A Love Note to Murray, Four Years Out

Dear Murray:

You left this world four years ago tomorrow. I miss you. I think of you every day. Each year since your departure, I have chronicled another year without you (your initial departure in 2016, and then in years 2017, 2018, and 2019) and this year is no exception.

I have noted many times that I adored you, that you shaped my career in ways that were unimaginable for me when I met you, that you were, and still are, my foundation for social science research, my role model for collaborating with others, and that every day I aspire to your optimism, warm spirit, dedication, curiosity, and generous nature. And, every day I am reminded of you, in small ways, in big ways, and in all ways, in between.

Recently, my administrative assistant didn’t have quite enough tasks to keep her busy. She asked me for more work several times. Just this week, I decided to give her some tasks -- for when she has down time -- that would help me with some analyses I’m about to undertake. As soon as I did this, I remembered the story of when you were at the University of Ceylon in, perhaps, the 1940s, and you got into trouble for giving the “peon” assigned to work for you, research tasks -- of course you did! That was apparently forbidden, because the job assignment was considered to be above his caste level. I am sure that your confidence in him touched his life…too.

When you passed away, Doreen lovingly gave me two of your coveted blue mechanical pencils. I carry one in my work backpack. I never use it. I bump into it every so often. It keeps me company, a little “Murray companion” that I carry with me everywhere. The other pencil is in a pen/pencil holder on my desk at home. It had also never been used, until a few weeks ago, desperate for a good point on a pencil, I reached for it. I told this story to Leila and she reminded me that those blue mechanical pencils can double as a toothpick in a jiffy, not that you’d know anything about that...

A few months before you passed away, Murray, you wrote an email to the people with whom you were actively writing papers. You had 17 papers in various stages of progress. You and I were not actively collaborating, but you asked if I would be willing to take on your sole authored papers, to finish them. I was only too glad to help, and of course, incredibly honored that you would ask me to do this. I remember receiving that email and reading it, standing in my yard in Amesbury. I texted Doreen and told her to check her email. I met with you shortly after that and we went over a printed version of that email, which you marked up, discussing the papers that you were writing alone and then we touched on papers that you were writing with students, and perhaps I could assist them if they needed help? Of course I could. I carry that printed, marked up email in my work backpack, too. It’s been folded and refolded, lost and re-discovered, shoved between books, folders, conference pamphlets, and the like. Every time I rediscover it, a little wave of pleasure washes over me as I touch the printed email, your markings, and remember your productivity, generosity, commitment to science, your care and concern for others, and the time we spent discussing the plans for your papers.

Speaking of those papers, Murray, I am sure that you remember K.K. She finished her PhD not too long ago and wanted to tackle the paper the two of you started back in 2015. (Who could pass up an opportunity to have a co-authored paper with you on her CV?) So, she and I meet about three times a month to wade through the paper you drafted and your old SPSS output. She asks me questions, “What do you think Dr. Straus meant here?” In our last meeting I pointed out to K.K. that given her newly minted PhD, so she could refer to you as “Murray.” She was skeptical. In our meetings, I try to channel my “inner Murray,” but a lot of the time I am just guessing and I tell her so. We look up other papers that you wrote using that same dataset, I try to pull fragments from my memory of helping to manage that dataset for you in 2002-2004. I confess that it’s a struggle and a lot of the time I feel like I’m letting you down. Still, it’s wonderful to work on a paper where the text is largely yours, interrupted with our track-changes. I hope that we get this one right and that you will be proud of what K.K. and I accomplish together.

Murray, I remember that when you and I wrote papers together, we would get feedback from reviewers that we had not more carefully proofread our work. I remember you saying that you were a terrible proofreader of your own work. I’m not sure if I’m trying to channel you too much, or not, but the same thing happens to me every time I submit a paper to a journal, too (and perhaps in this blog post, as well). I am writing a paper now with an early career PhD and since this is not her first time at the rodeo with me, last week she asked that before I submit our R&R to a journal that I send it to her to look over, “one last time.” I asked if this was because of my lackadaisical approach to editing my own work. “No,” she said laughing, “Nothing like that at all…!” The highlight of my recent typos was when I submitted a paper for publication and instead of writing that something was “unlawful,” I wrote that it was “unawful.” Murray, you would have laughed at yourself if you had made this mistake. Me, too.

Boy, do I go on, Murray! On a more serious note, sometimes I’m glad that you are not here to witness the harsh realities of our world today – the political divide, the election of a man to the presidency who has openly described sexually assaulting women, the growing social inequalities, the attacks against non-Christians and people of color, and the outright denial of science. Our national leaders and “every day” individuals use violence, aggression, and hate speech daily, sometimes hourly. It’s a tough time for our nation and for someone who prioritized peace and science, I think that you would find it demoralizing.

On the other hand, in the months before you died, you expressed to me considerable skepticism that the field of domestic violence could ever accept that men can be, and are, victims of partner violence. You displayed a sliver of pessimism and negativity that I rarely, ever, saw in you. Not that I want to ever be the one to tell you that you were wrong, Murray. But, guess what? Murray: You were wrong. The field is changing. Denise and I, and our colleagues, hear weekly from male survivors, domestic violence professionals who are providing services to men, government agency officials holding roundtables about how to meet the needs of male survivors, attorneys representing men who are victims, and mainstream media outlets covering this issue, including CBS, NPR, and the LA Times. Murray, you were wrong, but you were also right, because none of this would have been possible without you.

I miss you, Murray. Many people miss you. I field emails weekly from people who have questions about the CTS or your papers or just about you. I am working on a book proposal with several colleagues and we discussed how wonderful it would have been to have you write a chapter and a forward for the book. And, then the same colleague, Lou, who once said to me, “Long may we carry on what he began,” said, “Well, we can always dedicate the book to him.” Yes, that, we can do.

Murray, I have described you as a man who was “engaged, enthusiastic, and totally committed to life, every day, even at the end.” I have also said that I have a short list of people who I would do anything in the world for, and that you were, and still are, at the top of that list. You, my dear friend, colleague, and mentor, were the cat’s meow.

Until next year – I remain faithfully yours,

Emily