Tragic Brilliance

Hello from my morning office hours,

When I first arrived at the University of Wisconsin-Stout, I was excited by the opportunity to take what I learned about technology and writing, to use what I had experienced as a technical writer and trainer for both Chrysler Corporation and Gateway Computers, and to apply both theory and practice to the college classroom. I was not prepared for what a major in Technical Communication located in an English and Philosophy (wait, how are they together?) Department, which was primarily a service department, might create. Being a late Spring hire, and having only applied to for one tenure track position, I was simply feeling blessed that I had been given an opportunity to move beyond the graduate school life, even though I was ABD. Looking back, I really had little idea what the next couple years would do to the long-term trajectory of a middle-class, blue collar, Iowa kid who found himself back in his ancestral state of Wisconsin.

As I arrived in Menomonie, I was much more naive and idealistic than a 40-something should be, but nonetheless, I put my head down, and I taught with hard work all would be quite reasonable. I was sadly mistaken, but it was certainly a learning time for me. My chair was on sabbatical, but I remember him stopping by my office one day to check in. In his sort of heavy-sigh manner, which was both literal and figurative (in fact, he would verbalize ‘heavy sigh’), he noted shortly into our conversation, “You know people are not going to like you here.?” (and there is a period and a question mark intentionally because the statement cut both ways) – I stared at him somewhat aghast, and he continued, it is because you are part of the Technical Communication major in the department. Immediately, I was given a crash course on departmental politics, and soon it was clear that the three of us who were tasked with growing a program were not appreciated. The other two were not popular because the major got things at the expense of the rest, and the actions of the program director had alienated many of his departmental colleagues. Again looking back, the other, who served as a mentor to me and about whom I have written at other times, was caught in the middle of it all, and he did all he could to foster growth both with the students and with the university. He had been the department chair and as a driving force behind the development of the program, he was not going to be given much leeway.

Along with my arrival the fall of 2003, I had two other colleagues join the department at the same time. One was an American Literature scholar from “the” Ohio State University, and the second, who began her studies at Stout, two masters, and eventually a dual PhD from Emory University, were also first-year, tenure-track. They were both talented and brilliant individuals. Yet, both because of my role in the Technical Communication Program as well as some of my own struggles as an ABD with colleagues who had completed their degrees, we did not always manage a productive relationship. In fact, there were times I felt terrifically abandoned, on an island by myself. Fortunately, by the time I left Stout, the relationship with the more volatile of the two was remedied, mostly throughout a similarly shared experience within our department. Dr. Jean Marie Dauplaise, a Wisconsin native, and the one with the doctorate from Emory University, was beyond talented in so many areas. She was spirited and passionate and seldom at a loss for words. She could change the atmosphere of an entire room by her mere presence, and students in her classes seldom realized just how insightful she was. She could be simultaneously demanding and empathetic, stunningly funny and serious, and seldom would one forget an encounter with her. From most any kind of art to literature, from politics to film, Jean Marie knew something and had some level of expertise. Seldom have I met a person who could command such a breadth of responses from those who encountered her.

She was quick witted and sometimes acerbic (I remember her ability to use Drill Instructor language more frequently than me), but she also genuinely cared about many things, and she was fervent in her expressiveness about the people she loved. She had an inner beauty that could be lost or overlooked because of her physicality, which was also stunning; however, she wanted to be known for her intellectualism and certainly deserved such recognition. Then were there the times she did things that would belie that intellectual strength through her own actions. She was profoundly human. Yet, I remember one particular conversation with her when we chatted about a variety of topics as we sat in Zanzibar. That night was of importance because it created an appreciation for each other, which up to that time was missing. It was also a very night I would end up with yet another difficulty when I left Zanzibar because of my own health issues. And she would be the one to let my chair in on that encounter, much to my chagrin. To be honest, neither of us knew what to do with the other, and we were both too stubborn to step back. We managed that stubbornness with entirely different styles, but the consequence was the same. For too long we were tenaciously distant from the other for the first half of my time at Stout. Fortunately, that would change. As I left Stout, she would reach out that next year for advice.

The last time I saw Jean Marie in person, I drove to Superior to have dinner with her. We had chatted, and she asked if we could get together. As I was back in Wisconsin to work on things with Lydia, it was possible, so I made the two-hour drive, and we had a lovely dinner. We spoke earnestly and thoughtfully about what she was struggling with at that time, and we developed even more of a rapport. We apologized for the things we had done to make the other’s life less than stellar at times, and as importantly, we addressed the reality that we had both moved on from UW-Stout. Our lives had taken some profoundly different turns. That is the truth about life in general. Choices have consequences, and sometimes we do not always consider those consequences as carefully or thoughtfully as we might. Again, another of those learning lessons. And yet, we are the individuals we are or become for a reason (again, we seldom understand or fathom the complexity of it all).

As I look back at my last encounter with Jean Marie, even then, there was an insight and brilliance, and her ability to articulate things that were complex shown through. This time she exhibited a kind of vulnerability that did not often find the surface. I reflected on that visit as I drove back to Menomonie with both a sense of relief, but also a significant level of sadness. Since that time, our messages and conversations were not frequent, but they were always kind and appreciative. In many ways, I think Jean Marie was perhaps too brilliant for her own good . . . and I sometimes wondered if she were born too late or too early. There was a sort of 60s vibe to her, and I think she would have fit into the Haight-Ashbury scene quite well. Her societal attitudes and acumen would have been interesting to observe in that San Francisco neighborhood. And yet, she had this incredible oxymoronic combination of feminine mystique and a feminist activism that many who are questioning the behavior of male counterparts. And yet, one could never put Jean Marie into a simply defined space. She would have none of that. In fact, I think she rejoiced when people were unsure what to do with her.

And yet perhaps it is that same brilliance that can be one’s undoing. I believe Jean Marie saw things differently, and I wonder if that difference caused some of the isolation I know she felt from time to time. It was from this place she and I found a genuine appreciation for the other. I remember as we sat at dinner that night I worked to reinforce the goodness and ability I saw in her. I remember speaking to her about a particular film, one she had used in class, and one I have since used, Mona Lisa Smile. It was some of that conversation that I still use when I think about the film. And in some ways, there is little doubt that there was some of Jean Marie in Katherine Watson and vice versa. In both there was an independence, a free-spiritedness, and an intelligence that fought against the status quo. Too often, those who are brilliant are misinterpreted by those around them, but additionally, there is a struggle to manage the brilliance in a manner that makes sense to others, that fits within the system or the expectation of the larger. I know there have been moments where I believed that standing upon principle would create a positive outcome. Part of the reason I am in Pennsylvania was that misguided notion. It was one of the numerous things that I needed to learn to get to where I am now.

As I opened Facebook or as I looked at my messages earlier this week (it is a couple days later), I found an obituary for Jean Marie. It was a shock to find that my former colleague had finished her journey, and then it is not as much a shock as perhaps I wish it could be. And yet it is another reminder that life is not about fairness; it is not about predictability. Life simply is. It is a gift that often fails to feel all that much like any gift at all. That is what I believe in this moment. Too often it is the timing of something that affects how we understand the other, how we respond to the other, how we encounter the other. As I wrote in another blog almost 10 years ago, when I wonder what I feel, and I know that I do feel, the loss of such a wonderfully talented, intelligent, and deeply giving woman is a profound loss, not only to her family, her nephews, and those who were now some part of Jean Marie’s life now, but for those of us who were gifted to encounter her in times earlier in our lives. The memories of her, and there are many: from a first afternoon gathering of the three of us who began our tenure track careers that fall of 2003, from her asking that I buy something for her the summer I went to Sturgis, from her shaking my hand and addressing me as Dr. Martin when I had defended my dissertation to her once telling me that she would have kicked my ass if I had spoken to our acting chair when I had a disagreement with her (and I had not). The memories of her are more than I have fingers (and perhaps toes). I am sorry there are no longer options to reach out to you. Jean Marie, I hope you know how much so many admired you and the amazing talent you were. I hope you have peace and you will be missed.

Thank you as always for reading.

Dr. Martin