ÞÆT WÆS GOD HÆLEÐ

I found out a few hours ago that this man died today. For those who don't recognize him, he's Dr. Steve Glosecki, UAB's resident Anglo-Saxonist. The first semester I took courses at UAB, I had a world literature survey from Dr. Glosecki. From that time, he became a mentor to me, encouraging me to go to graduate school, then to get through graduate school successfully, and then to continue on the long slog that is academic advancement. In short, I would not be where I am now but for him, his kindness, his direction, and his faith in my abilities.

I still remember his attitude in that first class: always a few minutes late, waiting till the class filled, then bursting into the room, talking as soon as the door opened. One second the room would be filled with the din of impatient sophomores; the next it was utterly his, all ears awake and all eyes open. He had such energy: an enthusiasm for his subject, a love for his students, and a passion for life. I remember the coffee cup, handmade and unique, mottled brown and uneven: a mug that, perhaps, might have grown on a tree. And his notes: usually just an index card, with a few talking points. But it did not matter how small his notes were, because there was never enough time for the anecdotes, the promising side-paths, the intriguing bits of detail. His lectures were like being led through a museum by its oldest tour guide: the museum was his friend, and a tour was an introduction of old and new acquaintances.

But there is more, of course. He leaves behind a wife and two sons, and other friends and relations I know nothing about. But we don't always get to see that side of teachers, do we? Often there is distance and formality: a wall that preserves professional courtesies. Dr. Glosecki had no wall. I've sat at his table, and shared his bread and tea (excellent tea, as I recall, with honey and a bit of milk). The term he used was "avuncular" -- "like an uncle." I have been blessed in the excellence of my uncles, and I say that he was avuncular. Perhaps more than that, he followed the old heroic code: the leader of the warband guides his troops, rewards them and sees to their needs. And, in return, they brighten his fame with glorious deeds done in his name. And I believe the UAB warband has thus far done their leader honor; I know certainly that he was proud of us.

I want to write more -- so much more -- but where would I end? Words will never be enough, and there will be longer elegies by those who know him better. So, I'll do what we Old English folk always do at times like this, and draft the Beowulf poet into service. There's a line toward the beginning describing an ancient ruler of Denmark: it runs simply, "þæt wæs god cyning." -- "That was a good king." Only I shall alter mine, to make it fit:

"Þæt wæs god hæleð."

"That was a good hero."