ever be called a Pollyanna.]
1996:
“In a desperate attempt to stay in touch with everyone, I am composing another
Christmas letter. I had previously thought that we had reached the human
maximum for harriedness, but this last year has exceeded anything in memory
(although the faculty of memory is strained to the point of collapse).”
2001:
“The annual holiday letter has ceased to be novelty and has taken on the
trappings of inevitability. Nonetheless, I will cobble together some notes for
the past year, which has had more intense ups and downs than most we have known
recently.”
2002:
“In preparing for this year’s holiday letter, I scanned through several of the
preceding notes, and I am surprised by the relatively consistent note of
optimism that runs through them, although it may be indirect or ironically
stated. That does not seem to be my usual bent, especially when faced with the
holidays. Nonetheless, I am glad to see it, and I am hoping that some of that
spirit will continue this year, although as I write, circumstances are rather
trying.”
2010:
“Many times I have been grateful to see the holidays, simply for the knowledge
that the year is ending. The current twelve months have been relatively fine,
and yet I am also content to see the conclusion of the year.”
Do you see a pattern here?
Bettie and I have joked that William’s Christmas letters should be printed on
paper with black borders.
After graduation from Rice,
William took a few years to settle on a career. A little-know fact is that for
a time he was a painter, working for Bettie’s brothers in Houston. Painting
un-air-conditioned apartments under construction encourages one to review other
career opportunities, but his early attempts were not satisfying, and he
describes them with his characteristic irony:
1978:
“I’m seriously considering applying for admission to library school. I’ve
avoided that for years, thinking it would be a compromise of my ambitions and
hopes and other rubbish; but one learns a few things as the years gnaw on one’s
bones – you cannot live without groceries, has been a major revelation to me;
and it is possible, only just possible, that with a master’s degree in “Library
Science” (revolting phrase – these people are serious about this stuff,
although I have yet to hear kind words spoken about the program) I could find a
niche which would enable me to do something almost useful and live a tolerable
life…”
A later sojourn at University
of Virginia for a Masters degree in literature him disillusioned him with
academia:
“I
do not regret the year. Not at all. I’ve learned a good deal, little of which
is about literature, and because I’ve stayed to finish the degree it may even
be financially rewarding. But what a lot of rubbish this has been.”
“I
am interested in the ways that the institutions take on a life of their own and
impose an orthodoxy. Every institution does this, so far as I can observe. The
universities are among the worst in upholding absurd orthodoxies. Theoretically,
colleges would recognize the rejuvenating power of heterodoxy, but it just does
not work that way. I know, I should have known that long ago. I gave it
notional assent, but it is different to know it in my bones.”
[And here William concludes
with one of my favorite lines ever written]
“I
am either growing up late or reaching mid-life crisis early.”
In 1984, William described
two significant turns. A course in computer programming hints at his future
career:
“I
find it very difficult and sometimes fascinating. I do not yet have patience
when things go wrong – two weeks ago I had a program that developed an infinite
loop for no reason I could discern. Except for things like that, I enjoy this
work. Makes me think I might take more and try to get work in the programming
field. We shall see.”
Next William described
another decision, one I am sure he feels was the most significant, wisest, and
luckiest choice of his life.
“I
actually have news more interesting. At the end of April I am getting married.
Over a year ago I met Melody Lee at a party at Billy McDonald’s house, and we
developed a close relation in the interim. Marriage began to seem like the
obvious choice. I feel closer to her than to anyone I have known – it has been
a remarkable time together. One has to approach the prospect of matrimony with
fear and trembling, but I think it will be the best thing I have done.”
In time other lives entered
William’s world. In 1988 he writes
“It
is quite astonishing to watch Zachariah grow up. He is now two and a half years
old, he has been walking for the majority of his life, and he is talking with a
wide range of words and syntactic structures. He seems to be very imaginative.
We have had a few books about knights, and he has become fascinated with his
interpretation of chivalry. He will turn the oddest toys into sword or lance
and run up and down the hall, fighting dragons.”
“He
has enjoyed Christmas greatly – during December, he asked every day whether
Santa Claus was coming yet. … I myself have disliked Christmas for years, but I
cannot approach the season with the same intense disdain that I used to exhibit
– I cannot diminish Zach’s enjoyment. I am not striving to enjoy the season,
but I will give it a moderate degree of respect.”
[1989]
“Zachariah is four years old, and he continues to grow into a big person much
faster than I ever thought would be possible. I had imagined that babyhood
would be a time to observe at some leisure – I have been wrong on many other
counts too.”
“Parenthood
is very odd – I enjoy it overall, but it makes a great change in one’s life. I had
earlier not understood the intense sentimentality that our society wraps around
babyhood – I still don’t. But I am pleased to have Zachariah here with us.”
[1993]
“Melody and Zachariah and I are holding together, and in the broad view of
things, we are doing well. (But as readers of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy will recall, it is unwise to
get too large a perspective.)”
[1995]
“The last year has been full of events, and I am afraid that I have rather
fallen out of touch with people. New parenthood is the main culprit… Our
daughter, Zoe, … is now approaching her first birthday. She has been
remarkable, as infants are, and she responds to the world with an awareness
that increases each week. … She is beginning to form words. Her first word was
“hi”, an appropriate expression for someone who is so outgoing, and she is
adding new words every few days (Daddy, Mommy, book, doggie, and others that
are on the borderline of decipherability). Zoe is clever and charming, and we
feel pleased to have her with us.”
In 1998, William attended a
class reunion in Houston, and Bettie & I were pleased to host him.
“… I had misgivings about the
official events (entirely accurate, it turned out), but I found that the chance
to see you (and Brenda and Judy et. al.) overcame my hesitations. “
“While
I was in Houston, I was having a great deal of difficulty cleaning my glasses.
I did my usual routine, but they would continue to have smudges. When I got
home, I realized that the tissues I had brought (largely for that purpose)
contained hand lotion, which accounted for the difficulty. I never seek out
that style of tissue, and furthermore I found it odd that I did not notice the
problem during my four days in Houston but saw it immediately upon unpacking at
home. I concluded that this was emblematic of my dealings with Rice. First, the
place heightens some of my perceptions and dulls others. Second, regardless of
the effort that I put into dealing with Rice, the experience will always turn
out to be something different.”
I’m going to fast forward
now. William writes of children growing up, family trips, job changes, health
challenges. I will use just one passage from William’s letters to summarize
more than a decade:
“I
have heard various friends refer to their children enrolling in or graduating
from college, and this seems improbable, even though Zach is in the same
circumstance. It seems a short time ago that the kids arrived and that we moved
to West Newton, but apparently a good deal has happened. … Each year strikes me
as different, but somehow the changes seem more extreme in recent times. The
prospect of our younger child’s leaving for college is somewhat startling, and
there will be big changes for Zach as he leaves college and sets out on his
own. Much to be hopeful about, but many openings for uneasiness.” [This last
bit is Classic William!]
In my own words I can sum up
what I feel and know about William: his gentleness; his intelligence; unbounded
curiosity; uncompromising integrity; irrepressible humor; affection for the
absurd but intolerance for hypocrisy; self-effacing humility; undefeated
optimism disguised beneath an Eeyore-like pessimism; deep love of human
transcendence in art, literature, knowledge. He always reminds Bettie and me of
a traveler from an earlier epoch, adhering to high personal and cultural
standards that seem quaintly unfashionable in our coarsening times. And above all we remember his unreserved love
and devotion to his family, and the unbounded joy he takes in their well-being.
I want to close with
William’s own concluding paragraph in his family newsletter for Christmas
2011.
“For a long while, I have felt that each year
ratchets up the level of activity. In a given year, I conclude I have hit the
limit of my capacity, and then more has to be done the following year. If there
is ever a diminishment, I will be especially grateful. But until that time, I
try to assess where things stand at the moment, and in general, we are doing
well and have much to be content with.”
