It's the inevitable cycle. The longer we live, the more goodbyes we must offer to those who played roles in shaping and enriching our lives.
And the more columns such as this I find myself writing in tribute to those who left powerful waves rippling through my existence as well as so many others.
Among the most difficult of them for me to type was the passing of former UCA journalism professor and mentor J. Dean Duncan.
D.D., as he was known to those who revered him, was laid to rest Thursday following a funeral at the First Baptist Church in his hometown of Brinkley. He'd moved back after retiring from the classroom to live peacefully and alone with his pet cats in the Duncan family home.
How appropriate his physical remains will join with the soil of that Eastern Arkansas community he so cherished.
D.D. was, and always will be, remembered as a beloved, quintessentially quirky, fun and lovable professor who gave all of himself to his students and their well-being and successes.
Rare is the person who can make others feel accepted and good about themselves. Dean had that warm and fuzzy effect on hundreds during his 90 years among us.
Julia Martin, who attended UCA in the mid-1980s, wrote to the lengthy email list "Friends of Dean Duncan" words that hundreds of us felt upon learning of Dean's passing in a Little Rock hospice: "I am utterly saddened. The journalism world has lost a huge force."
My biggest regret, and one that will hound me until my time arrives, is that I was two days away from making the trip to Little Rock to personally tell Dean goodbye when he departed. And to think, I'm one whose always advising everyone to do those things you want to do now. Don't put them off. Appears I need to listen to myself a little closer.
Some readers likely will recall the column I wrote in late 2014 about the hundred or so former students, family and friends who attended Dean's 90th birthday celebration at the UCA Alumni Center. I penned that tribute at the time so Dean would be able to read and know just how revered and appreciated he was and remains.
All of us who bore so much affection for the man easily related to the account of his cat Echo and her black hairs that continually clung to his rumpled gray sport coat.
You see, Dean never changed during his decades of teaching journalism at UCA. He was no different in the 1980s than he'd been in 1969 when we met. My initial encounter with Dean was while registering for fall classes to begin the 1969 term.
I was plopped in the bleachers across from various tables manned by professors, each with banners identifying the programs. Down at the end, I noticed a bored-looking man in a sport coat and tie seated beneath the sign reading "Journalism." No one was registering for classes as I watched for several minutes.
Finally, I strolled to his table and introduced myself. The rest became the story of my life and career. And so it was with so many Arkansas journalists: Bob Qualls, Loyd Ryan, Ken Opper, Steve Barnes, Bob Steele, Sonny Rhodes, Richard Robinson, Meredith Oakley, John Arwood, Kyle Massey, Andy Dean, Dixie Land, Randy Bowling, and far too many others to name here.
It's always fascinated me that some who come into our lives can make such a difference in the outcome. By being a simple yet deeply intelligent and kindly inclusive motivator and mentor, Dean Duncan, himself an accomplished journalist in Washington, Louisville and at the Arkansas Gazette, collected enough who loved the approachable fun-loving person he was to rate an email site for all his former students and friends.
At his birthday celebration, the crowd gathered around him and relived favorite memories of his hilarious mannerisms and individual moments that lingered over the decades.
About that, I wrote: "He spent much of the afternoon celebration seated beside the front door, greeting each arrival with his customary smile and personal questions." That was Dean, always showing genuine concern for those who couldn't help but adore the man and his interest in them.
I concluded that column this way: "We each sorely need such mentors who care enough to make a difference. Dean Duncan has lived a meaningful, relevant life. His blend of genuineness, sense of caring, genuineness and ability as a journalist, along with a remarkable sense of humor and those quirky, endearing mannerisms, created enormously positive differences."
And oh, the "ha, ha, ha" way in which Dean laughed and smiled is embedded in the memories of all his former students, family and friends, along with his way of yanking off his glasses, drawing his nose impossibly close to the page while contemplating something we'd written. Rocking back and forth on his heels as he read, he'd utter a deep hum that sounded like, "hmmmmmmmmm." Then he'd pause and rub his eyes.
Goodbye, D.D. Thanks from all your friends and family. Rest peacefully in the assurance that so many of us who knew and grew from your ripples of caring and friendship always will feel deepest affections for you.
------------v------------
Mike Masterson's column appears regularly in the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette. Email him at [email protected].
Editorial on 09/05/2015