A Year Without Murray
For those of us who knew and loved Murray Straus, we have made it through a year without him. This past Saturday was the one year mark of his death. Last year I wrote about Murray, his generosity, curiosity, warmth, and all of the ways that I benefited from knowing him. I also wrote how much I adored Murray and how going to Durham without him there would never, ever, be the same.
True, that.
The events leading up to this date last year have been on my mind: having lunch with Murray weekly during the last year of his life and my daily phone calls to his administrative assistant to see if she had news on his whereabouts, his well-being, and his schedule. She was such a source of support to me. In my office at my own university, I kept her number and Murray's number next to my desk phone for easy reference. This year while I am in Washington a colleague is using my office. I left a little sticky note asking this colleague not to remove the orange piece of paper next to my phone with those two names and numbers.
I think that all of us who knew and loved Murray found ways to honor him this past year - both formal and informal. I participated in ceremonies and memorials, taking an opportunity to mark his passing and to share joy with others who knew him. I suspect that Murray would have liked hearing stories about his own life and the reflections that we had to offer, as much as anyone. He did love to tell stories. I spent countless hours at the long table in his office in the Horton Social Science Center at UNH listening to stories about his career and personal life. It would be disingenuous to suggest that Murray was not without controversy, however. There was often controversy and more often than not I heard the stories about it at that table. I sometimes even observed it. I sometimes jumped in with both feet or followed him into a blazing building. That's the thing about adoration. It can make you blind.
Have I mentioned how much I adored Murray Straus?
But, life has a way of going on and in the darkness and emptiness that follows the death of a loved one, I found ways to keep Murray nearby.
When Murray died he left 17 papers in various stages of progress. Yes, 17. I have maybe two or three papers I'm working on right now. But, Murray, even in a year when his health was failing, managed to be involved with 17 different papers. This is a perfect example of Murray's enthusiasm for starting new projects. He once told me that he easily had enough unfinished projects to provide data for 15 independent PhD dissertations. Murray loved the excitement of a new research idea shining brightly in front of him. But, I digress. Back to his 17 unfinished papers... Given Murray's track record, I don't know why I'm astonished that he had this many papers going when he was about to turn 90, but I am. That likely just shows how much I adored him.
One of the greatest honors of my professional life is that Murray asked me to complete his four sole-authored papers on that list of unfinished projects. The rest of the papers all had co-authors. So, during this first year without Murray, I have been sorting through his files, reading and editing drafts, communicating with journal editors, and continuing the long tradition of leaning on his administrative assistant for moral and logistical support. One Saturday I spent five hours spinning my wheels while I tried to track down misplaced or mislabeled files, only to squeak out a single paragraph at the end of said exercise. In my exasperation I contacted his administrative assistant. Despite Murray's enthusiasm for technology and new gadgets that might have improved his efficiency, he was known for having misplaced, lost, and mislabeled files, so my frustration didn't daunt her in the slightest. She said, "Professor Straus had faith in you, Emily. You'll be able to do this." <Exhale.> Of the four papers, two have been accepted/conditionally accepted, another is ready to be sent to a new journal, and that fourth paper will get my attention a bit later.
In the year before Murray's death he worked with an undergraduate research assistant, Morgan. Murray spoke exceedingly well of her. I first met Morgan at an impromptu lunch some of us had the day that Murray died. She and Murray had been working on a paper together and she was to present it at the Family Research Lab's summer conference in just two short months. She was intimidated, as any newly-minted undergraduate would be. I offered to help her with the presentation. Then, Straus-style, a light bulb went off. I asked if she could spare time to be my research assistant while I was in Washington this year. She's get co-authorship on some papers and I'd mentor her through the process of applying to PhD programs. It's worked out great: Morgan's entering a PhD program this fall in New York. Just another way that I have kept Murray close at heart.
Murray was obviously innovative and hardworking. His contributions to social science and to placing a spotlight on the problems of family violence are boundless and timeless. But, the part of Murray that I admired most was his openness to others. I wrote about this last year and in the tribute that I wrote to Murray for publication in the Journal of Family Violence. Murray routinely opened his work up to critique from everyone: colleagues, students, practitioners, policy-makers, journalists, advocates, parents, and victims. Every interaction was an opportunity to learn. He gave consideration to methodological and theoretical concerns and anecdotal experience. He routinely improved and expanded his own work and thinking about family violence because he listened to others and he was willing to have his work closely examined. We should all be so lucky, to be both a rock star in our own profession and a student of those around us. Murray had that market cornered. I have tried to carry this lesson with me this year as a Congressional fellow in Washington, D.C. by listening to advocates, representatives from professional groups, researchers, and other interested parties who express concern about child abuse and neglect. What are the limits of our system that keep children from gaining access to services and what prevents providers from adequately reaching those victims?
Murray thrived on collaborating with others: students, postdocs, and colleagues. He was like a child in a candy store, eager to work with anyone who presented an interesting idea, a new data set, a methodology that he did not know, or a new statistical procedure that he could learn. When I was Murray's postdoc he was recruiting researchers to participate in the International Dating Violence Study. He emailed with new colleagues from 32 different nations and in every email he closed with a line about the important things that they were going to learn together. What tremendous optimism and faith in humankind! As I head into a new university this coming fall, in a new department, with new colleagues, and in a new role as a department head, I remind myself of Murray's encouragement when he began new working relationships - warm, engaging, optimistic, and inclusive. This is another lesson I carry with me.
On Saturday I met someone else who was close to Murray and we visited his grave. I was so glad to have a friend with me and someone else who loved Murray.
Have I mentioned how much I adored Murray Straus? He was a remarkable man. As I penned in the tribute that I wrote to Murray: "He was engaged, enthusiastic, and totally committed to life every day, even at the end."
Last year I closed my blog post about Murray by writing that I have a short list of people who I would do anything in the world for and how Murray was at the top of that list. I think that this year has taught me that Murray is still at the top of that list and that I would do anything in the world to keep his memory, scholastic contributions, and his warm and generous spirit alive.
True, that.
The events leading up to this date last year have been on my mind: having lunch with Murray weekly during the last year of his life and my daily phone calls to his administrative assistant to see if she had news on his whereabouts, his well-being, and his schedule. She was such a source of support to me. In my office at my own university, I kept her number and Murray's number next to my desk phone for easy reference. This year while I am in Washington a colleague is using my office. I left a little sticky note asking this colleague not to remove the orange piece of paper next to my phone with those two names and numbers.
I think that all of us who knew and loved Murray found ways to honor him this past year - both formal and informal. I participated in ceremonies and memorials, taking an opportunity to mark his passing and to share joy with others who knew him. I suspect that Murray would have liked hearing stories about his own life and the reflections that we had to offer, as much as anyone. He did love to tell stories. I spent countless hours at the long table in his office in the Horton Social Science Center at UNH listening to stories about his career and personal life. It would be disingenuous to suggest that Murray was not without controversy, however. There was often controversy and more often than not I heard the stories about it at that table. I sometimes even observed it. I sometimes jumped in with both feet or followed him into a blazing building. That's the thing about adoration. It can make you blind.
Have I mentioned how much I adored Murray Straus?
But, life has a way of going on and in the darkness and emptiness that follows the death of a loved one, I found ways to keep Murray nearby.
When Murray died he left 17 papers in various stages of progress. Yes, 17. I have maybe two or three papers I'm working on right now. But, Murray, even in a year when his health was failing, managed to be involved with 17 different papers. This is a perfect example of Murray's enthusiasm for starting new projects. He once told me that he easily had enough unfinished projects to provide data for 15 independent PhD dissertations. Murray loved the excitement of a new research idea shining brightly in front of him. But, I digress. Back to his 17 unfinished papers... Given Murray's track record, I don't know why I'm astonished that he had this many papers going when he was about to turn 90, but I am. That likely just shows how much I adored him.
One of the greatest honors of my professional life is that Murray asked me to complete his four sole-authored papers on that list of unfinished projects. The rest of the papers all had co-authors. So, during this first year without Murray, I have been sorting through his files, reading and editing drafts, communicating with journal editors, and continuing the long tradition of leaning on his administrative assistant for moral and logistical support. One Saturday I spent five hours spinning my wheels while I tried to track down misplaced or mislabeled files, only to squeak out a single paragraph at the end of said exercise. In my exasperation I contacted his administrative assistant. Despite Murray's enthusiasm for technology and new gadgets that might have improved his efficiency, he was known for having misplaced, lost, and mislabeled files, so my frustration didn't daunt her in the slightest. She said, "Professor Straus had faith in you, Emily. You'll be able to do this." <Exhale.> Of the four papers, two have been accepted/conditionally accepted, another is ready to be sent to a new journal, and that fourth paper will get my attention a bit later.
 |
| Keeping Murray close by in my apartment in Washington, D.C. this year. |
In the year before Murray's death he worked with an undergraduate research assistant, Morgan. Murray spoke exceedingly well of her. I first met Morgan at an impromptu lunch some of us had the day that Murray died. She and Murray had been working on a paper together and she was to present it at the Family Research Lab's summer conference in just two short months. She was intimidated, as any newly-minted undergraduate would be. I offered to help her with the presentation. Then, Straus-style, a light bulb went off. I asked if she could spare time to be my research assistant while I was in Washington this year. She's get co-authorship on some papers and I'd mentor her through the process of applying to PhD programs. It's worked out great: Morgan's entering a PhD program this fall in New York. Just another way that I have kept Murray close at heart.
Murray was obviously innovative and hardworking. His contributions to social science and to placing a spotlight on the problems of family violence are boundless and timeless. But, the part of Murray that I admired most was his openness to others. I wrote about this last year and in the tribute that I wrote to Murray for publication in the Journal of Family Violence. Murray routinely opened his work up to critique from everyone: colleagues, students, practitioners, policy-makers, journalists, advocates, parents, and victims. Every interaction was an opportunity to learn. He gave consideration to methodological and theoretical concerns and anecdotal experience. He routinely improved and expanded his own work and thinking about family violence because he listened to others and he was willing to have his work closely examined. We should all be so lucky, to be both a rock star in our own profession and a student of those around us. Murray had that market cornered. I have tried to carry this lesson with me this year as a Congressional fellow in Washington, D.C. by listening to advocates, representatives from professional groups, researchers, and other interested parties who express concern about child abuse and neglect. What are the limits of our system that keep children from gaining access to services and what prevents providers from adequately reaching those victims?
Murray thrived on collaborating with others: students, postdocs, and colleagues. He was like a child in a candy store, eager to work with anyone who presented an interesting idea, a new data set, a methodology that he did not know, or a new statistical procedure that he could learn. When I was Murray's postdoc he was recruiting researchers to participate in the International Dating Violence Study. He emailed with new colleagues from 32 different nations and in every email he closed with a line about the important things that they were going to learn together. What tremendous optimism and faith in humankind! As I head into a new university this coming fall, in a new department, with new colleagues, and in a new role as a department head, I remind myself of Murray's encouragement when he began new working relationships - warm, engaging, optimistic, and inclusive. This is another lesson I carry with me.
On Saturday I met someone else who was close to Murray and we visited his grave. I was so glad to have a friend with me and someone else who loved Murray.
Have I mentioned how much I adored Murray Straus? He was a remarkable man. As I penned in the tribute that I wrote to Murray: "He was engaged, enthusiastic, and totally committed to life every day, even at the end."
Last year I closed my blog post about Murray by writing that I have a short list of people who I would do anything in the world for and how Murray was at the top of that list. I think that this year has taught me that Murray is still at the top of that list and that I would do anything in the world to keep his memory, scholastic contributions, and his warm and generous spirit alive.
Comments
Post a Comment